I’ve decided I am an emotional person.
Ok, I’ve known it all along. But lately I seem to have trouble keeping the tears from filling my eyes. Last night, they didn’t fall, but I had a lump in my throat all evening.
We went to see Chicago, a band I fell in love with in college in the early 70’s. I was prepared to be disappointed. Last month we heard another “oldie” in concert, and unfortunately she had lost her voice and her enthusiasm for performing.
The evening started under gray, cloudy skies that opened up as we stood in line for 30 minutes. Our paper bag (dumb idea) melted as David tried to juggle our sandwiches, chips, and wine, the picnic we had planned to eat outdoors at Wolf Trap before the concert. By the time we were able to enter the gates, we were soaked. Luckily we found a bench to spread our mostly wet towel on.
I was seconds away from saying, “let’s go home,” when the sun came out. We stayed, and I’m so glad I did.
From the minute the horns started, I could feel myself awash in memories. Of college. Of boyfriends. Of broken hearts and best friends. Music does that to me. The tears didn’t fall, but watching these guys in their 60’s blast fabulous music made me feel a little younger– and appreciative that they are still giving it their all.
It made me believe I can too.