Now We Are…Sixty?!?

Gosh.  How on earth did that happen?!?!

At any rate, Happy Happy Birthday to me and to Bruce (Springsteen, of course) whose b-day precedes mine by a few years but follows mine by a few days.  How is that for a riddle?  Extremely lame?  Yes, I agree, but what can I tell you, I AM lame.  ha ha ha ha   I know, I know I am hopelessly corny.  Happy birthday Bruce and thanks for being a remarkable entertainer and human being.  I know some people consider him controversial, but there cannot be any argument about the abundant good works he does, many of which go unknown.

A retrospective on The Boss:

http://www.app.com/story/entertainment/music/2014/09/12/bruce-springsteen-still-matters/15528989/

As for me, it has been quite a sextet of decades, that is for sure.    I have had amazing experiences, 

ups and downs.  While the hard stuff has been extraordinarily challenging, the good has been so spectacular that it far outweighs the bad. Most of the good has revolved around my children.  I was blessed to be mother to four cherished human beings.  In ways they will never know, they have provided me with moments of such pure, sparkling joy that I am literally left without words.  Those times, some simply seconds of an exquisite baby smile or a spontaneous, merry hug, shine up through the years.  I hug these memories to myself. They are my treasure.

Even though every day brings struggles, I have so much to be grateful for.  It is hard, especially when I’m dealing with a lot of pain.  But during the hard times, I pray and then I list for myself the things I am so lucky to have.  My darling grandchildren and my wonderful, generous friends.  I still have a roof over my head, although I am not sure for how much longer.  Then there are the little things.  A perfect cup of tea.  A good book.  The tactile satisfaction of embroidery, like painting with thread.  The soft murmur of rain.  My little dog who wants nothing more than to be adored and my even littler cat who is a constant source of irritation but she is unfailingly attentive and as a result it is hard to dislike her.

I miss my mother particularly on my birthday.   We had a fractious relationship for much of my life, but we were so different we were bound to clash.  I was not what my mom had wanted or expected in a daughter, I had wildly divergent values and goals from hers.  I simply bewildered her at times.  As I got much older I made an effort to understand her and not deliberately provoke her by challenging her ideals and taste, as I had for such a long time.  My sister and I had many a good cackle in private, but I was truly sorry I had disappointed her and then rubbed her nose in it.  I talk to her all the time now, telling her how much I regret our lost time.  I believe she is watching over us from her place in Heaven, where she is healed and happy.  Believing she is happy and at peace at last gives me great satisfaction.  But more than anything I wish she was still here. 

One thing I have been especially grateful for has been the opportunity to express myself through this blog.  Writing has been one of the most rewarding things in my life.  The sheer pleasure of stringing words together in a way that appeals to people has been a delight.  Sadly, someone I love deeply and whose opinion matters to me, recently told me that they considered my blog something hateful and destructive to our family. I have never deliberately done anything to offend anyone I love, so I was stunned to hear this.  The idea that something I was having such fun with unknowingly caused hard feelings just sucked the spirit right out of me  The accusation has tainted what had previously been such source of pleasure and I have had a hard time finding my way back to writing.  But I am trying and also trying to be attentive to anything someone might find objectionable.

Moving on….

What could be nicer than a window seat and a book on a rainy day?   
  

I have amended A. A. Milne’s sweet poem.  My bit, with abject apologies to Mr. Milne, is added in bold.

Now We Are Six 
 

When I was One,

I had just begun.

When I was Two,

I was nearly new.

When I was Three

I was hardly me.

When I was Four,

I was not much more.

When I was Five,

I was just alive.

But now I am Six,

I'm as clever as clever,

So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever.
 

Then came some more

Although never a bore.

Decades happily full

Eventful, without any lull.

Ten then twenty then thirty

School, wed, babies, much glee.

Forty cheerfully came

With much of the same.

Fifty arrived with unwelcome news

An illness, alas, would give me the blues.

Now we are sixty, struggling and stressing.

But the Lord, dear friends and loved ones surround me with blessing.    

I am so happy to be here still.  Happy Birthday, me!

