Gotta share this. It's funny how things smack you between the eyes sometimes. Especially since this message has been coming to me for the last few days in a variety of ways.
"This just means God has something better in store for you," a lady told me just today, after asking what I'm going to do after our last paper comes out next week.
I needed to hear it. I had a meltdown yesterday. Some days you just don't want to put on your big girl panties. You just don't want to deal with it. You want someone to come make all the bad stuff go away. I think that's okay once in a while, as long as it doesn't go on for too long.
So anyway, tonight as I was eating dinner, I finished reading The Walk, by Richard Paul Evans. It's a true story. I thought I had problems. This man built a successful advertising company, married his best friend, drove a Lexus and lived in a $2 million home. Then his wife became paralyzed in a horse accident, while she recovered his partner stole his company, his car was repossessed, his wife then died from complications, and his home was repossessed. He decided to walk from Seattle to Key West, and this book is about his journey. Read it.
But he shared this story, and it just smacked me between the eyes. So I thought I'd share it with you. I'll try to abbreviate it. It's a Brazilian folk tale and it's kind of long.
A Master of Wisdom was walking through the countryside with his apprentice when they came to a hovel on a meager piece of farmland.
"Go see if they will share their food," the Master told his apprentice, though they had plenty of food.
The apprentice did as he was told. The farmer, his wife and and their seven children came to the door, their clothes tattered and dirty.
"My Master and I are sojourners and want for food. I've come to see if you have any to share," he said.
The farmer replied, "We have little, but what we have we will share." He gave the apprentice a small piece of cheese and a crust of bread.
The apprentice reluctantly took their offering. He didn't want to take from what little they had.
"Life is difficult, but we get by," the farmer said. "And in spite of our poverty, we do have one great blessing. We have a little cow. She provides us milk and cheese, which we eat or sell in the marketplace. It is not much but she provides enough for us to live on."
The apprentice took the food back to the Master and told him about their situation.
The Master said, "I am pleased to hear of their generosity, but I am greatly sorrowed by their circumstance. Before we leave this place, I have one more task for you.
Return to the hovel and bring back their cow."
The apprentice did as he was told. When he returned, the Master instructed him, "See yonder cliffs? Take the cow to the highest crest and push her over."
The apprentice was stunned. "But Master..."
"Do as I say."
The apprentice sorrowfully obeyed, and he and the Master went on their way.
The apprentice grew in mercy and wisdom, but always felt a pang of guilt at the thought of the poor farmer's family. One day he decided to apologize for what he had done. When he arrived, he found the hovel gone and a large, fenced villa in its place.
"Oh no," he cried. "The poor family who was here was driven out by my evil deed." Determined to find out what happened to the family, he pounded on the door.
He was greeted by a servant.
"I would like to speak to the master of the house," he said.
A smiling, well-dressed man appeared.
"Pardon me, sir, but could you please tell me what has become of the family who lived here?"
"My family has been on this land for three generations," the wealthy man replied.
The apprentice looked athim quizzically. "Many years ago I walked through this valley, where I met a farmer and his seven children. But they were very poor and lived in a small hovel."
"That was my family," the wealthy man said. "God works in mysterious ways. We had this little cow who provided us with the slimmest of necessities, enough to survive but little more. We suffered but expected no more from life.
Then, one day, our little cow wandered off and fell over a cliff. We knew that we would be ruined without her, so we did everything we could to survive. Only then did we discover that we had greater power and abilities than we possibly imagined and never would have found as long as we relied on that cow. What a great blessing from Heaven to have lost our little cow."
Maybe newspapers are my cow.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Hello....goodbye
I'm not even going to apologize for my absence this time. Trust me. You haven't wanted to hear the thoughts in my head. You would have been patting my knee sympathetically with one hand and dialing the asylum with the other. I can't promise I'm saner now, but the earth is definitely a little less shaky.
A week ago, my boss had to have surgery. He is out on medical leave for the rest of the time we're open. Next week is our last issue. Guess who gets to figure out how to say goodbye for a paper that has served this community for the past nine years?
How do I do that when I've only been there three months?
That's what's been on my mind since about 3 p.m. today, right after I finished Thursday's paper and turned my attention to next Thursday. How many stories do I write? What about the stories we already have? What should run? What should never see the light of day? How much new stuff do we cover? What exactly do we say to close this chapter in the town's history?
