One of my goals since the cancer, surgery, then the other surgery series of events, was to find as much of my happy as possible. I made mental lists; learn how to use my pressure cooker and use it, go to concerts, learn guitar, read more, listen to music more, get back to knitting and crochet, and the big big one is to go to Paris. Some of these are easier than others and the ones that may seem easy aren't as easy as I thought originally. Pressure cooker, done. Music, done. Reading, semi done. I have about three books going at the same time and none too soon to be completed; movies, television shows, rabbits, sleep, food, bathroom visits, doctor's visits, telephone calls and my body have interrupted my reading goal. Knitting and crochet were picked up and then dropped. I did go to one concert last night, with my intrepid and daring Mother. The experience was less and more than what I had hoped, or planned.
Let's start with how cool is my Mom? She braved the heat, the insolence of 20,000 assholes that showed up mostly late for a $5 concert in the park and she did it with a smile, curiosity and all for MY HAPPINESS. I started out the evening crying, just a bit (come on, my 61 year old Mom was going to a hot outdoor concert to sit on the hard ground with her arthritis to hear a band she had only heard of cuz I played them while we went to my chemo appointments, risk dehydration all because my friends have lives and don't like the same music as me.) The band playing was Band of Horses and I have loved them for quite a while. How can you beat going to see someone you actually like for $5 when Fiona Apple tickets are $45 for a show just next week? Concerts are different and people are different from when I frequented them, oh say ten years ago. I know this sounds like a "Kids these days" rant, and it just may be. 20 and 30 year olds at this thing wouldn't look you in the eye. They were rude, pushy and ALWAYS, and I mean ALWAYS on their phones. They didn't even seem to be there for a concert. Beer, food and showing off their asses (I mean asses, I saw more than a handfull of lady parts) as the hoardes walked by me. No one sat still to just absorb the show. I had so many humans rushing past me, stepping on my shoes (that one and only guy did say sorry) the others bumped or actually jumped over my Mother as she was lying on the ground. Yes, three prick males actually jumped over my Mother's head as she was lying on her back, I of course in protective angry mode yelled out "WHAT THE FUCK?" and they just kept on, being stupid, rude and oblivious. One insidiously dickish guy jumped over us with his skateboard in hand almost hitting my Mom behind me. I said right to his face, much to his astonishment "REALLY?"
I know my temperament might have been affected by the heat and my kidneys, but I was the ONLY one in our area singing, clapping and swaying to the music. I was the only one looking at the stage. I may have been the only one aware of the name of the songs playing or the words being sung. There seems to be this disconnect, and I can't connect to the gap to define it. What I can connect with is how much I love my Mom and how grateful I am for every moment that I have with her. I can connect with how much my family wants to protect me from even the little harms life incurs. I did get to connect with the music, for a few moments, while I closed my eyes and swayed, singing loud like no one else could hear me.