So I at least KNOW where my clarinet is.
The last time I got it out, I squawked and then I squawked some more. But I can remember the fingerings, or at least I think I do. I might even be able to play a chromatic scale if I just let my fingers go and don’t think too much.
I can at least take it down from the shelf in the closet in my grandson’s bedroom . . . OK, so now it’s down and much more accessible.