The last time I played a show an hour away I was seven years younger. I’ve always been pretty open about my age, and I readily admit I’m a speed limit at the moment. A very boring speed limit. You know. That one I have to travel on the freeway on my way home in the construction zones even though there’s not any construction going on when I’m on the road.
But hey, I won’t grumble. About being 55 years old, that is. I think I’ll grumble a lot about having to drive 55 when there’s no need at all.
grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble grumble
Okay, I’m done now.
But anyway, moving on with this pattyramble™, I am finding that in so many ways I’m doing better on this job than I did in the past. Part of it is the ability to deal with the negative voices in a more healthy way. Part of it is my walking. Some has to do with losing my mother and getting close to losing my husband’s: that sort of puts things into perspective for me. I’m also working with a really great bunch of musicians (but man do I feel old sitting next to the traveling guys! (They are as young as my own kids.)
But part of it, too, has to do with an oboe that is in good working condition. Last time I did this, my oboe wasn’t adjusted properly, but I blamed myself and my reeds the entire time, never really thinking I might have an oboe issue.
That’s not to say I won’t sometimes have issues with the attack of the first note of a major solo … the “set up” for it just makes it more frightening than it should be. But I at least trust my oboe. I trust my reeds. And I trust I won’t die if I make a mistake or two.
Who knew?
But, getting to a good point (if there’s one) of this silly post: it’s always a good idea to get your oboe checked out by a decent repair person on occasion. Trust me.
