Days to remember

I gotta golden ticket

July 10, 2012

How to begin?  Hmm, let's see.  Last night I attended the third-in-my-lifetime James Taylor concert, as I have mentioned in earlier posts.  I waited patiently for the shout-out I requested, but James is a subtle, quiet man.  He would never call me out intentionally; he knew I would probably be too overwhelmed to respond, so, he sent me a message through his set list instead.  In my previous blog, the one where I was so hot I thought I had descended for a moment, I alluded to the lyrics of the songs Secret O' Life and Your Smiling Face.  Well, it just so happened he sang those two songs back to back, with practically no break in between. Coincidence?  I think not.

After the concert, which was fantastic and included a surreal, unscripted passing of a steamship up the river behind the stage, he stayed and signed stuff.  All sorts of stuff.  He was a very gracious host.  At first the security guard would not let us metal-bleacher-seat-sitters up to the stage, but they eventually relented.  I moved forward and stood there awhile just trying to get a decent picture (I had nothing to be signed), but then he pointed down and motioned he was moving off, stage left, to the floor (to see me).  Naturally he came out right near where I was standing.

My oldest friend and travelling partner remembered we had ticket stubs so I grabbed one and shoved my camera into her hands so she could snap a picture of us together, just as I knew it was to be.  Unfortunately my camera had other ideas because it was tired of all the work it had done the previous two hours, and insisted on acting like a spoiled, weary child.  When my turn came I handed him my ticket.  He did not look up, so as to not reveal our little secret, but he did sign it and give it back to me.  We had an exchange.  Not a conversation or a picture, but no less impressive to an old fan as myself.  His signature is upside-down on my ticket, another nod (I am certain) to his set list shout-out.

No, I do not need psychiatric help.  I am just fine.

That was last night.  Today we went to Stan Hywet Hall, the estate built by F.A. Seiberling, founder of The Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company.  We visited there last year and almost lost our senses from the heat, so this time we just went to their butterfly exhibit and skipped through the gardens just a bit.  Well, I can't say I actually skipped, but I did stroll and pretended I owned the place. Again, no psychiatrists needed, thank you.

In an effort to keep the gardens-only folk from mixing with the full tour folk the management makes you put on a neon green bracelet, like one you might wear at an amusement park.  As soon as we made it back to the car my prone-to-claustrophobia self hastened in ripping it from my sweaty wrist.  That was when I noticed the 7-10-12 written in black Sharpie over the neon green.  It took me by surprise because I realized at that moment, that until that moment, I had forgotten my mother passed away one year ago this very day.  

I knew the anniversary was near, but in the busyness of the day and the excitement of the night before I simply forgot. But there it was before me in black and neon green, 7-10-12. Was I overcome with sadness? Please do not think me cold-hearted if I say I was not. I wasn't sad because I knew I was doing exactly what my mother would want me to be doing. I was having fun with my friend. She's the one who taught me to do the very thing I am doing this week, afterall. See, she also had an oldest friend and travelling partner who lived away, and she always made an effort to keep their friendship going as well. This ableness to appreciate the time I spend with my friends is maybe my most valuable inheritance. Her gift to me. It would be more grievous to her memory, in my opinion, to spend the day sad and forlorn instead of enjoying it with my friend, as she would have done at every opportunity.

The rest of the day involved Pad Thai, craft supplies and souvenir plates from a secondhand (read: junk) store, and a suprisingly enjoyable movie. As my fortune today said,