Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Wednesday's Words, by Morgan Ashbury

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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