We had tickets to see Bob Dylan Friday night. Between the time we bought the tickets and the date of the concert, The Husband scheduled some medical tests for the day of the concert. The concert was to start at 8 p.m. As the day wore on, I began to worry that we weren't going to be able to make the concert, but we finished with a little time to spare.
We parked the car a block away from the venue. It was one of those garages that takes payment via a phone app. There must've been a thousand people using the service at that time, because it took FOREVER for the payment to go through. At the door, people were stacked up, several rows deep. A woman was going around, writing down our seat numbers on little cards, which she instructed us to give to the attendants at the door. She also told us to turn off our cell phones. Inside the door, attendants gave us little pouches that locked our phones inside. There would be no picture-taking, no camera flashes, no recording, no telephones ringing and chirping. I was totally OK with that.
Just as we got to the door leading to our seats, an attendant closed the door and would not let us in until the first song was finished. I was OK with that, too. Common courtesy.
We had good seats, center stage, first row of the mezzanine, which is my favorite spot in that theater. The band had already launched into the second song as we took our seats.
There were two guitar players on the left, a drummer in the center playing black/white drums, two other musicians on the right, and a guy at a grand piano that was situated in front of the drums. The lighting was warm, and it was behind the musicians, so it was hard to see their faces. My distance eyesight is not all that great, and the glasses I'd brought to read the program were ZERO help in seeing the stage.
To be honest, I didn't even notice there was anyone at the piano for quite some time; his head blurred right into the drum set from my perspective. One of the guys on the right had his hands on a keyboard, so I assumed the piano sounds were coming from him. I thought the guitar player on the left was Bob Dylan.
On the third song, the guy who had been at the keyboard moved to a slide guitar, but there was still piano music. I looked over at the piano - still couldn't discern a head - and there were white shoes showing beneath it. Had to be a body attached to them, because they were moving. Oh, that must be Bob.
I understood about every 12th word he sang.
My eyesight is sh*t, but there's nothing wrong with my hearing.
For a few minutes, I was a bit unsettled. Couldn't see. Couldn't process the lyrics.
So I just listened to the music.
It was really good. :)
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In our yard, there's a hole where I once attempted to make a decorative fish pond. It never had a fish in it because it wouldn't hold water. Over the years, I've dumped potting soil into it, and it has grown smaller, but not enough to level it with the surrounding ground. For six months, I've been raking leaves into it. Yesterday, I raked out all the leaves and planted potatoes in it.
These grocery-store red potatoes had sprouted in a bag in my kitchen, and I would not cook them. I cut them to chunks, placed the sprouted chunks in the hole, covered them up with leaves, and watered the pile well. I did not do any of the things I've been told to do with growing potatoes. I've done all of those things in the past and never got any results. We'll see what happens.
My guess is that a critter will uncover them and eat them right away.
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