One Perfect Day

Loads of years ago, I read a book that changed the way I perceive time.  It's called Receiving the Day by Dorothy C. Bass.  It's the only book I've read with a highlighter as an adult.  It taught me to think of every day intentionally as a gift.  Bass speaks about the ordered rhythms of each day and how to tune in and really live in each moment.

Here's the part that really profoundly changed how I think about how I want to live my life--it has to do with the Hebrew concept of what is a "day" ... beginning in the evening:

The first part of the day passes in darkness, then, but not in inactivity.  God is out growing the crops even before the farmer is up and knitting together the wound before the clinic opens.  When farmer and physician awake, they will join in, contributing mightily, but only because grace came first.  Likewise, God has been working on and in them, body and mind, while they slept; yesterday's bruises and slights have begun to heal.  Entered this way, morning is new, worth being grateful for even before we have put our human touches on it.

When you think about the day beginning in evening, when you're more apt to slow down and eventually quiet down altogether in sleep, it changes how you see everything.  You realize that waking and working is not the first order of activity and it puts business (busy-ness) in perspective.  It places realtionships, gratitude and grace at the forefront.  It allows renewal in relaxation and rest to be the catalyst for the day rather than the often frantic beginning of days that get started with alarm clocks and racing: to work, to get children to school, to complete too many errands in too short a time.

I feel I've rarely been successful at living this practice--this way of thinking.  I think about it a lot but mostly fail to actually live this way, much as I might yearn to.  Sometimes I consciously try and do succeed, and once in a while, a day will naturally flow from evening to evening and I realize again the wisdom in this rhythm.

I had just such a day last week.  In Boston to visit my daughter, we had an amazing dinner at the first restaurant she worked in while still in school.  It's called Via Matta, a lovely Italian restaurant in the Back Bay.  It's one of several of the restaurants owned by Chef Michael Schlow.  She's currently working between two of his other places, Tico and Barrio Cantina.  There were four us at dinner and we opted for the tasting menu.  The chef prepared many courses of tastes of what he thought we'd enjoy.  We ate magnificent food for what seemed like hours with wine and spirits to go with each course.  The conversation centered mainly on food with my younger foodie companions--pure appreciation for the gifts of these ingredients and the talent that created every plate (thank you Chef Leo!)  My daughter and her friends all work in high-end hospitality venues, restaurants and hotel, and they have a lot of knowledge and appreciation for food that's done well.  It was a meal I'll not soon forget--lovely food and lovelier company.  A relatively simple pleasure elevated ....

The following day at the suggestion of my daughter's friend, I made my way to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in the Fenway neighborhood of Boston.  This incredible building is the realization of a dream of one woman with a stupendous art collection and a desire to share it with the world.  It's impossible to describe the perfection of the combination of architecture and objects that culminate in this place.  Mrs. Gardner brought back so many treasures and works of art from her world travels that only this 3-story palazzo could house them.  At the heart of the space is a courtyard.  When I entered the first floor and stood in the courtyard, I recognized immediately that this would be a memorable afternoon and the beauty of the place would fill my mind for a long time to come.  I'm not a poet or a writer so I'll never find the right words to describe or properly explain the absolutely visceral reaction I had as I explored each succeeding space.  Never before have I been moved to tears by a place.

Mrs. Gardner focused her collecting on those objects and artifacts that fired her imagination, eventually collecting over 25,000 paintings, sculptures, objects d'art, furnishings and textiles.  She arranged them in three floors of gallery spaces in "installations" that were pleasing to her and make utterly perfect sense.  They could not be anywhere but where she placed each one.  Most of the galleries open onto the courtyard, affording a constantly changing perspective of the art-filled garden space.  In the changing light of day, it is its own artwork.

Much of the art found in the museum is religious in nature and from the Renaissance.  But there are pieces from ancient Egypt and others from the 20th century, particularly Impressionist works.  Isabella Stewart Gardner was a patron of John Singer Sargent and portraits he painted of her are hung among the carefully thought out rooms.

I hope everyone who visits Boston has a chance to see this awe-inspiring place at least once.  I can't wait to return.  It was the most spiritual experience I've ever had in a man-made (woman-made) place and yes, I've been to lots of religious spaces and places, including the Vatican.  I think it was because the spirit and generous nature of Isabella Steward Gardner still lives throughout the building, because you can feel how much she wants you to appreciate and understand the messages, cultures and history represented by the objects she collected.

It was 24 hours of grace and appreciation that I will not soon forget.  The sensory joy I experienced that day, evening to evening, was beyond anything I'd planned or could have imagined.  

Concert Diaries Chapter Nine ~ Oh Hell No ...

Am I tired of this setlist yet?

Oh hell no!

Am I tired of any of the setlists for this tour?

Oh hell no!

Okay, well maybe a little Script goes a long way for me ... I definitely would have preferred seeing Michael Franti at every performance rather than The Script.

If it's Saturday, it must be Boston, or what Ticketmaster calls Boston in order to make people believe they're going to a concert in Boston.  I fell for it.  But no, (oh hell no?), make that over an hour south of Boston in the woods of Mansfield. The Comcast Center.  Loud Chick had issues with getting us out of the city so we had a scenic tour of Roxbury and definitely a most circuitous route to spice up our ride.