I wanted to see how The Mirror said hello. It took me about one minute to find the very first issue. (Somebody was clearly a whole lot more organized than I am.) I read the first article, written by the staff, announcing the new paper, its mission and its goals for serving the community. In true me fashion, I started writing a column. Because I narcissistically believe everyone is dying to know what I have to say, I guess.
Not really. I just think this is one of those occasions that needs a personal touch. I guess I feel like somebody should actually say goodbye. I'm not at all the person to do it. I've been there three months. I'm still being introduced to people who pop in to say hello. I haven't met the mayor. There are streets I haven't seen yet. There are restaurants I haven't eaten at. I can't name all the main thoroughfares. I still don't know where all the bad parts of town are, and which are the really good parts. But since I'm the only writer there...somebody's got to do it. Don't they?
I will meet with the publisher tomorrow. Perhaps he can write something for us. But I don't think he can say goodbye the way I think we should, either. He is based in Louisville and hasn't been publisher very long. I have a vision and I believe I'm right. I just wish I had the relationship with the town to make it mean something.
A week ago, my boss had to have surgery. He is out on medical leave for the rest of the time we're open. Next week is our last issue. Guess who gets to figure out how to say goodbye for a paper that has served this community for the past nine years?
How do I do that when I've only been there three months?
That's what's been on my mind since about 3 p.m. today, right after I finished Thursday's paper and turned my attention to next Thursday. How many stories do I write? What about the stories we already have? What should run? What should never see the light of day? How much new stuff do we cover? What exactly do we say to close this chapter in the town's history?
I wanted to see how The Mirror said hello. It took me about one minute to find the very first issue. (Somebody was clearly a whole lot more organized than I am.) I read the first article, written by the staff, announcing the new paper, its mission and its goals for serving the community. In true me fashion, I started writing a column. Because I narcissistically believe everyone is dying to know what I have to say, I guess.
Not really. I just think this is one of those occasions that needs a personal touch. I guess I feel like somebody should actually say goodbye. I'm not at all the person to do it. I've been there three months. I'm still being introduced to people who pop in to say hello. I haven't met the mayor. There are streets I haven't seen yet. There are restaurants I haven't eaten at. I can't name all the main thoroughfares. I still don't know where all the bad parts of town are, and which are the really good parts. But since I'm the only writer there...somebody's got to do it. Don't they?
I will meet with the publisher tomorrow. Perhaps he can write something for us. But I don't think he can say goodbye the way I think we should, either. He is based in Louisville and hasn't been publisher very long. I have a vision and I believe I'm right. I just wish I had the relationship with the town to make it mean something.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
A Single Point of View: The Unemployment Chronicles, Round 2
A Single Point of View: The Unemployment Chronicles, Round 2: Well, that was fun while it lasted! In a little less than a month, the last issue of The Mirror will roll off of the press. I'm really sad...
The Unemployment Chronicles, Round 2
Well, that was fun while it lasted!
In a little less than a month, the last issue of The Mirror will roll off of the press. I'm really sad about it, for a number of reasons. Not the least of which is that I will once again be out of a job.
I was beginning to like it in Thomson. I was beginning to get to know the people. I like to think at least a few of them were starting to trust me. (Small towns are funny like that. It takes time for them to decide to know and like you. Until they do, you don't stand a chance.)
I was doing what I love....meeting cool people and telling their stories. I really didn't mind sticking around the office for a few extra minutes when I needed to. I didn't mind presenting ideas, because it was fun and didn't feel like just one more thing added to an over-filled plate.
The drive was nice, too. Oh, I hated it every (frequent) time I went to the pump, but the drive itself was nice. I had an hour and a half alone with myself each day. I caught up on phone calls. I psyched myself up and down for work. I solved the world's ills..at least in my mind. I caught up on karaoke practice.
I'm really not sure what I'm going to do next. I don't say "now," because we still have a few issues to produce. The atmosphere around the office has been somewhat like a funeral, but I have made up my mind to contiue to work as though no atomic bomb has fallen on our heads. In a month, everything will change. But until then, everything is the same. I still have stories to write, and I still love what I do, so I'm going to keep doing it to the best of my ability. Why not?
