Still Processing

I've had more adventure in the past twenty-four hours than in the six months before then. My son's gig last night was fantastic, and the Talking Heads cover band (the headliner) was excellent. I danced my ass off! For most of the night, no one else was dancing, and I couldn't help but wonder why. I did a brief "the eighties vs. now" comparison in my head, but I couldn't up with a reason. When I went out to see bands in the eighties (and much more recently) my friends and I were always front and center, dancing like fools. I might have looked like a fool last night, but I don't much care. Just because we get older (and perhaps fatter) doesn't mean we shouldn't have a good time. In fact, it may be all the more reason to have a good time.

So here's what I'm still processing: Two different people with recent tragic losses were there, both of whom I've written about. One was my son's friend from work who lost his girlfriend suddenly a few months ago. The other was my insurance agent. I don't think I mentioned this in the blog, but after she told me the story of her daughter and we had talked for a while, I told her I had an extra ticket to my son's show and gave it to her. I didn't really think she'd show up -- after all, we barely knew each other -- but she did. We had a great time. Funny how people meet. We didn't talk about her tragedy; we just talked about the bands and I introduced her to my son and some other folks I knew who were there.

I did talk to the young man, about his recent loss and other things. He said something really interesting, which I could completely relate to. He sometimes hears his girlfriend's voice telling him to stop being sad or to get a grip, or whatever seems right in context. I asked him if he ever wondered if she's really speaking to him or if he just knew her -- and her voice -- so well that he knew what she would say and how she would sound saying it. (I sometimes wonder this when I am sad and missing my friend who died a few months ago.) He laughed and said he thought he was crazy and was the only person who wondered that. It was a good talk, and he seemed to appreciate the chance to speak about her and how he's been coping. He's a very nice young man, so I was glad to help, if in fact I did.

Early in the evening, one of the other "band moms" said that this was the first time we had ever had all the parents of our sons' band at a gig. I said I was pretty sure we'd all been at at least two other gigs; I was confused. It wasn't until much later that I realized she was including my ex-husband, who had driven down to Florida to stay with our son for the weekend. I told her later that I finally understood what she had been saying, and that the reason it hadn't occurred to me before was that I didn't really consider him a parent. (I think I phrased it more diplomatically than that.) She laughed and didn't seem to think me a horrible person.

Other weird things happened last night -- and today, when I went to a literary event downtown -- but I'm worn out from my big adventures. I'll just ponder the oddities. I've had a great little burst of socializing, but now I'm in for the rest of the weekend, back to being a homebody until my trip.