The Who at the Pepsi Center

Doug told me he wanted to see the Who several months ago. When their concert at Pepsi Center was announced, I got him tickets as a gift. At the time I told him the tickets were his, and he could take whoever he wanted to the concert. Basically I figured he'd take Frank. After watching one of their early concerts on this tour on AXS.tv, I reneged and told Doug I wanted to go with him.

The concert was originally scheduled for mid-December, but was cancelled due to Roger Daltrey's bout with meningitis. It was eventually rescheduled for last night.

I try to get good seats for whatever show I attend. I figure at this point in my life, I really want to be able to see whoever I've decided is worth the time and effort to see live. Sometimes seats I think will be pretty good are actually terrible. Last night we were in the twelfth row of the right section of the stage. We were mid-row, and the seats ended up being GREAT. I chose those seats based on the fact that Doug would want to see Pete Townsend more than anyone else. It worked out perfectly.

The setlist they played was the same as every other show on this tour, and it was well-balanced. My favorite Who song, which they played, is Eminence Front. Doug would have a harder time nailing down his favorite, he likes so many of them. 

I've heard plenty of stories about how Pete Townsend resented Daltrey given he was the songwriter. On our way out last night, I made the comment that while I understand Townsend's desire for more attention, or accolades, or whatever it was he wanted and wasn't getting, the reality is that Daltrey knows how to sing his songs. The relationship is symbiotic. Both showed their chops last night. Both performed far better than I might've anticipated. Both were phenomenal.  

I don't know if I'll ever see them live again, and if I don't, that's okay. The memories I'll carry of last night's show are as good as they could be.

Class of '81

Today I read news that we lost a member of the Iroquois Class of '81. While I moved to California in my sophomore year, and didn't graduate from Iroquois, Western New York has always been home to me, and it always will be.

This news was particularly hard to take. Jamie Dudzic was someone I considered a friend from the day I met him. He was smart and funny and kind. Through the magic of Facebook, we've been able to take a glimpse into one another's lives, send a birthday greeting each year, and simply smile when a particular post touches us.

One of Beck's closest friend's last name is Dudzik. Spelled differently, but whenever I see his name pop up on caller ID, I think of Jamie.

I have been troubled since I read the news. My heart hurts. It hurts in the same way it did when I read the news of Mark Adam's passing, or each year when John Mariacher posts a remembrance of Matt Lewis Jones, or Mark Rademacher.  Or someone else posts something about Heidi Showalter. All gone too soon, as are so many others.

As I scroll through my friends' list on FB from time to time, I am struck by how many friends have left us. Not only from high school, but from other walks of life. It is that time I suppose. We're all much too young, but as we age, we will hear more frequently about another dear friend or loved one who has left us too soon.

I've written before that Doug tells the boys about how we each have three deaths. The first, he says, is when our breath leaves our bodies. The second is when we are buried. And third is when people stop remembering us, or talking about us.

I will never forget Jamie. Not ever. As long as I live. He was one of the nicest people I've ever known.

Twenty Days

No, I'm not counting wrong. Twenty days until we close. The sellers moved the date up by a week. We're still going away, we need to, but when we get back, it'll be full-steam ahead.

Yesterday we "finalized" budgets, and decided what we're going to buy now and what we can wait on. A few days after spring break, we'll start shopping and arranging for things to be delivered.

The wait has been painful, but in contrast, the sellers on our house in California wanted a FOUR MONTH escrow and then wanted to extend it. We were a mess by then . . . and getting married in five months. We denied extending it; we needed to move on with our lives.

I've written several times over the course of the last year about feeling unsettled. Twenty more days. I hope. Could be longer for the unsettle to actually settle. But by summer, I hope to have the final book in the LINGER series well underway.  And maybe be started on the sixth book in the Crested Book Cowboy series.

Twenty days . . . 

Filling Our Souls

Yesterday morning I got a text from Frank with a photo of a page of the school newspaper in which he is student of the month. Cool, I thought. But then I took a step back, and figured out how many students can be student of the month in the course of their time in high school. Basically, thirty-six. I amended my initial reaction to VERY cool.

With all kids, elementary-age, tweens, teens, there are ebbs and flows to their interactions with their parents. When you have more than one, the ebbs and flows seem to multiply by more than the number of kids you have.

I think it's relatively natural for teens to disappear from their parents' lives when they get their driver's license. They begin exercising their independence in a way we don't plan for . . . at least with the oldest child. I'll find myself thinking, where is he? Only to find out he's at a friend's house. SCREECH. Hey buddy, you need to ask, not just go. They start staying out until their curfew. Exactly. 

"When will you be home?" 
"By curfew."
Oh. Okay.

Everyone says this is normal, but I miss him. The last few family mini-trips we've taken, he's opted to stay home. Usually for good reason, like work. Truthfully, it helps because then we don't have to board Ballou. This year he asked if we were going anywhere for spring break, and I told him we weren't. Then we changed our mind. 