While this was a shock, it's much different than last time. Then, I'd grown to hate my job. I think I was completely burned out. I was relieved to walk away. A five-month rest greatly rejuvinated me. The ideas flowed again, and they had merit. I remembered that I'm a good reporter and I rediscovered my passion for it. Working at The Mirror reminded me of all of that and restored my confidence. My friends noticed that I was more myself than I had been for a long time. I was happy.
I can't tell you how much I am not looking forward to going back into unemployment. It's not even the uncertainty of it all. It's the drudgery of not having any place to go or anything meaningful to do. You have to create that for yourself, I know. But I mean, I did that. I went to school and built a career. I found something to do that was meaningful to me. But when it's gone, then what? I spent five months trying to figure that out and never found the answer.
I've decided the best thing I can do is capitalize on the momentum I have now and work toward finding another job while I still have a reason to put on makeup. While I still believe I have something of value to contribute. Because if I sit around long enough, I'm afraid I will forget again.
In a little less than a month, the last issue of The Mirror will roll off of the press. I'm really sad about it, for a number of reasons. Not the least of which is that I will once again be out of a job.
I was beginning to like it in Thomson. I was beginning to get to know the people. I like to think at least a few of them were starting to trust me. (Small towns are funny like that. It takes time for them to decide to know and like you. Until they do, you don't stand a chance.)
I was doing what I love....meeting cool people and telling their stories. I really didn't mind sticking around the office for a few extra minutes when I needed to. I didn't mind presenting ideas, because it was fun and didn't feel like just one more thing added to an over-filled plate.
The drive was nice, too. Oh, I hated it every (frequent) time I went to the pump, but the drive itself was nice. I had an hour and a half alone with myself each day. I caught up on phone calls. I psyched myself up and down for work. I solved the world's ills..at least in my mind. I caught up on karaoke practice.
I'm really not sure what I'm going to do next. I don't say "now," because we still have a few issues to produce. The atmosphere around the office has been somewhat like a funeral, but I have made up my mind to contiue to work as though no atomic bomb has fallen on our heads. In a month, everything will change. But until then, everything is the same. I still have stories to write, and I still love what I do, so I'm going to keep doing it to the best of my ability. Why not?
While this was a shock, it's much different than last time. Then, I'd grown to hate my job. I think I was completely burned out. I was relieved to walk away. A five-month rest greatly rejuvinated me. The ideas flowed again, and they had merit. I remembered that I'm a good reporter and I rediscovered my passion for it. Working at The Mirror reminded me of all of that and restored my confidence. My friends noticed that I was more myself than I had been for a long time. I was happy.
I can't tell you how much I am not looking forward to going back into unemployment. It's not even the uncertainty of it all. It's the drudgery of not having any place to go or anything meaningful to do. You have to create that for yourself, I know. But I mean, I did that. I went to school and built a career. I found something to do that was meaningful to me. But when it's gone, then what? I spent five months trying to figure that out and never found the answer.
I've decided the best thing I can do is capitalize on the momentum I have now and work toward finding another job while I still have a reason to put on makeup. While I still believe I have something of value to contribute. Because if I sit around long enough, I'm afraid I will forget again.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
First kiss
Christopher had a date, so Catie and I were bacheloretting it tonight. We had a lovely dinner at Kong Wah, full of girl talk about -- what else -- boys. (At least she's talking to me about it, y'all.) Then, like the wild and crazy women we are, we washed the car, gassed it up, and went grocery shopping.
Whilst on our excursion, we passed the duplexes that were my mom and stepdad's first place together as a married couple. I think we lived there less than a year.
"Look," I told Catie. "Did I ever tell you we used to live there?"
"No," she said.
"Yep. That's where I had my first kiss. I was like 6. Maybe 5,"
She grinned and rolled her eyes at me in that "Mom, you're so lame" way teenage girls do.
"No, really," I said. "His name was Bo Skipper."
(He kept saying his name was spelled Beau. He thought he was so smart and all just because he knew how to spell encyclopedia. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. I didn't know how to spell it. But I still think I knew how to spell his name. B-O. So there!)
She cracked up. I mean -- belly laughed.
I still don't know what was so funny.
ANYWAY....see, me and him were playing house. Rhonda was our daughter. We sent her to the backyard to "school."
He looked at me and said "You wanna kiss."
Of course shy lil ol' me said "Uh huh." I probably even drew in the dirt with my big toe and looked at the ground.
