Tromboning

I made the mistake of saying to my husband today that maybe I should just quit trying to regain my trombone-playing prowess.

"Give it up!" he exploded. "Take up something else that doesn't require an embouchure! Because you don't have one!"

I have to admit, I was a little taken aback by his vehemence. Mulling his reaction, I played something resembling a song. When I was done, I said, "That sounded OK, didn't it?"

He said, "Yes, but it gives me a headache."

His comments were closely followed this evening by a conversation with my sister Midge (or Margaret, as she likes to be called since she "grew up") in which she said, "You don't have the right kind of lips for trombone."

I was kind of taking these people seriously until I realized that a) my husband can't get a decent sound out of a PIANO, for heaven's sake! and b) Midge is a flute player. What the hell do THEY know about playing trombone?

If there is one thing I have an abundance of, it is determination. When I was breast-feeding my daughter and got that sore-nipple condition (I forget the name of it, but it was REALLY PAINFUL every time she latched on), I didn't give up! When my VW bus blew its engine out in New Mexico and I had to quit school and go to work to put food on the table (oatmeal for Thanksgiving!), I didn't give up!

And amazingly enough, it appears that I'm not going to give up on trombone. I kind of wish I could, but I have a feeling I'm still going to be trying even when I'm sitting in a wheelchair at the nursing home. I'll play "Joy to the World" at the nursing home Christmas talent show. And all the other residents, even the deaf ones, will be plugging their ears and shouting, "Give it up! Give it up!"

I've thought a lot about when things started going downhill. It was when I was in music school at USM, after I came back from my exchange experience in New Mexico (where, incidentally, I developed a post-nasal drip). As the school year progressed, I got worse and worse. At one point, my teacher told me to take a week off from practicing. He apparently thought I was doing too much.

Taking a week off didn't help. But talk about determiniation: I think it was sheer will that got me through my senior recital.

Over the years, I've tried to get back in shape. At one point, I was doing pretty well. Then one night, I had to play the solo in "Marie" several times. My lips just weren't ready for that high C. The next day, they were like sails flapping in the wind. I had no control whatsoever.

The big question is: Can that control be regained? If it's possible, then I'm not wasting my time. If it isn't possible, how do I find out?

I can say this: If I succeed, the world is going to know about it! I'll be the Obama of frustrated trombonists, shouting, "Yes we can!"