Sunday. A good storm last night, the wind and such providing a little drama to what is usually an uneventful evening. Nothing over the top, but unusual sound effects as you turned the lights out early. And awoke again at exactly the same time you awoke yesterday and the day before, indeed the target time you say you'd like to awaken in the mornings. My, my.
But no rain. The sky looking as if it were clearing. A drive to breakfast under a rising sun, the nose and sinuses still stuffed up, but again, sun. Looks like it may be an easy drive later to Dublin.
Later. I looked up the location of the Lies In The Attic (An A Cappella Musical - Songs by the Beatles) on Google maps, but didn't enlarge the map enough to resolve the hidden connecting streets that led to the theater. Not something you want to do if you want to arrive at the theater on time. I discovered. One who tends to use maps rather than one of the GPS apps that talk you to your target.
Still managed to arrive just as it was starting, Ms. M and her two friends having saved an open seat and so all was not lost. Just close to lost, just missing the dingbat award for tardiness. This from the guy who can't arrive late, who (as a younger fellow wrestling with the problem) often arrived much too early leading to embarrassment.
I had no idea what the show would be like, other than knowing all the Beatles songs would be sung a cappella by what I assumed was a group. A group of four? More?
Turned out to be different and interesting. An interesting play where the music was used as a background commentary, the two main characters stopping at appropriate times and an a cappella group would materialize behind them, sometimes four, sometimes as many as forty singers in costume. The singing was excellent, the idea unique and the two hour program went by quite quickly.
We drove to a Chevy's afterward and talked for an hour or so over dinner. Had a chicken Caesar salad, which was fine, but I should have gotten the quesadillas after trying one of Ms. M's.
So you actually drove forty or so miles to a show, had dinner and drove home without carping.
We talked a bit about this, getting your head in a place where you find yourself turning into a hermit. I'm a hermit if I stop getting outside every day and begin to avoid parades, demonstrations and festivals that I usually attend to take pictures. Evidently, from the conversation, others suffer this same conundrum.
Oh, and the Beatles concert. The audience, some four hundred of us, were all about my age. We seem to have turned the bend, if not full circle. “...when I'm sixty-four....”
You're a bit more than sixty-four with another god damned birthday coming up on Tuesday.
Evening. Reasonably clear headed, the sinuses had been acting up in the afternoon, but they seem to have settled down. Nothing on television and little to nothing I wanted to watch on the tablet. The Democratic debate was available online, but I didn't dial in. Took a look at some of the commentary carried by the Guardian and the Times, but decided we could read about, listen to what was happening in the morning.