The Big Spoon called me today to return the book of sheet music Jen and I had given him prior to the wedding in hopes that he'd be able to work out some of the songs on guitar and play them at the ceremony. He didn't have the time (which was perfectly fine), and he just now got around to giving the book of songs back to me.
We ate lunch together and, after he left, I retreated to my office, opened the book of music, and attempted to see how much my sight reading skills had diminished since last I picked up Ye Olde Trumpete. I put the cd into my computer, looked for the fastest, most difficult song in the book, hit play, and hoped I'd be able to follow along with trumpet fingerings in my brain as the music played.
But I never got the chance. As the music sped forward, I realized that my eyesight has deteriorated to the point where I can no longer distinguish which notes are on the line and which are in the spaces. And I can't tell if a marking is a sharp or just an accidental.
This means I can't play the trumpet anymore. I'm only 29 and I already have to acquiesce to old age.
It's not devastating. I don't play music professionally. in fact, I've only busted out Ye Olde Trumpete a few times since I played in college, and I sound more and more like a dying cow each time. But it certainly is a sad thing to learn that what was once such an integral part of my life will never be again, no matter how much I want it to, unless I get new eyeballs or spontaneously learn how to play free form jazz.