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Happy Bruceday

For our birthdays (fourteen years apart in life but two weeks apart on the calendar), my sister Cathy and I celebrated by going to see Bruce and the E Street Band play their first concert in the new MetLife Stadium here in New Jersey.  My daughter sweetened the deal by hiring a car to take us and my power wheelchair to the concert!  Woo hoo! 

It proved to be a…let’s see, how can I put this?  It proved to be an eventful evening.

My mobility is extremely limited, so it is really hard for me to get ready to go out.  Taking a shower and getting dressed exhausts me.   And since I rarely do go out, I was very anxious, nervous about getting around ok and worried about the level of pain I am struggling with.  Waiting for the car to pick us up, I was a neurotic mess.  My sister was talking me down, standing in the kitchen looking out the window when she says “Did you order a white stretch limo?”  And I start laughing because I think she is making a joke and she says “No, really, that’s what’s out there.”

So I pop up like a demented jack-in-the-box and to my horror I see that is exactly what is out there – a vehicle that we could never fit my power wheelchair into no matter how hard we tried.  I lurch out to the driveway, freaking out.  “What happened to the car I reserved?!?”  I cried.  The driver was like “What car?”  I told him we had to transport a power wheelchair and he said, oh no one told him that, but don’t worry, we’ll fit it in.

Then he saw it.

Acknowledging there was no way to fit the wheelchair, he started calling his office.  After forty five minutes of hemming and hawing, it was finally determined that I would have to go with my manual wheelchair, which meant I would be uncomfortable all night and my sister would have to push me everywhere.  By that time I had calmed down [somewhat] and was just grateful I was going to the concert.

On our way:

Cathy, innocently thinking the worst was behind us.

The rest of the limo.  We sat on the back seat giggling like mad.

Once on the road, he drove like a maniac.  We were plastered onto the back seat by the speed of the car.  Cathy kept murmuring “We’re gonna die.  I know it, we’re gonna die.”  And she’s the calm one.  I was actually relieved at first when we hit traffic, because it meant he had to slow down.  Or so I thought.  He would speed up to the car in front of us and then slam on the brakes, speed and slam, speed and slam, lurching the car repeatedly until I was so car sick I thought I was going to throw up.

At the stadium, which he had never been to before, he had no idea where he was going or where he was allowed to drop us off.  He finally unloaded us about a half a mile from the entrance we had to use and my sister had to push me all that distance, over uneven asphalt with few curb cuts.  Then I realized in the rush to get out of the car, as he had been blocking traffic, I had left my camera behind.  I was TICKED.

But we were here!!  We let all the car stuff go and were determined to have a blast!  We had floor tickets for Bruce!  It didn’t get better than that.  We gave in our tickets, went through security and got to the wheelchair section of the General Admission floor.  A staffer snapped “Where are your wristbands?!?”  Wristbands?  What wristbands?  “You need to get your wristbands at the white tent outside.”  Cathy goes, “I am not pushing my sister all the way back outside and then back again!”  He eyeballs me and replies, “Ok, you can leave her here, just take both tickets, they’ll give you her wristband.”  So Cathy goes and spends 15 minutes looking for the white tent.  But it actually was YELLOW.  He had told her the wrong color.  Then they wouldn’t give her two wristbands even though she explained the circumstances and she had two tickets.  Finally she got a hold of a manager who gave her two wristbands and initialed the tickets.  Inside, they stopped her and examined the initialed tickets as if they were classified government documents related to national security.  They would not let us sit until they verified the initials were valid!!  Finally we got situated on the platform, with strict instructions as to how we were to stay positioned.  We were exhausted, and the concert hadn’t even started yet!!