My daughter lives just outside of Boston and I'm on vacation this week to visit her.  We're off to the Mermaids of Alcatraz tour tonight because as her mother, I feel duty-bound to expose her to my impeccable taste in music.  I meant that as a joke but as I think about it, it's pretty true.  She's seen a lot of Broadway, had piano and flute lessons, sang for years with the Girls' Choir at St. Peter's and had some fantastic performance and touring opportunities with that group.  She marched in her high school marching band and played concert band as well so she's been exposed to a wide range music from Bach to Bruce, from Gilbert and Sullivan to Aida performed live amongst ruins in Rome and to her favorite classic rock bands like Pink Floyd and my favorite whom we will see tonight (my twelfth time, her second).  It's Gavin DeGraw time, once again.

We're pretty far back but this venue has a very nice incline to it so the sight lines are okay.  They're okay for someone who can see.  My eyesight is in the middle-aged not-so-great stage.  But that's okay, somehow I'm able to focus just fine when those first chords strike and the guys in the band (I can't call them boys like he does--they're all grown men and one is older than him) take the stage.  Gavin had posted earlier in tweets and vines that he was on vocal rest for a horribly sore throat.  I wondered earlier if he would have to cancel his scheduled meet and greets in order to stay rested.  Like the true professional he is, however, he made those fans happy by keeping the appointments, although, according to one friend's tweet, he whispered his way through them. 

You would not have known he was under the weather from the performance he gave last night.  Yes, the same set list as I'd heard twice this summer already but I cannot grow tired of it.  Oh hell no.  It is a joy to watch him perform in person, moving easily through the crowd and gaining many fans, I'm sure, with every song he sings.  The people around us are fans too so there are no issues this time with standing and singing.  Thank goodness--it was a beautiful night and I needed to be on my feet.  The couple in front of us were on their feet too--but they were not too steady.  I'm not sure what it is but both Boston-area concerts we've been to, we've had to deal with drunken people in front of us.  Both of us found this person rather amusing but her loud screams were pretty wearing on the nerves after a while.

Since I'd missed the first few songs from The Script on Tuesday night, I made sure I was in my seat for the start of their set.  It started with an animated opening projected on screens much like the opening of Train's set on opening night.  It was hard to hear but I imagine if you were a Script fan and knew their music, it made sense.  To me it looked like an eye test but I'm sure it had something to do with the album title, Science and Faith.  They are a band with a lot of energy and there are a couple of songs that I do truly enjoy.  I find though, that their songs all sound somewhat alike and one song in particular, which is apparently a huge hit judging from the crowd reaction, really grates on my nerves.  They also chugged beer on stage and used a fair amount of the "f" word.  Since this tour has attracted so many families (lots of families enjoy Train together), I thought that they should have been more cognizant of who was in the audience.  There were a fair number of children and they had to have known that.  Language doesn't bother me at all; I'm just saying I think a band that is so revered by teens and preteens ought not to be glorifying drinking to excess with cursing.  "If you're not fucking drunk, you're not fucking drinking enough," was the line that really bothered me.  This is not to say I didn't enjoy them; they were okay.

The set change for Train took a while as I knew it would.  The couple in front of us were enjoying themselves enormously even screaming for the recorded music that plays between sets.  We could tell that some of the people around us were getting more than a little annoyed. 


Finally, the San Francisco fog began to blow across the stage, the whistle bellowed and Train began their show.  I have to admit having now seen them three times this summer:  they've got me.  I'm a fan.  The music is easy to understand even with all the complicated words in some of the lyrics.  You can't help but get involved.  Pat Monahan is a generous performer taking photos of himself with the cameras of fans while singing, pitching t-shirts into the audience and walking out into the crowd to sing "Marry Me."  Marry Me makes me sad every time I hear it.  Every couple in the crowd becomes obviously "coupled" and it has the effect of making a single person feel quite alone--at least this single person.  Tonight, a couple in the front row became engaged while Pat was singing "Mary Me." 


I want to tweet to Pat Monahan.  When you go to the same concert a few times you hear the same "banter" over and over.  Out on Long Island on Tuesday he told the New York crowd that he expected big participation on the song, Save Me San Francisco, because New York invented the term "Oh hell no," which is part of the lyric.  At the time I thought that was kind of neat, recognizing the tough New Yorker crowd.  Except that Saturday night he's said the same thing to the Boston folks.  I expect if I'd made it to the Sunday show in New Jersey, I'd have heard that New Jersey invented "oh hell no."  So who came up with that phrase?  Don't ask Pat ... he's not sure ...

At some point someone must have complained about the loud gyrating woman and her husband because some venue security came and escorted them away. We felt kind of bad for them--they weren't as bad as the guy in front of us last year--but after they left I had a really clear shot of the stage so I was able to take a lot of pictures.

