How Sweet It Is

Last night, hubby and I went to the Hollywood Bowl to see JT and Carole K: the Troubadour Reunion.  It was a very last minute thing.  Two pricy tickets were ours for the taking, and unlike 99 percent of the time, we said, oh, hell, yes, we'll go!  How ... what's the word... spontaneous of us, how out of character.  I picked up dinner, and off we went on a bus full of old farts, a motley crew who marched on board carrying blankets and thermoses and cushy seatpads, as if going to football game in the dead of winter.  No parking hassles.  No waiting for hours to retrieve our vehicle after the show, which is hubby's definition of purgatory.  None of that.  Just wine, salads, box seats (excuse me for bragging), crisp night air, and, once the concert began, a lump in my throat for the duration.  James Taylor was my first, you see. 

First concert.  The location?  The Hollywood Bowl, of course.  Kyle and I were in eighth grade and we worked her brother Alan till he agreed to take us.  I recall a lot of "oh, please, oh, please!" until he relented. It wasn't that he didn't want to see James Taylor. He didn't want to see him with us.  Before we arrived, Kyle and I strategized.  We were so positive that someone would pass us a joint (it was the '70s, people!) and we wanted to be prepared.  We had big ideas.  We'd sneak a hit under a blanket and her bro' wouldn't know.  We practiced and rehearsed and had it all down and it never happened.  But the evening was magical, nonetheless.  I shouted JAMES TAYLOR!!! like a lunatic before he even came out on stage.  In those days, he refused to sing "Fire and Rain."  But he sang it last night, with feeling. He sang all my favorites, and so did Carole King.  It was almost too magnficent for the SJG.  I can only take so much wonderful till my brain explodes.  I wish I could've bottled the evening for eternity.  Oh, the joy.  Oh, the rapture.  Let's do it again.

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