In the cool of the morning--57F for the last day of August!--I took the son to the bus stop, then cooked the daughter and the spouse breakfast, and school began again. A new day, another chapter.
I am home now, but it was an interesting weekend all around, lovely in many, many ways.
What I love about travel, as well as the bits of life that go beyond the grocery store and shopping for children's underwear and shoes, is that it gives me stories. Some have a place in the larger scheme and some are just for me. They are food for contemplation and food for my heart. There are moments of kindness, of hilarity, of perfect accord.
I leapt, and flew to Columbus. I worried, but went anyway. I got--you guessed it!--the flying toilet paper roll fueled by a firecracker. I hate tiny airplanes (that's a story, but for later. And no, I don't like any airplane, but if I can't even stand up straight in the aisle...).
It's been a long road, but I got back on.
And there was a concert.
Three hours is not long enough. And I wonder...if I asked nicely, do you think they'd play "BU2B" for two hours?
There were so many moments when I got pure chills that broke into enormous goose bumps, among them "Workin' Them Angels," the aforementioned "BU2B," "Caravan," and "The Camera Eye." I had to laugh during "Far Cry" at the memory of the son pointing at me and mouthing, "That's you!" at the line "barking at strangers and speaking in tongues." Rotten child. Correct, of course, but even so.
When it ends, because of course three hours passes and it does end, a little voice in my head whispers, "maybe just one more?" Columbus was supposed to be my swan song this time round, and it was a small miracle that I managed it at all. But in the afterglow, I want more. And it doesn't help that I run into my buddy from Puerto Rico, PK, after the show, and he says, "What about Tulsa? What about Atlanta?"
And a little voice whispers, "Maybe."
(And the stern voice says, "How many miracles do you expect to pull off?")
PK and I sit and chat for hours, and suddenly it's 3 am, and I have to make a mad dash to the hotel to pack and check out. I am supposed to be at the airport at 5, the usual drill, so that I am home before lunch. I am oddly awake as I go through the motions of security and coffee and reading the morning paper.
When the plane takes off, the sky is just beginning to lighten in the east.
"Maybe," I whisper to the sleeping city below.
Go listen to some good music: "Detroit" from the EP Tragedy & Legacy by Black Gold. I'm not really sure what the song is about...something bad from the sound of it, but that one line always strikes me. Of course, I reversed it. And this is a happy post from a happy person. And as posts go, not an easy one to write. Concerts like this tend to hit me in such an emotional place that I find them very hard to talk about. As my son also likes to say, I am Spock, so emotional accessibility isn't necessarily my strong point. Though, I feel it alright. And cherish that.