And then I thought, Oh no. If Mama looks out the window she'll see us. We have to hide.
So we went behind this scraggly little Charlie Brown bush in our front yard. It was perfect, because it was under the window where she couldn't see if she looked out. Although I still wasn't fully convinced she wouldn't catch us.
"Long or short?" he asked.
I had no idea what a "long" kiss would entail, but I was pretty sure I wouldn't like it. Plus, Mama was gonna catch us any second. "Short!" I said.
So he gave me a quick peck on the mouth. And then we went to find Rhonda and I'm sure I was blushing furiously and I think she was spying on us anyway.
The end. :)
Whilst on our excursion, we passed the duplexes that were my mom and stepdad's first place together as a married couple. I think we lived there less than a year.
"Look," I told Catie. "Did I ever tell you we used to live there?"
"No," she said.
"Yep. That's where I had my first kiss. I was like 6. Maybe 5,"
She grinned and rolled her eyes at me in that "Mom, you're so lame" way teenage girls do.
"No, really," I said. "His name was Bo Skipper."
(He kept saying his name was spelled Beau. He thought he was so smart and all just because he knew how to spell encyclopedia. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't. I didn't know how to spell it. But I still think I knew how to spell his name. B-O. So there!)
She cracked up. I mean -- belly laughed.
I still don't know what was so funny.
ANYWAY....see, me and him were playing house. Rhonda was our daughter. We sent her to the backyard to "school."
He looked at me and said "You wanna kiss."
Of course shy lil ol' me said "Uh huh." I probably even drew in the dirt with my big toe and looked at the ground.
And then I thought, Oh no. If Mama looks out the window she'll see us. We have to hide.
So we went behind this scraggly little Charlie Brown bush in our front yard. It was perfect, because it was under the window where she couldn't see if she looked out. Although I still wasn't fully convinced she wouldn't catch us.
"Long or short?" he asked.
I had no idea what a "long" kiss would entail, but I was pretty sure I wouldn't like it. Plus, Mama was gonna catch us any second. "Short!" I said.
So he gave me a quick peck on the mouth. And then we went to find Rhonda and I'm sure I was blushing furiously and I think she was spying on us anyway.
The end. :)
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
New stuff equals clean house
I wrote this Sunday night, but my internet was on the fritz. So I saved it into Word and I'm just now getting around to sharing it. Procrastination what?!
What is it about a new TV that makes you clean your laundry room?
Dang, I was hoping you could tell me. All I know is, I finally splurged on one of those sleek black TVs to bring us into the 21st Century, and the next thing I know I find myself throwing away empty cleaner bottles that have been collecting lint for the last two years.
Of course, that was after I reorganized my silverware drawer, vacuumed, threw away a weeks' worth of newspapers, started a load of laundry, unclogged a drain and thought about dusting the living room.
Methinks maybe it's just been too long since I've bought anything new for the house. I’ve just been seeing the same old stuff and it just turns into a big mental to-do list I don’t feel like tackling.
An old friend once told me that to get herself in the mood to clean, she bought something new for the house. Because then, see, you have to clean a spot for it. And then you have to clean the area around it so it looks good. And then you have to clean the rest of the room so that area looks good. And then you end up having to clean the whole house. It’s true. I’ve noticed this phenomenon.
Can you tell it’s my second favorite time of the year? I love tax time! I get a nice fat refund and for a few weeks, I am rich.
I start making my wish list in January. Where do I want to go? What do I want to do? What do we need? (It’s a good thing my kids’ birthdays are in the spring. That’s all I’ve got to say.)
I don’t shop during the year. I just don’t. But tax time? Whoopee!
Okay, I don’t just blow it. First I take care of the necessities. A year’s worth of cable bills. A gallon of shampoo. (That was new, but I think I’ll make it an annual tradition. Great hair stuff I won’t have to buy again this year. In other words, no buying crappy grocery store goop in September because I can't afford the good stuff anymore. :) ) Pay off the credit card bill. Put some away for a rainy day (which does not include the day I run out of good shampoo).
And then…yep, Mama bought a new TV! And silverware! And towels!
