Snow! ...and, oboe news!

The first blizzard of the season is upon us! Powdery snow has been falling briskly since midday. I watched from the hospital windows as the world whitened outside through curtains of flakes. I felt like a child again enjoying the beauty of it, but I also had the dread of an adult who foresees a long commute home. Garrison Keillor kept me company for the two hours that it took for me to reach my house. My husband met me in the driveway with, "I'm so happy you're home! My mom and I were praying for you." I think perhaps the most meaningful thing about prayer is it's an act of love, and that love does make a difference.

***

Speaking of a husband's love, yesterday my husband met up with Kyoko to buy me my very own oboe for Christmas! They went to the workshop of a clarinet and oboe repair master and picked out a Buffet Crampon Green Line oboe for me. He told me later they were both looking forward to how excited I would be. I could barely "keep it together" while I opened the box under (or I guess I should say beside) our little tree. Here it is (soprano angel choir and celestial ray of light, please):

As we turned out the light to go to sleep last night I asked, "Do you think it's a boy or a girl?"

"What?" murmured my husband.

"My new oboe. Boy or girl? I have to pick a name."

"You're gonna name your oboe?"

"Um, ya-ah. Abby and Adam named their violins. Lots of people name their instruments." Of course, lots of people don't, either, and I suppose it takes a certain childlike spirit and freedom of disdain to be this corny, but I plead guilty.

"I think she's a girl," I continued. "My rental's a boy, though."

"How do you know?"

"I just know." He felt like a buddy, comfortable to be with in pajamas and slippers, but the new one like a galpal who would let me know if something I was wearing was crooked, unflattering, or just plain wrong. An honest companion, much less the let-little-flaws-slide-by type, like my trusty rental.

"Did you name your rental?"

"No," I answered guiltily.

"Why not?!" asked my husband, momentarily animated.

"Well, it's a rental, and..."

"You didn't give it a name because it's a rental?! Isn't that discrimination?" The civil rights advocate in him was enjoying this, I could tell.

"Well, naming means attachment, and relationship, and rentals get given back..."

"I see. Poor little oboe."

I muttered something decidedly unimaginative in reply, then thanked my husband for going to the instrument dealer's place with Kyoko, and for helping make my little dreams happen.

"It's really all your hard work," he said. "I get the fun part - being along for the ride."

***

Tonight I practiced with the new arrival for the first time. She's gonna be a tough taskmaster! I felt like I was starting all over again. All my stumbling blocks from my earliest days - squeaking into certain keys, squawking when descending to lower registers, grace notes a-plenty - came back to haunt me. No hiding or glossing-over with her! She's got a nice tone up high, though, I have to say. I like her sound.

We'll see about this naming thing...

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Paul Levy's wife, who sings with the Tanglewood Festival Chorus, has written a captivating post on his blog describing how the Boston Pops Christmas concert went on anyway despite the big snow storm. Click here for a little holiday warmth.