While my stomach continued to give me grief last night, the concert went just fine. Three high schools got together for the concert; each did their own works and then they combined for three numbers, and each high school director took a turn conducting the larger group. The choirs sounded great, and there was a sophomore French hornist who really impressed me. I had a blast playing, as I always do; I love playing solo oboe with a choir. I love enthusiastic high school students, too, and these kids all fit that description.

Prior to the performance a parent came up to chat with me, as he’d heard me rehearse with the choir earlier. He asked what I did and where I played and so we talked for a time about my work. (He has two children who are interested in music.) He mentioned that he and his wife used to go to the San Jose Symphony (RIP) Pops Concerts and how great they were. He went on to say he could do without all that other stuff we played, mentioning, too, that his wife always fell asleep during those concerts. Sigh.

This is what we are up against. This is why I wrote my prostitution poem (yes, it’s safe for children to read). I’m not sure what the answer is. If there is an answer.