Pat came out for the encore performances with a Boston t-shirt on.  It's clear that people are still very much tuned in to the Marathon tragedy which is completely understandable.  An event of that magnitude will hover just below the surface of the consciousness of a community for a long time--maybe forever.  I can't see the New York skyline without thinking of September 11--every single time.  The crowd appreciated Pat's gesture.  After singing Drops of Jupiter, the song he wrote following his mom's death, he asks Ashley Monroe, Gavin and Danny to join him for The Weight again.  Gavin was wearing a grey sweater over a yellow shirt.  At first I thought the sweater was due to his not feeling well but he unzipped it to reveal a Boston Strong t-shirt with the now familiar blue and yellow logo.  There was a huge roar of appreciation for him.

I wish I could tell if my daughter really enjoys these forays into my music world or if she's just indulging her mom.  We bought Gavin and Train shirts tonight (for both of us).  I think that's a good sign.  She wouldn't wear a shirt she didn't like.  We've seen Bruce together--it was easy to tell she was excited to be there.  (Although, I fail to see how anyone could not be excited at a Springsteen show.  It's an event unto itself.)  I can't expect everyone I love to be the die-hard Gavin DeGraw fan that I've become.  Can I?  Oh hell no.  Except that I do...

~

Post script ... Sunday night found me hanging with family instead of at the concert in Holmdel.  Some things take precedence. 

Concert Diaries Chapter Eight ~ Jones Beach

Yesterday, July 22, marked one year since seeing Gavin DeGraw in concert for the first time.  It was an odd little outdoor venue in a place called Big Flats.  I went alone on the 4-hour drive to the panhandle of New York State.  I don't mind doing things alone.  If I didn't, I'd never go anywhere; when you're single, you learn to go out alone.  It was also the first time I sat in the rain for this guy.

The following day I got up early drove home, picked up a friend and went to Gavin's concert at Rye Playland, just outside of New York City.  You know the place--it was the setting for some of the scenes in the Tom Hanks film, Big.  Remember the creepy fortune teller machine?  Yeah, there.  It's also the scene of the first time I met and spoke to Gavin.  It was the second time I sat in the rain.  A year ago today.

Since then I've been to 8 additional shows (one of those was in rain ...) and chatted with him on other occasions.

Tonight I'm in Jones Beach on Long Island (New York).  Rain is predicted and the sky was grey when I woke up.  I just know I'm getting wet tonight.  At least it's 86 degrees. I have a meet and greet tonight.  That's a paid-for (in this case) opportunity to meet the artist and say hello.  This time it also comes with "stuff" (t-shirt, poster, other miscellaneous things that I'm far too old to care about).  I just want to tell him thanks for changing my life and that the new music is amazing.  Because, as you know, he changed my life ... restoring health, hope and joy where there had been a sort of steadfast lethargy and general sense that this was all there was.

Jones Beach at low tide with Nikon Theater
under blue skies.  Gavin DeGraw under the stars and
not one drop of rain.

I'm always worried about driving in New York.  Even with my ever-present Loud Chick (GPS), I still make mistakes, the exits come up so quickly there and the construction and rearrangement of roads is continual.  So I left really early.  And made record time.  No traffic.  No driving snafus.  So I find myself in a near-empty parking lot three hours before the venue gates open.  Having thought this place was in a beach town (like New Jersey beaches) I'd thought I'd get lunch and hang out for a bit.  But Jones Beach is a public park with a concession stand.  And there's no where to go.  Diet coke on the beach it is then.  And The Script is sound checking over in the arena so it's not all bad.  And Gavin is making "vines" and generally entertaining people.  In other words, I found ways to fritter away that time.  And I got some sun.

At 5:00 I got into line for the meet and greet.  It was early but there were already folks there.  We had fun chatting together while we waited for "his people" to come collect us.  I met Hayley from the "message board."  She lives in Australia and this is her first trip to the U.S.  I knew from the board she was coming to the concert but didn't expect to run into her in the massive crowd.  There was another family waiting who had come from Israel.  There weren't all that many of us altogether.  A lovely young lady (I want her job) came for us around 6:00 and back to the buses we went.  Gavin's parents were standing backstage with a group of people who I presume were family or friends.  Since he's from upstate New York it's not surprising that they'd make the drive to Long Island.  His new tour manager was there to keep things moving along and someone else was taking pictures with each person's own camera.  (This is much nicer than waiting for a radio station to upload their pictures which is often how these things go when the meet and greet is being sponsored.)

I love Gavin--he's such a pro. I'm not sure he remembered me but he acted as if he did.  We talked about the tour and the new music.  He autographed my copy of Sweeter.  His "people" took several pictures of us chatting.  I didn't get to say all that I wanted because the "people" really kept an eye on the clock. Besides, I'd need a half hour in an empty Starbucks with him to really thank him for rescuing me.

My seats were only okay.  Despite getting on line the minute tickets became available, I don't have great seats at any of these shows.  That's a discussion--or a rant--for another time.  But my new camera is wonderful and the lens brings the far-away stage closer and in focus.  Of course, the user isn't steady or proficient so the pictures and video still leave a lot to be desired, as I found out afterwards.  Something to work on ...

