Day 41 Valentine's Day

My son, Christopher, gave me a music gift for Christmas. He purchased tickets to see Gregory Porter, live, on Valentine's Day. Yesterday, despite the threat of a white out blizzard hitting the city, Christopher and I hit the road and headed to Manhattan. The need to hear the jazz, to hear the bass, the piano, the trumpet, the saxophone, the drums and the voice pushed back the very real fear, for me (not for Chris). Gregory Porter, only introduced to us before Christmas, beckoned us to make the wintry drive.

Four or five solid blankets, two heavy duty boots purchased from Red Lake Canada, mittens, and snacks, stuffed the car. This was all in preparation for a worse case scenario. Lynn and I have always been and always will be cautious. Chris, though he appreciated the thought, might not have had the car as well stocked.

To be with Chris is always fun and fiesty. We are constantly spatting about driving. I remind him I'm good without having to read, SO UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL, all the license plates. He would tell you I am exaggerating. You decide. Heading out of the city at 11:30 pm was a blast. Try chasing your tail, that sounds easier than using signs to find the Lincoln Tunnel. Chris wanted me to use my stupid smart phone's GPS. I told him he needed to rely more on signs. Gonna use GPS the next go around.

Chris and I are geared similar. We LOVE people. We could make friends with the city in one night and be ready to do another city the next day. We love clerks, bus drivers, waiters, waitresses, you name it, we are talking and discovering. This is why we love red stop lights in the city, just to watch people. As I headed my way back from the bathroom after the concert he informed me that I missed meeting Gregory Porter. Of course he would make his way to him. Oh well, maybe the next time.

After Chris parked the car we checked out the restaurant right next to The Town Hall. We are not foodies, not picky, and we were hungry so we decided to just eat there. After our delicious meal and good conversation, we had a half hour and decided to spare it in The Town Hall. Again, more opportunity to watch people.

There was a seat finder that was excellent, running up and down the stairs, you could tell she loved her job.  And then there was the seat finder who seemed lost, kinda like, "do you want to show me where your seat is?" Watching him direct people, or not, to their seats was so distracting. "Give me that stub! I know I can find these seats in half the time!" Just, let it go, Lynne! Geesh!

Last night, I was with my "people".  I am a black white woman. I chatter, grunt, groan and amen, sometimes all at the same time. I never clap to the beat, it's always off.  While sitting, my seat did not restrain my body from dancing, swaying or moving. HOW COULD ANYONE REMAIN STILL? The music transported me. This was a night to remember. Oh, the smooth jazz, the jazz that moves mountains in percussive style. My whole inner self was transfixed, transformed and translated into "give me more of that!"

We left the music hall and the snow was certainly not a white out. However, after having found the Lincoln Tunnel (a really fun game) we soon found ourselves in snow. It was slow jazz on the highway. Four in the morning Chris pulled in our driveway, Fergie meeting his mommy at the door (dear, dear puppy).

Thank you Chris for such a great evening. It will live on!

"Hey, Laura, it's me.
Sorry, but I have to
ring your doorbell
so late."

Butter, pure butter, so smooth.