It’s Time For Live Music Again

After years of streaming concerts, it seems bands are ready to trek back out again for shows. Some musicians returned to the scene last year, but this year it seems there is an explosion of bands hitting the road after too long of a hiatus from their livelihoods. This is fantastic news for me. I’ve already got six shows on my calendar for 2022 and I expect that number to increase as I see what else is coming down the pike. I am looking forward to making up for the year and a half I lost to Covid-19.

This morning, out of sheer curiosity, I did my best sleuthing to determine how many bands I’ve seen over the years. I started seeing concerts in 1983. My first show was The Police when I was 15 years old. I’ve conjectured since then how many concerts I’ve been to, but it’s all been speculation. I stopped saving tickets stubs decades ago, so the list I was working on this morning was recreated out of the few stubs I kept, my Facebook and Instagram feeds, my Apple calendar, and my iTunes account. I’m sure I missed some, but this is what I came up with:

These aren’t all separate shows, as some of the bands were co-headliners or opening acts for other artists and some bands were seen at festivals. The numbers in parentheses denote the number of times I’ve seen that band live. It’s a little embarrassing, for example, how many times I’ve seen Sting in concert. I can say for sure, however, that he was the headliner at all those shows so that helps me better estimate how many actual concerts I have attended. I made a guess once that it was around 100 shows. Looking at my list and digging through my memory, I think it’s safe to say I’ve actually seen closer to 120 shows, and it may be more since I just realized I’ve actually seen U2 three times. I shudder to think how much money I’ve spent on these shows, especially when you consider ticket prices with fees these days, but in most cases I wouldn’t take my money back for the experience. There have only been a handful of shows for which I would like a refund of time and money.

My friend Heather and I at a very rainy Decemberists show at Red Rocks on my 47th birthday

Because concert going is one of my hobbies, I’ve turned my sons into concert goers too. Joe’s first show was Imagine Dragons at Red Rocks when he was 8. Luke’s first show (also seen when he was 8) was the Foo Fighters at Red Rocks. We love seeing concerts as a family, which has become costly for the four of us. Nonetheless, we’ll be seeing Spoon in May and The Decemberists in August together. Steve and I are flying to Pasadena for the Cruel World Festival on May 14th too so we can see 80’s bands. I will get to pretend I’m 16 again. All the bands will be showing their age and reminding us, in fact, we are not 16, but I’m looking forward to seeing Blondie, Devo, Violent Femmes, and Public Image Ltd. I also purchased tickets to see The National twice this summer and we’re going to Red Rocks to see The War on Drugs for the first time as well. Have I mentioned I’m excited to get back to shows?

I know stupid Covid isn’t done with us yet. I’m vaccinated and boosted, but I know I will be risking exposure to coronavirus by inserting myself into large crowds. I do not care. Being a music fan is as much a part of my identity as being a mom is. Some people live for sporting events, others for the theater. While I enjoy attending those things too, concerts are my happy place. I’m ready to get back at it. I’m overdue.

A Small Tsunami Of Gratitude

(Author’s Note: I try to keep this a PG blog, but there is a link at the bottom of this page to some very happy, positive, enthusiastic profanity. I’m blaming it on Jason Mraz, but I’m encouraging it by sharing it here. Consider yourself warned.)

Rainy night with Jason Mraz at Red Rocks

Sometimes I find that things I’m not too sure about turn out to be the best gifts. I went with my friend, Shari, last night to see Jason Mraz perform at Red Rocks Amphitheater. I didn’t go because I’m a huge Jason Mraz fan. I went because I like Shari and because she asked and because I love concerts at Red Rocks. I saw my first show there in 1985 at the ripe old age of 17. (Oh…okay. Fine. If you must know, my first Red Rocks show was Howard Jones. It was the 80s. I was a teenager. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.) Shari moved to Denver two summers ago but hadn’t yet seen a show at my favorite venue, so I was excited to accompany her even if I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect from the concert.

It was raining, so we geared up with waterproof jackets, umbrellas, and brown plastic lawn bags and braved the elements. We walked up the breath-taking ramp to the amphitheater, found our seats in Row 22, and settled in despite the steady rain. When the opening act had finished and Jason came on, it was still raining. Once we were three songs into the show I realized that the truly beautiful thing about Jason Mraz, whether or not you enjoy his music, is that he is a positive, happy soul and his attitude has the power to make things seem better. If you are a lyrics person, you will find his songs are filled with life-affirming joy and love. I stood in the 50-degree rain for four hours last night and never felt cold. That should say something about the sunshine this man is able to share.

Unless you’re a huge Jason Mraz fan, you may not have heard the song I am about to recommend. I hadn’t heard it until last night, but it was the highlight of my rainy evening. Jason explained that this song is about starting a tsunami of gratitude. I like the sound of that. The song made me smile. It reminded me how important it is to acknowledge the good in everyone you meet. So, I am paying it forward by sharing. Please know that I am truly grateful for your support. I’m 70 posts away from my goal of 366, a full year of daily blogs. I wouldn’t have kept up with it if it hadn’t been for your kindness in bothering to read what I have to say. Maybe you know someone who could use a pat on the back for something they’ve shared, created, begun, or accomplished? Share this song and start a small tsunami of gratitude of your own.