Since Gavin is the opener, people are still arriving and it's still light out when he starts.  I want to stand up so badly but I'm there alone with no one to be my reinforcement and there are really old people behind me who asked if I was going to stand the entire time.  Why, of course, I wanted to say.  I'll be dancing too.  And singing ... but not loudly.  But I didn't.  I dutifully slunk into my seat where I could not contain my bouncing.  Finally about half way through when he sang Chariot, a song everyone recognized, people got to their feet.  Liberated from the chair, I felt much better.  And I'm sorry to say old people ... you're going to have to stand up too ... 'cause this is the way it's going to go all night.  He moved throughout the audience, winning over The Script and Train fans and left everyone wanting more.  I think we call that Mission Accomplished.

During the swap out of band equipment, I visited the concourse where I ran into Hayley who was elated at having had the meet and greet and wonderful performance.  We were excitedly comparing impressions and shoving not-completely-awful venue food into our mouths.  She suffers from the same thing many of us do:  an inability to eat on concert day.  We visited the "merch" table together but small sizes of everything were already sold out.  (Side note:  size small in tour t-shirts is now too big for me; I need XS.  Mind blowing to me still.)

The Script started while Hayley and I were hanging out but we didn't care.  We'd gotten what we came for.  Eventually though, we went back to our seats.  Danny of The Script is a really good singer and emotional but in a different way from Gavin. The crowd was thrilled.  It was clear there were a lot of Script fans in the stadium which was now packed (the show had sold out--no upgrades).  Actually, one of my Girl Scouts, a huge Script fan, was sitting in an upper deck with her mom--a birthday present from her parents and her first concert ever.  After their performance I texted them, "Is she okay or do I need to come up there and do a little CPR ..."  She's been beyond excited for weeks now.  The reply:  All she can say is "Oh my god.  Oh my god."

The change of equipment takes longer for Train so the second intermission is kind of long.  I'm anticipating that 6-minute animated introduction that you can now find on YouTube which I found so unnecessary in Virginia Beach but am happily surprised when the train whistle blows, the set chugs itself forward and the lights turn up on Pat Monahan.  All are on their feet again.  There is no "new" music since this album--California 37--has been out for well over a year.  They perform many songs from it and lots of prior hits, probably getting around to everyone's favorites.  The highlight of the Train set for me is Pat's duet with country singer Ashley Monroe:  Bruises.  Following that song she sings one of her own and tonight she keeps Pat onstage to sing Weed Instead of Roses--a really truthful song about a marriage in a rut.  Perhaps I like it so much because I recognize the subject matter and am acutely aware of how devastating ruts can be to a marriage.  But for the umpteenth time, I wonder how one so young, who is just engaged herself, can be so cognizant of old married pitfalls.  Songwriters have keen powers of observation.

At the third show on this tour, in Toronto, a special encore was added.  Pat invites Gavin, Ashley Monroe and Danny to come back out and they all perform The Weight by The Band.  It's clear from all the videos already online from performances in Toronto, Cleveland and Indianapolis that they love closing the show this way.  I cannot help but notice on these videos that the roar from the crowd when Gavin steps up for his solo verse is enormous in each venue.  Danny did not come back on stage as he was actually not well, although, you'd never have known it during their set.  The song was wonderful--the perfect way to close the night.

I met my Twitter/Facebook friend Matty after the show.  He introduced me to a couple of friends and we talked for a bit, took pictures and got excited for the next show we have together (September in Yonkers at the Casino).  My world has been so enriched with these meetings--virtual friendships that quickly become very real.

One odd thing that happened was that the high tide came in extra high last night due to the full moon (or nearly full).  The water actually rose to within the first few rows and those people were actually sort of sitting in the ocean for the latter part of the show.  It was the first time I can think of that I was happy to not be in the front row.

Driving back home I think Loud Chick made a mistake--I was following her instructions explicitly, not wanting to get lost in New York after midnight--and I found myself driving around side streets in The Bronx for a few minutes.  Eventually she figured it out and as I drifted back over the George Washington Bridge I was already getting ready for Saturday's show in Massachusetts.

A Sweeter day.

Sleepless Again ... or Still

I'm on vacation this week.  It's the same week I took last year.  Fangirling around the East Coast ... six days, three concerts, one meet and greet and time with my daughter.  I'm calling it perfect, although many won't understand ... at least not the fangirl part.

Concert season sleeplessness is upon me again as well.  Staying up late to revel in tweeted photos and videos; late-night conversations with fellow fan friends in every time zone in this country and several others.  Reading the blogs of those who, like me, need to write down all the magic in order to remember it.  More anticipation.  More post-concert elation.

What is the definition of manic?

The Cambridge Dictionary:  Excited or anxious in a way that causes a lot of physical activity.  Hmmm... Excited and anxious?  Yes, both.  Lots of physical activity?  Not really.  Except for the walking.  Which, come to think about it, started around the same time as the music obsession.  Right.

Miriam-Webster:  Affected with, relating to, characterized by, or resulting from mania.  Okay, then. Mania? Excessive or unreasonable enthusiasm.

Bingo.

I'm suffering from mania.  I am a maniac.  A middle-aged maniac.  If I wasn't having such a great time and if I didn't know how much good this addiction has done in my life, I'd think that sounded pathetic.  

But this relatively new-found mania may have resurrected my life.  I like to think it has although deep down I know there's a lot more to it than just the music.  But since the music was the catalyst for the happiness and contentment that have my cup full to running over, I will continue to be thankful for the freedom and joy that flood my days.

