Those were the days

I was an oboist for decades. Mostly I am OK with losing that career but sometimes the sense of loss comes roaring back as it has today.

Yesterday a guy who works for me asked me what the heck an oboe looked like. He had a nickname he thought applied to the oboe (farting bedpost, but that’s what a bassoon is sometimes called) but wasn’t sure what one looked like. So I Googled an image for him, which came from this site.

I’m not sure why that particular website got to me. All I know is I miss playing, I miss making reeds, I miss all of it.

I started playing flute in 5th grade but changed schools for 6th grade. I wasn’t allowed to play flute that year (they had gobs of flute players) so I picked up the string bass that year. I despised everything about string bass—the size, the bow, the strings, heck even that music for it was written in ugly bass clef. In 7th grade, I changed schools again and thankfully returned to flute. But the flute section was huge (if I recall, we had seven) and half way through the year, our band teacher asked for flute or trumpet players who might be interested in switching to oboe to talk to him. I jumped at the chance and have never regretted it.

I think there’s something to the idea that instruments and personalities need to line up. I’d always been frustrated at being one of lots in the flute section, and that was also why I never liked string instruments. But there are never very many oboists so even mediocre ones are hard to find. I wasn’t mediocre though, I was pretty damn good and I loved it. I loved having lots of solos, I loved tuning the band or orchestra, I loved that I played one of the most difficult wind instruments around and I loved that I belonged to a fairly exclusive club.

I served in the Army as a musician, both active duty and in the Reserves. I also won performance scholarships for college even though I was not a music major—actually I was the only non-performance or music-related major to have a scholarship at the time. But I also got played to death.

The last year I played full time, I was in four ensembles including orchestra where I was the principal. We performed Carmen that year and I alternated between principal oboe and English horn for the performances. Carmen is a very long opera, like three hours, and our rehearsals were five hours a day. That was on top of my other ensembles plus the Reserve band gigs.

About halfway through the semester, I developed tendonitis in my right thumb but didn’t get treatment because of the heavy performance schedule. As the spring progressed, the tendonitis got worse and progressed across the back of my hand, up to my elbow and finally my shoulder. So I saw a physical therapist but at that point, I’d done significant damage to my hand. I couldn't even sign my name on a check.

I stopped playing and went through six months of PT but only got some of my hand strength back. After a full year of not playing, I briefly tried but all the symptoms returned in force. I had some wonderful Loree instruments but woodwinds don’t do well if not played, so I sold both the oboe and my amazing English horn that was built in 1910. I also gave away my reed making tools.

I haven’t played since 1992.

My hand is still not right and I guess it never will be. I have the crappiest handwriting now. I haven’t yet tried to learn to write with my left hand but that’s because I’m a fast typist and typing doesn’t hurt me. But I did have to learn to use a mouse left-handed because mousing right-handed brings everything back.

As I said, most days I’m fine where I am. But seeing that website just reminded me of so much I used to love and no longer have.

What have you lost?