Jill's Journal: A window's-wide-open kind of gal

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been relishing the recent cooler-than-normal temperatures. The unusually-mild summer weather has allowed me to shut off the air conditioner and open up the windows to let the good ol’ fresh air in.

With the windows open in recent weeks, I’ve heard the little dogs yip as the man who lives next door takes them on their daily jaunts. I’ve heard the big dogs bark in the neighborhood, too. I’ve listened to the roar of motorcycles, cars, trucks and even a siren or two. And it was just after midnight the other night that I heard the clack, clack, clack of a skateboarder zooming past my place on the sidewalk. There’s an occasional late-night conversation to be heard, and the train whistle blowing in the distance as it heads toward Corson.

Those are a few of the sounds that we all hear when our windows are wide open.

In recent weeks, I’ve been privy to a new sound, that of a saxophone. The musical notes are coming out of the apartment building next to mine. In the first few weeks, I heard the squeaks and squawks the young – I’m presuming young – musician was producing. As each day passed, the squeaks and squawks lessened and the melody became more fluent. So, I guess it’s fair to say the old adage “practice makes perfect” holds true.

The initial squeaks and squawks filtering out through the open window brought back memories of when I began to perfect my musical talents on the clarinet. Let’s just say that our family dog, Brownie, wasn’t overly impressed by this budding musician, and his occasional howls were his way of letting me know. 

I started with the easy tunes, mastering such hits as “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,” “Mary Had a Little Lamb” and “Pop Goes the Weasel.” Like the mystery musician I’ve been hearing lately, the squeaks and squawks I was producing became less and less and as the days and weeks passed turned into identifiable melodies.

Our next-door neighbor, Sally, was oftentimes the audience of my impromptu concerts. If Sally, a retired woman, happened to be sitting outside and I happened to spy her, she welcomed my performances whether she was in the market for a concert or not. And when relatives came to visit, they, too, were privy to my not-so-perfect serenades.

I still have my clarinet. It’s packed away in a closet and to be honest, I haven’t played it in years. I’ve tried to play it on occasion but all these years later I just don’t seem to have the same wind power that I once had. It’s certainly not like getting on a bike and churning the pedals after a 35-year absence, that’s for sure. While the notes and fingerings are still engrained in my brain, I surely won’t be putting the neighborhood through an impromptu concert anytime soon. 

An occasional siren, a cycle speeding by and sometimes, a young musician perfecting their craft are just a few of the sounds we all hear when our windows are wide open. Those are the familiar sounds of summer. And sometimes, they’re the familiar sounds that rekindle a memory or two.