~

Of note:  Extreme fans of the band Train are known as trainiacs.  I'll be seeing Train three times this week, in three states.  However, I'm not a trainiac.  They just happen to be on the road with me right now.

Road Recollections and Accomplishments

Over these recent weeks and next week as well, I'll have driven to or through nine states and one province.  I'm sure that's a personal record.  It's been mostly fun and I (mostly) don't mind all the driving.  Plus, I've learned a lot. 

Driving to Virginia this past week was much easier than I'd anticipated.  It's a pretty straight shot from my house to Chesapeake--door to door, my house to my friend's was only one tank of gas.  Anticipating the concert that was in my future I passed the 380 miles like this:

Gavin DeGraw ~ Chariot, Chariot Stripped, self titled, Free, Sweeter, Sweeter, Sweeter
Train ~ Save Me San Franciso
Michael Franti ~ Sound of Sunshine
and 94.9 The Point on the radio as soon as I crossed into Virginia.  

Coming home on Saturday, it was nearly the same playlist and radio with the addition of Sara Bareilles who has a new record coming out tomorrow.  There was lots of car dancing and I think I got a little hoarse singing along for seven hours.  My favorite musical moment in the car was when The Point played Sara Bareilles songs back-to-back with King of Anything and Brave.  I hope the people at the light next to me were either inspired or amused by my car dancing.  I swear:  I'm not crazy. 

Here are two lessons I've learned on the road:

Lesson 1 ... Pumping gas.  I'm a Jersey girl!  We don't pump gas.  No we don't.  New Jersey still has full service service stations.  I drive out of state only a couple of times each year and try to get gas at the border and time it so I don't need to get it again until I'm back.  Or I bring my son.  Or look for attended gas stations where they might exist like on the New York State Thruway.  

The most embarrassing gas pumping story dates back years.  My girl scout troop co-leader and I had led our girls on a camping trip to Hershey Park in Pennsylvania.  It was 100 degrees in the shade that weekend and we played hard the whole time.  The girls were deep asleep in our two cars when we realized we'd need gas to make it all the way home so we pulled into a service station.  Neither one of us could figure out how to get the gas into our tanks.  Luckily for us (huge irony here), a bunch of biker guys pulled in so we fluttered our eyelashes at them and said would you? could you? and they helped us out. Thank goodness those girls were asleep and didn't see the women who preached "girls can/should do anything" at all times, do the eye flutter/need a man thing.  

I think I've mastered it this month, though.  I've pumped gas in Pennsylvania, Ohio, Michigan, Delaware, and Virginia.  And yesterday when I realized I was on empty after driving home from Virginia, I almost got out of the car to do it myself and then remembered I was home.  Home!  Where those nice folks come out to pump your gas and all you have to do is sit in your car.  In all types of weather.  At any hour of the day.  Jersey girls have it made.  

Lesson 2 ... Cured of Bridge/Tunnel phobia.  I've driven south only a few times that I can remember.  We (that would be my husband at the time) drove to the Episcopal Church's Kanuga Conference Center in North Carolina where I was participating in a Christian Education Directors' Conference, my kids were cared for all day and my husband was left to his own devices.  Another time, post divorce, I was in Richmond to attend the Consortium of Endowed Episcopal Parishes annual meeting.  I've also been to Williamsburg with the kids.  None of these trips took me over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge.  I mean through the Chesapeake Bay tunnel.  No, bridge.  No, tunnel.  Okay ... bridge-tunnel.  That was probably a good thing since a little-known fact about me is that I suffer from a rare form of bridge/tunnel phobia and I pretty much hold my breath (subconsciously) going over and under large or small bodies of water.  The Tappan Zee bridge over the Hudson is a major challenge as it's pretty long.

But the Tappan Zee is like a foot bridge compared with the Chesapeake Bay Bridge/Tunnel/Bridge/ Tunnel/Bridge.  Gripping the wheel as I pulled onto the bridge, I could see another bridge off in the distance.  I thought to myself it's a little like the Hudson and East Rivers with multiple bridge crossings.  Oh little did I know that the bridge on the distant horizon was the same bridge with miles and miles and miles and miles between where I was at the starting point and it.   With a little time off for tunneling.  Twice.  My thoughts at the time:

On the bridge ...

I believe I love "the road."  I believe if I won the lottery tomorrow, I'd pack up my little car and just drive.  Some people have been to every baseball stadium in the country.  Some people have been to every National Park.  Some people have driven border to border, coast to coast.  I'm not sure where I'd go.  But wherever it is, I'll breathe across bridges, through tunnels, pump my own gas and dance and sing behind the wheel and always remember that I'm a Jersey girl at heart.

(I promise never to drive and video again, though.)

Concert Diaries Chapter Seven: Opening Night

Wet, but happy.

After the show at the radio station, we grabbed a quick dinner and then drove off to the venue. And that's when it started to rain. Pour, actually. I saw Gavin in the rain three times last year. Needless to say, we were soaked to the skin by the time we found our seats under the covering of the Farm Bureau's roof after paying a visit to the "merch table."  Apparently, this is how I roll when it comes to seeing Gavin DeGraw at outdoor venues. And yes, there is a new t-shirt in my suitcase.

