Once upon a time, long ago and far away, I took private trumpet lessons.
One time stands out. Painfully.
I flubbed the assigned music. My teacher sat in silence during my several halting attempts to start over. Not even coming to playing what was written, I slowly pulled my horn close to my chest as I folded my arms around it.
We both sat in silence, looking at the music on the stand in front of us.
He cleared his throat.
More silence.
Then I heard two words: “Practice much?”
That painful lesson comes back now and then.
And it usually has nothing to do with my trumpet.
See you back here tomorrow.
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