You Fckn Did It

What About THAT Guy?

Yesterday I went to do one of my usual fall workouts. I know it’s not technically fall yet, but when the kids go back to school it’s fall for me. Anyway, I was at Red Rocks Amphitheater to do my standard exercise routine there. It basically consists of my walking or jogging a loop around the inside of the amphitheater…up the stairs, across the top of the amphitheater, down the stairs on the other side, across the front of the stage, and back up again. Depending on my energy level and schedule, I will do that 5-10 times. It’s not overly strenuous because I don’t get too intense about it, but it’s enough of an interval workout to get my heart pumping and my legs worn out. The charm of working out at Red Rocks goes beyond the sheer beauty of Red Rocks itself with its scenic with views of Denver and the towering red rocks framing the vivid blue sky. When you’re there, you feel like something of a bad ass. You’re not walking your dog down your block; you’re out there with the warriors who leap the steps, jump the benches, do lunges at the top of the amphitheater, and then crunches on the stage. And even if you’re not there doing a boot-camp style workout, you’re still there putting in your time. The folks who work out there form a loose community of nut jobs for whom a jaunt around the park does not truly register as exercise. You are a part of something unique and cool. You’re at the most awesome gym in the country. You’re a link in the crazy Colorado network of endorphin junkies. It’s no mistake that Colorado is the leanest state in the nation. We work at it.

So, as I was climbing stairs and feeling particularly bad ass for being there when what I really wanted to be doing after only five hours sleep was napping, I spied this guy.

<——-This guy is a firefighter. He’s in his full gear. He’s hauling a hose. He’s got his tank strapped to his back. He’s climbing the stairs in boots. Somehow, after watching him walk the stairs I was walking while wearing all that gear, I didn’t feel like such a bad ass any longer. In Colorado, as impressive as your dedication to your own health and fitness is, there is always someone who is more dedicated, someone who is doing what you do only he’s doing it longer, harder, faster, and better than you will ever do it. It’s humbling. It’s also inspiring. In my next life, I want to be that guy. For now, I’ll be satisfied that I was out climbing stairs at Red Rocks rather than sitting on my butt on the patio at Starbucks with a morning bun and a triple venti latte.

Zen And The Art Of Arm Flaps

The point when I stopped to ponder my arm flapping.

So, after six solid weeks of not doing any sort of regular physical exercise, the kids went back to school and my workout time miraculously returned. Woohoo, right? Yeah, yeah, sure, sure. Yesterday as I was climbing stairs at Red Rocks (very slowly while sucking a lot of thin air and talking way too animatedly with my friend Heather), I noticed a little something disturbing happening with my arms. The back sides of them, where my triceps used to be and presumably still reside, were flapping. Flapping. They were swaying in harmony with the motion of my arms. Ew. Ew. Ew. I knew this would happen someday. I mean, this sort of thing happens to all women of a certain age, right? I chose to ignore it and not mention it to my friend because she is younger than I am and she doesn’t need to be burdened with this type of miserable yet inevitable discovery. When she is my age and starts to notice this same troublesome phenomenon, I will nod my head knowingly. I kept climbing the stairs and pushed the odd sensation at the back of my arms into a quiet spot deep in the recesses of my busy brain. I forgot all about it. Until today.

For today’s workout, I decided to hop on my mountain bike and do the 6-mile singletrack loop on the open space behind our house. It all started out fine. As I climbed steadily toward the top of the ride, my attention was fixed on my legs, still sore from the stupid stairs at Red Rocks yesterday. I started my descent. That’s when I noticed It was back. Careening down the hill, bouncing over rocks, the back of my arms flapped wildly like the wings of a chicken that is trying to escape from a mouthy red fox. Holy crap. Luckily, I have small arms so the arm flapping was not large enough in scale to knock me unconscious. Still, the depressing fact remained. What I felt yesterday was not an anomaly. My body is betraying me. Dammit! I thought about rushing home and pulling out my free weights to torture my triceps into submission. But, that would require so much work.

So, rather than trying to ameliorate the situation, I did the next best thing. I looked for the silver lining in my cloud. There must be one, right? One that would allow me to skip hours of free weights and kettle bell exercises. I scanned my brain for signs of my zen. Then it came to me….a way to make peace with my fluttering arm flaps. You see, this isn’t a sign of a breakdown of strength. It’s an indication of a loosening of spirit. I’m becoming less uptight. Yeah. That’s it. That’s the ticket. It’s not that I’m becoming soft, per se. I’m simply a bit more relaxed. I’m not falling apart. I’m yielding. I can live with that. My slackening skin, while a bit disconcerting and unattractive, is merely an outward manifestation of inward move toward zen. I’m grateful that I’m healthy enough, sagging flesh be damned, to climb stairs and ride a mountain bike. Those are the things on which I should focus. After all, what’s a little flapping skin among friends? I’m at peace with my wiggling and jiggling but otherwise healthy body. End of story.

By the way, I may or may not also have a bridge to sell you…if you’re interested.