Gavin DeGraw

It's opening night of the band Train's summer tour--Mermaids of Alcatraz. Gavin is the opening act.  We're all a little sad about this. We want him to play for us all night--not just the 40-45 minutes allotted to an opening act. But we also understand. This helps expand the fan base.  It's all good though; seeing Gavin DeGraw perform for a short time is better than not seeing him at all.  And anticipating this tour has made me a huge Michael Franti fan as well.  I like Train well enough although I'm not sure I'd buy tickets were it not for Gavin's participation.  The concert fund is not unlimited ...

The venue is only partially filled when Gavin and the band (Billy Norris, Ian O'Neill, Eric Kinney and James Cruz) take the stage.  I feel badly about that.  It must be a little hard to be giving it your all (which he does 100% of the time) when there are so many empty seats.  But as we jump to our feet (it's impossible to stay seated) and begin to dance and sing with him, all other thoughts fade immediately away.  There is only the singer and the songs and us. 

There are eight songs on the set list tonight.  Five are hits from previous years and three are new, including the current single being played on radio now.  The new arrangements of the old tunes are incredible.  It's interesting to hear them in a slightly new way and it's impressive how fresh Gavin and the guys can make them sound.  The new music is beautiful, emotional and fun.  Best I Ever Had, the new single is being played more and more by radio in the last week as the tour gets under way and the band visits local stations.  It's not a typical Gavin DeGraw song but a fun new sound with "lots of words" and an infectious melody. Who's Gonna Save is going to be my favorite off the new album (due out in September) and the emotional rendition he gave us was truly moving.  Make a Move, the next single, is going to be a huge hit--I'm sure of it.  

It wasn't long enough.  Not by a long shot.  We're all so hoping for a solo tour after this one when the album comes out.  I'm saving vacation days for just that possibility. (I know that will come as no surprise to those who know me.)

Michael Franti sings
to the "lawn people."

Michael Franti's set was pure joy and alive with his special ability to make people feel the love that he freely sends out into the world.  He spent a lot of time in the huge crowd singing directly to excited fans.  His band and back up singers are fantastic and his show did not disappoint.  I would (and will) see him again as soon as possible.  

After long set changes and a Pink Floyd-esque animated and fully narrated introduction featuring Mermaids, Alcatraz and escaped prisoners, Train took the stage for their highly produced show.  I'd seen them last year (again because Gavin DeGraw was also there) and don't remember all the bells and whistles that they included for this show.  They sang all their past and present hits and have Ashley Monroe touring with them to sing the current single, Bruises, a duet with Pat Monahan.  Always one to do my homework, I'd investigated Ashley Monroe and she's now on my list of favorite female singers.  Her first album is recently out and is really good.

Train

It was a truly wonderful evening of great music.  The musicians were clearly fired up for opening night and the three bands were very complementary and have similar fans so it felt to me as though all who were there were happy and upbeat with the 4-hour event.

Back at N's house, we stayed up all night reliving Gavin's performance through pictures and videos, Facebook postings and Tweets.  That's what happens ... the post-concert high that can last hours, certainly, and days, sometimes.  It's 5 AM before we turn in, exhausted in a weirdly energetic way.

The following day was spent similarly: surfing the internet for pictures and videos although N's videos are the only ones we see and they're great.  Writing down lyrics to the new songs from the performance videos was like forensic wordsmithing. Performance videos aren't professional recordings so capturing every word is unlikely.  You are reduced to straining for some of the lyrics.  This activity combined with post-concert euphoria and lack of sleep produced an abundance of hilarity.

Three special days filled with the music I love, enjoyed in the company of like-minded friends.  I can't imagine anything better.  Truly.



Many, many thanks to my friend for hosting me for this trip south.  I've not had such a good time since, well, since the last time I saw her in November at our Long Island concert.  I hope I can return the favor one day.

I've mentioned several times in this space how social media, Twitter particularly, has enhanced my life.  I can't thank my friends enough for sharing this real-time experience and look forward to more shenanigans together and apart-but-together on the web.

Thanks for the pictures too you guys!

Concert Diaries Chapter Six: A Full Day

Yesterday.  The day was crammed from start to finish with anticipation, excitement, great music and friends  Every hour was filled experiences that fed my memory.

I believe that really good things happen for really good people, people who go out of their way for others, who are continually kind and generous. This is true for one of my concert friends. She has amazing concert karma and shares this very deserved good fortune with many. 

I've spent the days surrounding our concert with this and other friends who are Gavin DeGraw fans. N, who has opened her home to me and shares her great karma had arranged for ten of us to attend a private show and lunch with one of the night's artists, Michael Franti. The show and lunch were sponsored by the local radio station 94.9 The Point.  The Point had also sponsored the previous night's Sister Hazel concert. 

Up close and personal, it doesn't get much better than that. Michael brought with him his guitar player, Jay Bowman and singer, Gina. They  performed the upbeat songs with messages of love and peace that he's known for. N's and R's daughters went up on stage to join him on one fun number. From his new single, I'm Alive to the hit The Sound of Sunshine and several others, we were treated to the positive vibe and joy created by Michael and his friends. They generously posed for pictures with everyone and chatted for a few minutes. 

