Patricia Adelstein

When I was 8, I was recruited by an 8th grade girl to play in the Kemp Elementary School Band in my hometown, Dayton, Ohio.   Not sure why, but I think the band teacher assigned every current member to recruit someone to play their instrument.  This 8th grader played the flute.  I guess I looked like someone who needed to play the flute. 

I was smitten with the lightweight - but solid - shiny instrument. I loved how I could create sound and shape tones with my breath, lips, and fingers. Soon, I had my own flute, no more rentals.    I took lessons and even went to band camp.  But I never practiced.  When the music became harder, I did not improve. I quit and sold my flute.    

For some reason, I asked my parents for a flute as a college graduation present.  Life got in the way, of course, and I did not open the case for several decades.  But when I retired, I signed up for lessons, picked up the flute and found the same joy I felt when I had picked it up for the first time.  This time I am practicing.    The process is:  Sound terrible, practice, improve and repeat.  I cannot stay away from my music and muse for long.   I get into a rhythm and my fingers fly, almost solo.  I am transported to a narrow slice of the world, free of worry, fear, and fatigue.