This past week,
my beloved and I did something we haven’t done in more than a decade. We
attended a concert. We went to see Brad Paisley, with his guests Lee Brice and
Chris Young.
I purchased the
tickets several months ago, on a whim. And the tickets I got were for seats on
the floor, as opposed to arena seating.
First I need to
tell you that I had a really good time. I have music by all three of those
artists in my iTunes library. That was one of the reasons I wanted to go to this
event; for me it was like getting to see three favorites for the price of one.
All three performers put on a very good show. I was be-bopping and singing along
with everyone else there. We were fairly close to the stage, I thought. Then, at
one point, the stage hands pushed a button and the short catwalk became a long
catwalk and Brad Paisley walked right down and was singing about ten feet away
from where we were standing.
I knew, when I
bought the tickets, that I would likely need to be on my feet for most of the
three and a half hours the show was scheduled to take. As you know that isn’t
something I commit to do lightly. Having such severe arthritis
means that when I do things like this—stay on my feet for too long (not to
mention standing on wood that is temporarily shielding ice)—that I am going to
pay for it the next few days.
That is the
reality of my life, and I accepted it as so long ago. When there is something I
really want to do, then I do it and willingly accept the physical consequences
and pay that price.
My beloved was
not pleased, but only because he hates to see me in pain. I will admit, too,
that I had thought the “jumbotrons” would be placed high enough that we could at
least see them if we couldn’t see the stage. This was not the case. Neither were
easily visible from our positions on the floor.
The evening
started out good but quickly became stressful, until Mr. Ashbury understood that
my pleasure in the outing could not be diminished by only seeing the stage part
of the time, or having to be on my feet most of the time. There was in fact only
one thing that was powerful enough to make the evening less. And once he got
that and decided to have a good time too and not grumble at me about the seats
we had, then it was a great night. Poor man. He really was just peeved on my
behalf—even though I had warned him beforehand how the evening was going to go.
There is
something to be said for the raw energy of a live performance. Not just the
energy of the performers, but of the audience, too. I felt invigorated, not
exhausted. What a gift that was!
I did promise
my beloved that the next performance we attend at this venue will be in the
arena seats, and not on the floor. I’m not the only person whose legs are no
longer young.
At one point it
appeared as if Carrie Underwood was standing on stage, while she sang a duet
with Brad Paisley. It sure looked like she was there from where we were sitting.
It was only the next day that I got a clue her appearance had been
holographic.
Unknown to us
at the time, our oldest grandson was in the audience with his girlfriend—right
up at the edge of the V.I.P seating, very close to the stage. The next day he
texted and wanted to know if it was really true that his grandparents had
actually attended the same concert he had. So we chatted through text messaging
as we sometimes do, and I asked him if Carrie Underwood had actually been
there.
His answer made
me feel much better. He said that everyone in their area had thought so, too,
until there was a tiny technical problem with the hologram, right near the end.
It’s nice to
know I’m not as far out in left field as I sometimes think I am.
Next week,
these words will be coming to you from the great State of Texas. I’ll be leaving
on Tuesday for a ten day stay. I’m very excited, as I get to see not only my
wonderful publisher, but also some very good friends who are near and dear to my
heart.
Love,
Morgan
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