French Horns and Letter-Writing

I've been on somewhat of a French horn kick lately. Someone once told me that the French horn could produce the most beautiful sound of any instrument, and I heartily disagreed (I'm not sure what I offered as a counter-example). But that may have been because, at the time, I was in high school, and therefore only knew high school French horn players. In any case, I've come to realize the true merits of that gorgeous sound - and lately, I go all to pieces listening to any song with a pretty horn part.

I blame:
(a) Adrienne
(b) John and Jared playing "You Can Call Me Al"
(c) The Mormon Tabernacle Choir

No, truthfully, I'm not sure what it is. There's more to it than that. Perhaps partly owing to the fact that a good brass section has the power to make me feel like my soul's been turned inside out and upside down, in a good way. Perhaps...well.

I do love the MTC's Christmas album, though, even if every single song is overly dramatic to the max. It's sort of fun that way. My nominations for the top two best Christmas albums of all time, though, are Vince Guaraldi (the soundtrack to the Charlie Brown Christmas special) and the Robert Shaw Chorale (I think it's called The Many Moods of Christmas). Manhattan Transfer and Boston Pops get honorable mention.


Around this time, I always think of the last time I saw Jill, four years ago. Jill was my first piano teacher, when I was six years old and she was in high school. Now she's married and in the Air Force, though I'm fairly certain she doesn't fly anymore for medical reasons. In any case, here's someone who had a profound impact on my life - the first person to nurture my musical potential - and we've completely lost touch. And with the rest of my teachers, it's the same story - Mrs. Thon, the incredibly sweet (and small) Japanese woman who taught me piano from age seven through high school; Stephanie, my influential first sax teacher whom I absolutely worshipped; and even Chris, my last sax teacher, who pushed me musically more than anyone else before him. Haven't talked to any of them in years. That's depressing. Then I think of someone like Mike, one of my two closest childhood friends - we only talk when we happen to be at church together. I know we still have a lot in common; the issue isn't that we don't enjoy each other's company.

And here I am again, putting off writing a letter to my penpal in Norway, to whom I haven't written in over a year. Why am I so miserable at staying in touch? Are all of my relationships destined to be dependent on proximity? I know my mom has the same problem; we were talking about it just the other day. It's sort of a terrifying thought, especially knowing that after college, my friends and I might end up scattered across the globe.

One of the goals on my "wants" list this semester (more about that later) was "to master the art of letter-writing." Looks like I'd better get going.