Oboe-ing in Rural France

I haven't entirely abandoned my trusty little oboe. I'm so glad it's so portable! There was plenty of room in my carry-on bag for other stuff next to my little oboe case. I wish I could have taken a picture of the security guy's face when he paused the conveyor belt to scrutinize the x-ray image of my hand luggage inside the machine. His eyes got more and more scrunched up and finally he put his hand over his brow, leaned on the screen, and looked at my bag intently. I wanted to speak up and say it was just an oboe, but I thought better of it.

I've realized that I love a lot of things whose origin is (as far as I know) French. Crêpes, croissants, and opera gateau. Ballet. Oboes. The French language. Lots of great saints. Gothic cathedrals. My husband. Maybe I had a past life in France or something! :)

Practiced in our cozy country home with the windows open and a breeze blowing in from the fields, while my kids and their cousins were clomping up and down the wooden stairs and raucously practicing a play my daughter had written, partly in French. It was a brief practice session, especially because I really don't feel comfortable playing when other people are around. 'Twas in the Moon of Wintertime (a.k.a. the Huron Carol), in honor of René and his fellow-Jesuit missionaries. The opening passage of Swan Lake. Scales. Gabriel's Oboe. Some exercises from the method book. They are getting easier, but it's tought to practice consistently on vacation!

We're off to Paris tomorrow for a couple of days. Not sure if I'll be able to keep writing, but I have no doubt I'll be hungering to catch up either from there or when we get back. If anyone has suggestions for where we should go to eat, let me know!