The rube in the third row

Where did June and July go? I missed writing about so much... It's not that so many things happened, or that I had so many amazing thoughts that just had to be shared. Actually, I guess that's exactly it... I had plenty of thoughts, but they didn't need to be shared.

One thing I could have written about was the amazing experience I had at the Jose Carreras concert. Since I'm listening to him now, I guess I'll write about it.

I had a sort of unexpected moment of "enlightenment."

I had so been looking forward to hearing him sing in person. I bought a ticket for myself -- center stage, second row. I was so excited that I would be close enough to see his eyes, his hands, his breathing. I thought, maybe he'll look at me and I'll have a moment of connection with greatness.

I got all dressed up in my favorite Betsey Johnson, wore my grandmother's antique glass beads and carried her dainty little black beaded purse. I got there early enough to have a glass of wine and watch people. Everyone was all dressed up and ready for a glamorous evening of his beautiful tenor.

They flashed the lights and I went in. I felt so fancy being in the second row with people who I imagined must be rich or interesting or like me, just really into beautiful music. I thought going alone I might make temporary friends for the evening with these obviously like-minded people.

And then, this voice came up from right behind me. It was the voice of an older woman, loud, unrefined, completely unaware of its intrusiveness. Her west Texas accent grated on me. She was practically screaming, "I was JUST listening to the Three Tenors in the car and NOW we're HERE! I hope it's even better in person!" etc etc etc

People on the front row turned around. People on the second row glanced at each other out of the corners of our eyes, and looked sympathetically at the people in the front row, as if to say, "We're sorry! It's not me!"

The the lights dimmed and Carreras walked out. Everyone applauded. In the silence before the music an old man somewhere behind said, "He has George Washington hair."

I was mortified. Carreras whispered to the pianist, "Que grupo!"

And the Voice behind me snorted and laughed whole heartedly.

The music began. The Voice GASPED audibly. Gratefully, she stayed quiet during each performance. But in between, she shouted and snorted and talked to everyone around her.

The wholetime I was telling myself -- do NOT let this ruin your night. Pay attention. She will NOT ruin this night.

After the final aria, he left the stage, but came back for an encore. The Voice gasped again and stood up and shouted, "Thank you for sharing your gift!"

And it hit me... She was just really into this. She was having a great time and was truly grateful that he would come to Austin, Texas and sing for us. And beautiful music should be for everyone... even the rube in the third row. She was just expressing (maybe not in the most appropriate way) the same thing I was feeling ... and she got him to SEE her! I felt ashamed and embarrassed about my judgmentalness... I had so wanted him to see me, to validate my appreciation for ... his gift. I finally saw myself in her and it humbled me.

SO, he sang three encores, the best songs of the night. Finally as we were all getting up to leave, I turned around to look at her. She was a very elegantly dressed older woman with a very sophisticated short hair cut and beautiful jewelry. She looked up at her younger companions and said with a smile, "Are we going to go play now?!"

And I wished I could go with them...