I have taken the Ambassador coronet in it's case out of the closet. The brass and lacquer is a bit worn. My lip is not what it once was and perhaps I won't be able to share. To chase the mood I can think of the poem "In Flander's Fields." If you think I harbor animosity I can park a 1966, 1967 and 1969 Ducati on your lawn. (all Italian) To give more room I can park a 1973 Toyota Corolla 5 speed coupe.(Japanese) Then as a miracle the BMW 530i with L-Jetronics rests carefully. The cadence of the VFW and American Legion then seems very far away rattling the valleys of Kosovo and Bosnia. Now the first strains of a song played without valves on a coronet appear. Simplified from the "Flight of the Bumblebee" and the "Stars and Stripes Forever" they echo over the landscape before the armed men at ease with their rifles. The warble of a turbo-charged Indy Buick V-6 tempts me to flirt a bit with the high notes. Even after the brick yard was flushed by gasoline and the thump of Lotus and Lola hitting the wall has died, the unknown racket cannot deepen the brass. B-flat or b square.