But what a concert it was!!  Phenomenal!  Bruce, 63 years old on September 23, played almost four straight hours.  He rocked, he mugged, he goofed around, but he was somber too.  He played a few more ballads than usual and gave some introspective intros.  He talked about the family ritual of going to Jersey Freeze for ice cream after dinner in the summer.  We did that too.  I often wonder if we were ever there at the same time on a hot summer night as children.  He told of his memories of his late father taking them to the cemetery to put flowers on his aunt’s graves.  My husband is buried in that same cemetery, not too far from Mr. Springsteen.  There are so many connections.  Bruce talked about how the older we get, the more ghosts walk with us.  As children we are afraid of ghost stories.  As we age, it is a comfort to have the company of the spirits of those we love.  That truly resonated when they showed a slide show of Clarence during Tenth Avenue Freeze Out.  At the line “…and the Big Man joined the band…” everything stopped and all those memories of Clarence flashed across the screen.  In some pictures they were so young!  It was really moving.  Then they started up again, clearly missing him but happy to have had him in the band.  Clarence’s nephew Jake is playing sax with the E Street Band now and he is fantastic.  And just so cute.

Bruce plucked a little girl from the audience to join him on Waiting on a Sunny Day.  She was absolutely adorable, he was hilarious, being a big ham, and it turns out she was the daughter of a friend of my sister’s.  Here is the video her dad took:

My sister went to get a drink and on the way back spoke to one of the staff about being able to get our car closer to the stadium to pick us up.  At first they said no, but she pushed the issue.  While the concert was going full blast, one of the staff came and screamed in my ear that they would get a cart to drive us to the car.  So I screamed back in her ear that was impossible, there was no way I could get in and out of a cart.  She got her team leader and he came over to me and screamed the same thing.  I was getting really upset.  I screamed back at him that I had paid a lot of money for these tickets and I wanted to enjoy the concert.  I added there was no way I could do the cart thing and I would discuss it after the concert was over.  I was close to tears and I was shaking with frustration and embarrassment.  He threw up his hands in an exaggerated gesture as if to say “This woman is impossible!” and that truly distressed me.  Bruce was about to start an encore, but this dispute had really taken a lot of the fun out of it for me.  Ironically, the band played something like six songs for an encore, so it was almost another hour before the concert was over.

By that time the team leader guy was gone and the staff member who oversaw the handicapped area of the General Admission section said to us, I will take you to your car and then said something else that made it sound as though they were going to let the car pull up.  But that was not the case.  She pushed me as far as the stadium border and then Cathy had to push me the rest of the way, a total of a half a mile again.  I gave the girl my card and I advised her that I was going to pursue this, as it appeared they were not complying with the Americans with Disabilities Act.  Not to mention, with very few exceptions, their customer service was appalling. 

It took a while to coordinate with the driver of our car in the parking lot, but finally we were on our way home.  There had been elements of the absurd and the stressful and the stadium fascists staff worked hard to make things as difficult as humanly possible.  But nothing could take away the pleasure I got from the great company of my beloved sister and an amazing concert by Bruce and the E Street Band.  

9/19/12  Saed Hindash/The Star Ledger

Next: The Limo Company and the Stadium Have Some Splainin’ to Do

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Max 1, Bruce 1

A few weeks ago a friend told me he had learned Bruce was going to be making a surprise guest appearance at Max Weinberg’s Big Band concert on June 11 at the Count Basie Theatre in Red Bank.

If you told me Bruce was going to be somewhere buying a newspaper I would show up, never mind a “secret” performance. So I sprang for tickets and we made plans for a big evening.

My first companion had to cancel. My second companion had to cancel. At 8:30 the night before, I invited a third person (I know, I am sounding more and more popular), dangling the prospect of Bruce like a carrot. Max was incidental. They agreed, although it meant a tiresome trip to Red Bank from NYC. Such a good sport!

When we got to Count Basie, all I could consider was when would Bruce show up, how would he be introduced, what would he play. I am thinking that is what other people had on their minds too, as they were quite possibly the rudest non-audience I ever encountered. At least we were sitting in our seats. By far 30% of the attendees stood in the lobby throughout the evening, making enough noise to drown out jets landing at Newark Airport.

In articles I read before the concert, Max indicated his swing band was something he had wanted to experiment with for a long time, a concept I think is incredibly cool for a person who could easily rest on his laurels for the remainder of his life.