In the meantime, he signed up to work over the break. When I told him of the plan change, he said, "I wanna go" (only a slight whine in his voice). Uh, okay . . . call Smith's Dog Lodge, book Ballou to go play for a few days; rent a big SUV (because we don't have a car big enough anymore for all of us to ride together); and reconfigure where we're going (just a little), how long we're staying, and how many rooms we'll need. He was able to get the time off work. Evidently a lot of the guards and instructors offered to work spring break, so it wasn't a big deal to find a replacement. 

I'm thrilled, because again, I miss him. We all need to get away. Buying a house and moving is stressful. Very. We're waiting for escrow to close . . . which will be another month or so, and it's hard to wait. We really can't pack any more than we have, because the rest of the stuff we need to use on a regular basis. We can't plan any more room layouts, or take any more measurements, or shop any more catalogs. We need a break. 

So off we go. A little sojourn to Taos and Santa Fe. We recently went to the Georgia O'Keefe show at the Fine Arts Center. We watched the newsreel of an interview with her filmed at her ranch. We were filled with longing to go back to the enchanted land of New Mexico, and feed our souls.

It's a quick trip, but it's all of us. Together. Reconnecting. Filling our souls.

Parenthood . . . Looking Forward and Looking Back

While scrolling through the Facebook newsfeed tonight, I came upon a photo a friend posted of his wife, who is very pregnant, and their dog, out in a beautiful field, sun shining, flowers in bloom.

Over the course of years I've known him, we've had a number of conversations about parenthood. The usual impetus is me mentioning how old each of my boys are. When he met them, Frank was seven, and Beck was two. My advice to him each time the subject came up was to pay attention, because they grow up so quickly. 

Recently I asked his advice about the best path for Frank to take in his approach to college. The main thing he said was Frank should take the path of passion. Do what he's interested in, excited about, passionate about.

Frank has had music in his life all his life. This friend is someone who influenced Frank, without him really knowing it. Sitting in our living room, both times he came and played house concerts for us, Frank listened. He listened to the same music we were listening to, and talking about; he listened as our friend talked about his own path, how his own parents influenced him.

Today Frank enrolled in his first class at Berklee School of Music. It's an online music production class in which he'll learn the basics of software he'll need this summer at the Berklee music technology workshop he's attending, and at NYU's summer music production program, if he gets in.

I looked at my friend's photo on Facebook, and thought back on those days and weeks before Frank was born. Parenthood. What would it be like? How would we feel? What would our hopes and dreams be for this little boy who was about to become such an important, integral, essential part of our lives? 

Health. Happiness. Passion. Enthusiasm. Excitement. Opportunity. Part of opportunity is exposing him to people who will make a difference in his life. Teachers, but not just those he learns from in an academic setting, but those who teach without even realizing they are. Those teachers are often the ones who make the biggest difference in the lives of our children. Those are the teachers we are thankful for each and every day.

And there is the last bit of advice I'll give to my friend. Pay attention . . . not just to them, but to the people who influence them. Be grateful, and say thank you, for you never know which of these will play a role so important that it affects the rest of your child's life.

Thank you, my friend. Get ready for the magic . . . there's truly nothing like it.

Switcho Chango

As I somewhat predicted in my hesitancy to believe the house would work out until the day we closed on it . . . which would've been five months from now . . . we're no longer going in that direction.

After too many "add-ons" from the builder, some of which were ridiculous, Doug went on a search for houses that recently came on the market. He found one. It went on the market this morning. We saw it at 2:00. We put an offer in at 3:30, and at 7:00 we signed the contract. The only thing the seller countered on was the closing date, and we're pretty flexible, so it didn't matter.

So instead of buying a lot and building a house and waiting five months to move in (not to mention the typical delays), we'll be moving in next month. The house is set up almost identically to the house we were planning to build. But it's already built. Completely move-in ready. 

It's very close to our old neighborhood, practically across the road. It's a neighborhood we're very comfortable with, very close to the middle school and high school. It's a very short walk along the open space to the lake, and we're certain the roads will be plowed because there is an elementary school just down the road. It has a view . . . along with everything else we require. 

It's just another example of believing that what is meant to be, will be. 

Bless our realtor's heart . . . she has the patience of a saint, and is such a pro. We've been working with her for ten years now (not continually), and she has never pushed us, or grown impatient with us. If you're looking for a good realtor, I highly, highly recommend her. Her name is Jeri Hendrix and she's been in this market for years. She knows her stuff, and knows this market inside and out. 

The next six weeks will be a whirlwind of selling things we no longer need, planning, packing, and putting our move together. If you had told me eighteen months ago that we would move twice in less than a year, I would've laughed and maybe gotten sick to my stomach. Instead, the first time wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, and it will be even better this time.

I hope I can sleep tonight, because I'm going to need all the energy I can muster.