The silverware. Y’all. I mean, you have no idea how happy that makes me. We had these things with plastic handles, and it had pieces that were falling off. Half of my mismatched set was given to me as a wedding gift in 1994. The other half I found with a set of dishes in my attic. (What? It was still in the box.) I am ecstatic to have found a pretty set of flatware that should last me until I’m sick of it, or until I die, whichever comes first.
And the TV. I should have done this a long time ago. After playing musical televisions for a year, we finally settled on Catie’s TV for the living room, which she had adorned with stickers from a shoebox for a pair of shoes I’m not sure she still even owns.
I tell you what, though. Right now my house looks better than it has in weeks, and it feels like home. J
What is it about a new TV that makes you clean your laundry room?
Dang, I was hoping you could tell me. All I know is, I finally splurged on one of those sleek black TVs to bring us into the 21st Century, and the next thing I know I find myself throwing away empty cleaner bottles that have been collecting lint for the last two years.
Of course, that was after I reorganized my silverware drawer, vacuumed, threw away a weeks' worth of newspapers, started a load of laundry, unclogged a drain and thought about dusting the living room.
Methinks maybe it's just been too long since I've bought anything new for the house. I’ve just been seeing the same old stuff and it just turns into a big mental to-do list I don’t feel like tackling.
An old friend once told me that to get herself in the mood to clean, she bought something new for the house. Because then, see, you have to clean a spot for it. And then you have to clean the area around it so it looks good. And then you have to clean the rest of the room so that area looks good. And then you end up having to clean the whole house. It’s true. I’ve noticed this phenomenon.
Can you tell it’s my second favorite time of the year? I love tax time! I get a nice fat refund and for a few weeks, I am rich.
I start making my wish list in January. Where do I want to go? What do I want to do? What do we need? (It’s a good thing my kids’ birthdays are in the spring. That’s all I’ve got to say.)
I don’t shop during the year. I just don’t. But tax time? Whoopee!
Okay, I don’t just blow it. First I take care of the necessities. A year’s worth of cable bills. A gallon of shampoo. (That was new, but I think I’ll make it an annual tradition. Great hair stuff I won’t have to buy again this year. In other words, no buying crappy grocery store goop in September because I can't afford the good stuff anymore. :) ) Pay off the credit card bill. Put some away for a rainy day (which does not include the day I run out of good shampoo).
And then…yep, Mama bought a new TV! And silverware! And towels!
The silverware. Y’all. I mean, you have no idea how happy that makes me. We had these things with plastic handles, and it had pieces that were falling off. Half of my mismatched set was given to me as a wedding gift in 1994. The other half I found with a set of dishes in my attic. (What? It was still in the box.) I am ecstatic to have found a pretty set of flatware that should last me until I’m sick of it, or until I die, whichever comes first.
And the TV. I should have done this a long time ago. After playing musical televisions for a year, we finally settled on Catie’s TV for the living room, which she had adorned with stickers from a shoebox for a pair of shoes I’m not sure she still even owns.
I tell you what, though. Right now my house looks better than it has in weeks, and it feels like home. J
The concert
I love my boyfriend. He takes me to concerts. :)
We went to see Elton John last night. You know me. I love to soak up the world around me. I'm sitting there, watching the man come on stage and watching the crowd respond to him. Like it tends to do, my brain started thinking in descriptive sentences. I'm writing in my head and wishing like heck I could blog from my seat.
(It wouldn't have worked so well on my cell phone. I think I need a better solution.)
When we found our seats and sat down, these two guys in suits were onstage playing cellos. I don't remember what they were playing when we sat down. I just remember thinking that it seemed fitting for some reason.
Ha ha. And then they bust out with
(You'll just have to click on it and come back. I can't figure out how to make the video show up here.)
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/jS826PwLHdQ" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
I'm pretty sure it's not natural to do that with cellos.
Robb said if they really wanted to impress him, they should play Ozzy's Crazy Train.
I kid you not, their next song was
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/zyCiEYFZkoc" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
The won a new fan.
Now that we were all pumped up, Elton took the stage.
Y'all know how I think by now. If you don't, you should. I'm looking at him thinking, he's just a man.
I don't mean that disrespectfully, but down on a physical level, he's a man. He showers like the rest of us do. Maybe with nicer stuff, but still. He eats like the rest of us. On a molecular level, he is a man. He was blessed with a talent that has entertained millions of us, and we have elevated him to a point where he is almost untouchable. I couldn't imagine sitting down and having a conversation with him. And yet, I mean, really, I could if the circumstances were right.