It's really pretty special meeting these creative people who fill the world with their gifts of music and message. Michael's unique humanity that shines through both his music and his character inspires one to want to put that type of attitude into the world too. Oh... and dancing. We should all be dancing. 

After lunch N managed, with her legendary contacts, to get us all in as guests at the radio station for a private performance with Gavin DeGraw, Billy Norris (guitar) and Ian O'Neill (drums). Gavin sang his new single, Best I Ever Had and his hit from last year, Not Over You. A woman in the audience was taking video of him singing Not Over You so he took the phone and continued to film himself.  It's a great video, now on YouTube.  She must have been beyond surprised and thrilled.

Up close. Personal. Acoustic. Amazing. He, too, stayed and posed for pictures. Meeting Gavin is a lovely experience. He's incredibly warm and friendly to each individual whether a fan or a station executive. He puts you at ease (well, not me; I'm nervous even though I've had this pleasure a few times now). You're not aware of the other people around you because you're concentrating so hard and his focus is solely on chatting with you. I don't have a clue what I said to him.  

Are you still with me? That was two private performances by my favorite singer and a newer (to me) amazing performer. 

And this is all before the concert. 

Concert Diaries Chapter Five: Trust the Directions and Sister Hazel

From the road...

I used to really envy people in movies who yelled "road trip!" and instantly were on their way somewhere cool and fun. I've had my share of family road trips--that's an altogether different animal. 

So hitting the road today for Virginia Beach to meet up with friends and see Gavin DeGraw (and Michael Franti, Ashley Monroe and Train) seems like a real "road trip!" to me. 

I set out early and right away my GPS sent me In a different path than what I expected. I wasn't sure what to do. Follow Loud Chick's (that's what I call the voice) instructions or go the way I knew. After all, I was still in north Jersey and I know it well.   And then I remembered some wise words from a wise man that have served me well many times over the years. 

He was the first priest I ever worked for but he said this to me before I joined his staff. He'd been out to visit my husband and I for the first time close to thirty years ago. He didn't know the town where we lived but I'd told him "as long as you keep the lake on your left, you'll find us."  

When he arrived he said the way didn't feel right but he learned long ago to always trust the directions. I've always remembered that. Trust the directions. It works for so many things... from putting together the dreaded desk from the big box store to finding your way out of New Jersey to Virginia Beach. 

It turned out that Loud Chick sent me out of my way to avoid a traffic snafu and huge accident. Trust the directions. 

And now I'm sitting on Virginia Beach with friends and their adorable kids listening to Sister Hazel (a new-to-me band). Great music, a little southern rock which I love. Beautiful night that wants to rain but is holding off so we can relax and enjoy the music. 

Trust the directions. Good times are ahead. 

Sister Hazel in Virginia Beach

Concert Diaries Chapter Four - Promoting, Packing, Pondering

I'd started this post a couple of weeks ago but my thoughts weren't organized.  Tonight my thoughts are anything but organized but it's almost time.

The week before last Gavin DeGraw, Billy Norris and Ian O'Neill visited several New York radio stations to promote the new single, Best I Ever Had.  I'm not going to review the music here.  I'm not really qualified and I am completely biased.  Fans love these promotional appearances.  The interviews are fun and this particular singer is a great storyteller with no end, it seems, to the stories he might tell.

The first concert for this year's tour is Thursday night in Virginia Beach.  I'll leave early Wednesday morning and drive straight through.  As excited as I am for this concert (with Train and Michael Franti), I'm equally excited to be spending time with fan friends.  Excited doesn't quite capture it though; it's more like a dizzying anticipation that can't wait but at the same time doesn't want the moment to pass or that night to be over.  It feels as though we've been looking forward to it for a long time--I think we got the tickets five months ago.  And now we're here--a fairly large group of unique women of all ages brought together through the common thread of having been inspired by, admiring of and completely enthralled by the music of Gavin DeGraw.

We frequently wonder among ourselves if he's aware of the friendships formed because of him.  I've "talked" to others who, like me, give him credit for bringing health and happiness back to our lives.  This "obsession" of mine has me feeling younger than I have in decades, has shed light in shadowy places and brought incredible peace.

Does that surprise you?  That I'm a former church lay employee, a praying person who's found enormous peace in the singing and songwriting of one particular contemporary singer?  There's theology there and someday I may write about it but for tonight I'm content just to reflect on the fun and friendships formed this year and the meaning it's all brought to me.

So ... packing and pondering tonight.  Eight or so hours in the car to listen to Train, Michael Franti and Gavin DeGraw on Wednesday and then live and in person on Thursday night.  I think I know people at almost every show on this tour.  That means pictures and videos from all across the country, and yes, Toronto too.  Even if I'm not physically there, it's still a lot of fun.

I really, really like concert season ... 

~

Gavin DeGraw, Best I Ever Had 

Borders and Boundaries

I've been thinking a lot about borders and boundaries since being away last week.  We drove to Canada to visit friends and family in the city where my parents, my brothers and I were born, Windsor, Ontario.  There were border crossings involved, naturally.  But I passed through a lot of boundaries besides the obvious ones.