Nicely fortified with pre-concert drinks, here we were, hundreds of people in the lobby ignoring the fact they were in a theatre and the rest of us waiting for Bruce. And then a funny thing happened.

The band started to play. And proceeded to Knock. Our. Socks. Off.

I was expecting pleasant little renditions of Big Band era chestnuts. Which would have been fine until Bruce showed up and the real fun began. But the true surprise was the outstanding musicianship of each of the 11 band members and the wild, noir sound they created as they played numbers not from the forties, but from the 50’s and 60’s, a period I never had much appreciation for. Until last night.

With each song, the spectre of Bruce retreated. After about a half an hour, I wondered how on earth they would fit him into the show. After 45 minutes, I thought bringing out Bruce would alter the entire dynamic of the amazing music the band was playing, not for the better. Max was stiff as an MC, but dazzling as a 59 year old drummer, playing homage to his heroes, among them, Buddy Rich, Frank Sinatra and, naturally, Count Basie. The rest of the band, each of them singled out during the evening at different times, was spectacular. By the final numbers I was approaching: “Bruce who?”.

(I forgot my camera, so I present one of my famous, sought after, Life Drawings of the scene.)



A surprise guest was Charles Giordano from the E Street band and they covered “Kitty’s Back” in the same vibrant, enthusiastic jazz style they had packed the rest of the evening with.

To his credit, Bruce never did appear. Wise decision. The audience was on their feet for these extraordinary performers and them alone.

Those inconsiderate losers in the lobby? They’ll never know what they missed.

Whooops

I owe my readers an apology. It seems I have been inadvertently scaring the pants off of people, or just plain irritating them, by blasting Bruce Springsteen singing Born to Run.

When we went to his last concert in October, I did this fun slide show of our pictures, backed it up with Born to Run and posted it. I loved watching it, because I relived what a blast that night was each time.

Unfortunately, for many people, the music bursts out with no warning within a few seconds of pulling up my blog. SO obnoxious!!! It was supposed to only play if you clicked on it. My friend Christine told me it scared the bejesus out of her every time she went on. But I didn’t believe her. I mean I thought it was just a quirk in her computer.

Then I received a lovely, complimentary e-mail from a reader. At the end she graciously asks if she could adjust the music I have behind my blog.

But I don’t have any music behind my…uh oh.

So I apologize for being a blogger with bad manners, even though it wasn’t intended. I changed the slideshow into a link, so that should solve the problem (although it really is worth watching). Thanks for sticking with me even though I innocently broke the rules and annoyed the hell out of you.




Even Bruce agrees.

A Funny Thing Happened On the Way To Wegmans

At 3:30 Friday afternoon (yesterday), I was almost done with my work day. We needed paper towels, I needed some air, so I pulled on my sneakers and…the next thing I knew I was in Giants Stadium thrilling to Bruce and the E Street Band, the last concert ever in that arena.

How that happen?!?!

Well, I’ll tell you.

First, to fully appreciate how unlikely this event was, you have to know about me and spontaneity. I don’t have any. I have to think and think and think and think about doing something before I actually…think some more about doing it. Hey, the unconsidered life is not worth living. I know better than Socrates? I think not.

I plan. And consider. And consider the plan. I consider what emergencies could happen. And I plan for them. I consider how much it will cost. And I plan for that. I consider what could go wrong. And I plan for that. (For those of you who are NOT neurotic obsessives, yes there IS a difference between emergencies and things going wrong. Sheesh, good thing we crackpot insightful ones have your backs!)

I plan when to leave. And then re-think it. Consider leaving earlier and those contingencies or leaving later and those ominous implications. I consider the route. I consider the schedule. I consider cramming something into every single second so we don’t waste any of the experience. Relax, just play it by ear, you say? I already can’t breathe just hearing those words.

So at 3:31 p.m. when Mary Kate and I had an opportunity to go to Bruce’s last Giant Stadium concert, occurring in a mere four hours, I froze with indecision. For ten seconds. Then I threw us into hyperdrive. Sent Mary Kate to get sandwiches and wine. Hopped in the shower. Finished notes I was writing for work. Didn’t even check the weather! We were on the road by 5:00 p.m.