I think these same thoughts whenever I'm around famous people. Apparently I only get tongue-tied when I'm talking to Neil Sedaka. (I would have been fine if I had just pretended I didn't know who he was! But that might have made him mad, seeing as I'm a reporter and all.)
I know. I think weird thoughts. But that's what I was thinking as I watched him sit down. I had a blast watching the crowd. One dude on the second row was ridiculously excited to be there. He kept pumping his fist like this was the rockin'est concert he'd ever been to. (Maybe it was.) I watched people with no rhythm try to move like they haven't in probably 20 years. Young'uns swilling beer and dancing like they're his number one fan. (They probably bought their first Elton John CD last week.) Mothers and daughters doing the same. Families with kids out past their bedtimes. It was something. The place was packed.
We were seated to the left of the stage. I couldn't even see the screen without straining. There was some kind of lights going on behind him, but I couldn't see what it was. I had a fantastic view of the glittering rose on his back, though.
Sir Elton John performed for three solid hours. When I say performed, I mean he played and sang, stood up, turned around to wave at every section in the arena, maybe said a word or two, rinse and repeat. For three solid hours. Y'all. After about two and a half hours Robb and I had to take a break from sitting to go stretch our legs. 'Cause we needed a break! We are half almost his age and don't have his stamina.
*Sigh* It was great. If you weren't there, you really should have been.
Now I can't wait to see Lady Antebellum!
We went to see Elton John last night. You know me. I love to soak up the world around me. I'm sitting there, watching the man come on stage and watching the crowd respond to him. Like it tends to do, my brain started thinking in descriptive sentences. I'm writing in my head and wishing like heck I could blog from my seat.
(It wouldn't have worked so well on my cell phone. I think I need a better solution.)
When we found our seats and sat down, these two guys in suits were onstage playing cellos. I don't remember what they were playing when we sat down. I just remember thinking that it seemed fitting for some reason.
Ha ha. And then they bust out with
(You'll just have to click on it and come back. I can't figure out how to make the video show up here.)
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/jS826PwLHdQ" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
I'm pretty sure it's not natural to do that with cellos.
Robb said if they really wanted to impress him, they should play Ozzy's Crazy Train.
I kid you not, their next song was
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/zyCiEYFZkoc" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
The won a new fan.
Now that we were all pumped up, Elton took the stage.
Y'all know how I think by now. If you don't, you should. I'm looking at him thinking, he's just a man.
I don't mean that disrespectfully, but down on a physical level, he's a man. He showers like the rest of us do. Maybe with nicer stuff, but still. He eats like the rest of us. On a molecular level, he is a man. He was blessed with a talent that has entertained millions of us, and we have elevated him to a point where he is almost untouchable. I couldn't imagine sitting down and having a conversation with him. And yet, I mean, really, I could if the circumstances were right.
I think these same thoughts whenever I'm around famous people. Apparently I only get tongue-tied when I'm talking to Neil Sedaka. (I would have been fine if I had just pretended I didn't know who he was! But that might have made him mad, seeing as I'm a reporter and all.)
I know. I think weird thoughts. But that's what I was thinking as I watched him sit down. I had a blast watching the crowd. One dude on the second row was ridiculously excited to be there. He kept pumping his fist like this was the rockin'est concert he'd ever been to. (Maybe it was.) I watched people with no rhythm try to move like they haven't in probably 20 years. Young'uns swilling beer and dancing like they're his number one fan. (They probably bought their first Elton John CD last week.) Mothers and daughters doing the same. Families with kids out past their bedtimes. It was something. The place was packed.
We were seated to the left of the stage. I couldn't even see the screen without straining. There was some kind of lights going on behind him, but I couldn't see what it was. I had a fantastic view of the glittering rose on his back, though.
Sir Elton John performed for three solid hours. When I say performed, I mean he played and sang, stood up, turned around to wave at every section in the arena, maybe said a word or two, rinse and repeat. For three solid hours. Y'all. After about two and a half hours Robb and I had to take a break from sitting to go stretch our legs. 'Cause we needed a break! We are half almost his age and don't have his stamina.
*Sigh* It was great. If you weren't there, you really should have been.
Now I can't wait to see Lady Antebellum!
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