It's about a 10- or 11-hour drive from my home in New Jersey to my birthplace.  I can no longer drive it in one day (at least not by myself).  We take our time crossing the borders of Pennsylvania and Ohio.  A lot of people don't like the drive.  They say Route 80 in Pennsylvania is boring and the flatness of Ohio is unappealing to some.  Pennsylvania is wide and it feels like it's taking forever but it's pretty with worn-low mountains and wildflowers and quilts of farmland spread out on either side of the road.  I went to college in Ohio so I'm pretty partial to that state.  It is kind of flat in the north where we travel but there's beauty in that.  The horizon is far in the distance with grey weathered barns pushed against the edge and fields and fields of growing things. 

When I'm driving through Ohio my mind travels across decades of borders and memories that are triggered by green highway signs.  I'm sure I knew people from Vermillion ... my roommate had family in Akron ... the second great love of my life was from Elyria (wonder where he is; is he happy; how many children; and on and on).  I don't visit those borders very often any more but the signs naturally cause me to look back.  Border crossings.

So we drive to Toledo and turn north. It's that simple, especially from my house situated within sight of Route 80.  Before we get there we pass by signs for Sandusky and Cedar Point.  Cedar Point ... site of the last roller coaster I ever rode.  The Blue Streak, 1971.  Nancy's father took us over the border for a day of fun in this classic amusement park.  "Come on," she said.  "It's not bad, I promise."  Her dad could tell I was changed for life when I exited that ride.  I'm pretty sure I was white as a sheet.  Thank goodness they hadn't thought to set up cameras on those rides yet.  I have not been on anything faster than teacups since.  

When we finally get to the real border crossing (after getting through the tunnel that links Detroit with Windsor, the U.S. with Canada), there's always that moment of dread:  that unwarranted fear you get when speaking to someone "in authority."  I can't help but notice the two language greeting, "Bonjour/hello."  A few basic questions and we're on our way again, a couple of blocks to the hotel situated on the river.  On the border.  I can look across from my old home and wave towards my now home.

I crossed some other borders during the week.  The most notable was the boundary I've set up for myself this year.  The one that keeps me eating healthy and exercising every day.  It's hard to make good choices when you're traveling.  I did pretty well the first couple of days but when that poutine appeared on the menu ... well, I crossed over into dangerous eating territory.  I went over the border into full vacation mode. I recognize that's an excuse for making bad choices and not standing my ground at that border.  I did manage to walk every day except for three of the driving days.  I'm not happy with crossing that boundary but I accept that I chose to go over the bridge and that it will take some time to undo the damage.

We spent the week crossing borders and boundaries.  Visiting friends and family who've been in our lives all my life and reminiscing at every turn.  They say you can never go back but I'm lucky.  I was rooted in such a lovely place that even though it's changed much over the years, I can still find my childhood amidst the "progress."

This image really made me both laugh and think as we
waited in a very long line to cross back to the States.  We
aren't "closed" here.  We welcome people from all over the
world.  Every day.  People seeking both a short respite and a
permanent refuge.

Crossing back and returning home, I run the memories in reverse.  Other bits of the past trickle up but by the time we hit New Jersey, I've crossed back to the present.  I'm running my to-do list for the week ahead and playing catch-up in my brain.  The final border crossing:  home again.

~

There was, of course, a playlist as I drove:

Gavin DeGraw (the entire catalog)

Jamie McLean Band (my summer party)

Andy Grammer (happiness on a disc)

Sara Bareilles (pure beauty)

Michael Franti (peace & dancing too)

Colbie Caillet (memories of last summer)

Un Peu Poutine

Poutine.  When did this come about?  After all, I was born in Canada and lived most of my childhood here.  We never had poutine when I lived here.  I would remember poutine.

I think I had my first taste of poutine when we were all in Montreal a couple of years ago.  Montreal was the embarkation point for a cruise of the St. Lawrence and Canadian maritime provinces.  The hotel was next to, or over, or beside a mall and we ate in the food court.  Poutine.  And of course, those were the days when I would routinely eat things like that without a second thought.

Oh wait ... are you uninitiated into the wonders of poutine?  Well let me enlighten you ...

Poutine at Legends Sports Bar at Caesar's Windsor, Ont.

Real poutine is french fries topped with gravy and cheese curds.

This poutine was my dinner tonight.  I think it's poutine for Americans, this being a border town and all.  This poutine was french fries with cheddar and jack cheese, covered with gravy, topped with bacon and scallions.

Heart attack on a plate.

And yes, I ate it all.  With that gin & tonic in the picture.  Summer traveling perfection.

I spent the first three days of this trip fighting with myself over my food choices.  I have now given in or given up.  Or I could look at it like this: I'm on vacation and I'm giving myself permission to have what I want.  Or I could just take it on a meal-by-meal basis, quit stressing and do what feels right at the time.  There.  That's probably the right answer.  Or is the right answer trying to stick to my regular eating plan.

Clearly conflicted here.

But not conflicted about poutine.  How could anyone be?  Fries with cheese and gravy?  Honestly ... 

PS  I believe my home state has something that tries to be like poutine called disco fries.  I think that sounds a little too Snookie to even come close to the love in a dish that is poutine.