We were at the Meadowlands by 6:00. Tailgated in the parking lot. Looked at each other incredulously that we had done this on the spur of the moment, words that are not even in my vocabulary.

The one slight glitch was the tickets were for regular seats. I could not bring a wheelchair or the power chair. Fuck it! I went any way. Used a cane and really, really struggled. But the staff was great and helpful. They had go-carts to drive people who needed help to their destination. It was still SO hard to get up and down those stairs, but it was completely, hands down, without question, absolutely worth it.

Because it turned out that I was at the best concert I ever saw.

The seats were great. The weather was perfect. And Bruce was in rare form. Relaxed, funny, clowning around, nostalgic, and knocking himself out to please the audience.

We took pictures with abandon. Another departure for me. Every ticket says ‘No Cameras’. I went to Catholic school for 16 years. If there is one thing I do, it is follow the rules make sure I don’t get caught breaking the rules. Usually I take pictures surreptitiously, looking something like Maxwell Smart using his pen camera. Last night, we made no attempt to hide anything, getting pictures AND videos.

Everyone was in a great mood. The music was perfect. Max didn’t look as though he was going to go into cardiac arrest. And Patti was here. So good to see her.

Here is a slide show I put together of our pictures. And a clip of Bruce singing. He finished with Jersey Girl, the last song ever to be sung in that stadium. A fitting end.

Slideshow: A Great Concert


Jersey Girl


With the last notes, the rain began. And it was over.

Bruuuuuuuuuce!

The concert last week was the best of his I have ever been to. Twenty nine songs over three and a half hours. The last concerts ever before they tear down Giants Stadium.

He looks awesome. Although Max looked like he was going to keel over any second. The Big Man is such a classic. And Little Steven just cracks me up with the faces he makes. They were in rare form and, except for poor Max, looked like they were having a blast.

I know we did in the audience (even though it was FREEZING!!).

During Dancing in the Dark, he pulled a lady up onto the stage. It wasn’t quite Courtney Cox, but she seemed like a good sport and Bruce danced and chatted with her for probably close to five minutes. And then gave her the sweetest kiss on the cheek.

We were on the floor, which was so much fun. They had a raised platform for people with assistive devices, so I didn’t get squashed like a bug.

Here are some piccies:

Tailgating:



"Does this wheelchair make me look fat?"



The Main Event:



And here is a clip of the night itself that we were there, and the song Bruce wrote for for the end of an era:



(For e-mail readers: clip )


Thanks Bruce!

Bruce on Wheels

(Cover your eyes, Crotchety Old Man) Christine and I went to see Bruce, et. al. this evening. They are the best. He is such an entertainer and puts on a great show. So much energy! Everyone in the band looked awesome. And the play list was really eclectic, a great mix of old and new. He closed with Rosalita as an encore. Such fun. The soundtrack of my college summers. A local boy. A good guy. He’s not perfect, but heck, who is? He does a lot of good around here that people never know about.


I watched the concert from the handicapped area, sitting in a wheelchair. It was my wheelchair debut. I have given up so many of the things I love because I can’t walk very far anymore, I am deciding it is time to buckle (ha ha, no pun intended) and take advantage of wheels.

It definitely felt strange, awkward and uncomfortable. I was very self-conscious. And separated from everyone else, because my eyes are now at crotch level. Not the ideal anatomical area to start a conversation with. Or smile at. (My dear friend Marc hilariously points this out in his films at www.wheelchairkamikaze.com .) But parking was a snap. I would hold up my handicapped placard and we were instantly directed to close, plentiful parking. At one point I breathed to Christine “It’s like…magic!” And we both cracked up.

Everyone on the staff was very nice and helpful. It was fun when Christine raced me through the empty hall after the concert started and we went to the ladies, taking a turn practically on two wheels, the two of us giggling like mad. And how lucky am I to have a friend who is just so matter-of-fact about the whole thing?

But I have a lot to think about as I adjust to a new stage in my life.




A wheelchair. Who’d a thunk it?