The words to the celebrated song of the title of my post, have shaped my week with, perhaps, a degree of literary licence. There were several competitions on the website. Yes, I would like to see Bon Jovi, but it would mean travelling to San Antonio. However, a once in a lifetime experience could be allowed to afford a little disruption. Kool and the Gang would also be a good option, and they were playing in Austin. The third, and perhaps most preferred contest, was for tickets to see the Moody Blues. Of course, I entered all three!
"What have you won?" was the question when I made a 'whoop' and 'holler' sound and raised my arms in an air of jubilant success. "Yes, yes, yes!!!" came the answer, and I skipped into the corridor and stood in the doorway of my husband's office, jumping on the spot. His first reaction to the news was "Perhaps the girl would want to go with you", referring to my daughter, who was sitting in the other room. She did not. Surprisingly enough, she had not heard of the group. Neither had my son, although both were familiar with what is, perhaps, their most famous song.
Last Sunday evening, we travelled to Cedar Park, and for the first fifteen minutes encountered very little traffic and no hold-ups, but as we hit the crossroads at which we were to turn, we watched the traffic lights change almost a dozen times before we could enter onto the road that housed the stadium. Another fifteen minutes, stretching possibly a hundred yards, and we were in a parking spot. "Should have gotten here early, like you were told to", said a parking attendant, who obviously was not a resident of the area, due to her impatient tone! The tickets had read 7:30bpm, and unlike most, did not give a 'doors open; time.
Our seats were very near to the stage, but they were rather depth-challenged and whilst I was very comfortable, Dana's knees were forced up against the seat in front. However, he said he was comfortable enough, and we waited for the band to emerge.
There is something rather different about going to a concert when you pass your half century. As a child, and teenager, concerts were either cost prohibitive, or in places that were considered unsavory, and although a few of my friends went to see 'The Osmonds', and other bands, I did not venture out to see any. However, with age comes the loss of inhibitions, financial ability (unless you are given the tickets, gratis,) and more of a focus on what you really like, rather than what is in vogue! (Although, not for one minute would I suggest my friends did not absolutely, totally and emphatically love 'The Osmonds!) The crowd's average age was around sixty and they danced (where possible) and sang. I was not familiar with all the songs, but sang along to 'Tuesday morning', and as the first half came to a close, I was quite animated.
"How many English people are there?" asked Samantha, as I sent messages of jubilation. "Four", I announced. "The three lads on the stage, and me!" Lads, they were not, but at 72 years plus, I hope I have that energy!
I chose not to correct the lady who sat in front of me, after we sang in unison to Herman's Hermits rendition of "Something good". She was rather excited as she announced to her partner, "I have seen them in concert too". He looked at her with a questioning look. "The Monkeys", she squealed. "Must have been a long time ago, and she doesn't remember it that well", I whispered to my husband. Dana reminded me that I was not at that particularly concert, and could not, with complete confidence, announce that she was wrong, but I was adamant! The second half was a mixture of classical music, Jeremy Irons reciting poetry and a few songs. After about half an hour, the familiar chords were heard, and Justin Haywood sang those immortal words, "Nights in White Satin". Had I not been holding both my phone, which was set to record, and my camera, as I did not want to miss the moment, I would have gone wild! Half a century after it first hit the 'hit parade', it sounded as good as it always has. The exuberance did get the better of me, and I managed to somehow press the 'stop' button on the camera, although the phone continued to record. I clapped, and clapped, and clapped, and 'whooped' a few times, uncontrollably, as the band took a bow.
It was nearly eleven by the time we arrived home Sunday night, and I was not at all tired. However, I was aware that it was a 'school night', and tried to quell my emotions and excitement in order to get a modicum of sleep.
Although my sheets are not made of white satin, the night was never reaching the end. The sheets that were on the bed became a tangled mess that contorted into a snare, which caused my few ounces of sleep to be filled with dreams of entrapment, and I was relieved when my alarm finally sounded.
Monday was the start of the second full week of the year. There was a sense of amusement as all those to whom I spoke, in the local vicinity, were feeling as if they were starting to run a marathon! The 'cheery dispositions' were back in town as the coats were swapped for jackets, and boots for flip-flops!
Our working day was rather long. Dinner was a surprise. Since my purchase of the freezer, left overs have been given a longer lease of life. However, the lack of labels to stick on the bags, has meant that I have not been entirely sure of the contents. "What are we having tonight?" asked Dana, as I insisted on going home as I had taken out some dinner. I answered by serenading, "Just what the truth is, I can't say anymore....cause I love you.....!" The 'truth' turned out to be Spanish meatballs, which he enjoyed very much!
Again, my night was not spent in white satin, but was never reaching an end. Insomnia dominated the dark hours, and when I rose on Tuesday morning, I was rather blue and moody. Dana had gone into work slightly earlier than usual, which had given me an extra half an hour to complete anything I wanted to, on what has become my 'spare' morning. Tuesday's have no specific agenda, but I flitted and floated, I fleety fleed, but I did not fly. I was in the wrong musical! Even Maria Von Trapp could not have dragged me into conformity! I was happy to say 'so long, farewell' to Tuesday morning, although normally, unlike the lyrics to the song, I find there to be too few!
As I had not labelled my 'left overs', the assumption that the meatballs were in fact a pasta dish, had caused me to take out two bags, and Tuesday evening, I sang to Dana as he asked me if I had taken anything 'out' for dinner. "I know what the truth is, I can say for sure....cause I love you....!" He found this to be rather amusing, and as he thoroughly enjoyed the same as the previous evening's repast, was far from blue and moody!
I drove to Joe's place on Wednesday. An old friend of his was visiting, and although I have met Jay on many occasions, at Joe's, I was quite surprised at the overwhelming greeting I received. We chatted like we were long lost friends, and I felt the same appreciation of being in the second part of my century, and just enjoying like minded company!
Although I would not always describe my past as 'Beauty I've always missed', there are some things of a kind of beauty that I crave. Food is rather high on that list, and a particular favourite of mine, when living in England, was the traditional Chinese dish of Peking Duck! Be it shredded with pancakes, or just on its own, I have not had the 'real deal' since I emigrated. I have suffered the supermarket's 'ready meal' version, but it does not compare with the auromatic dish, the recipe for which I had, but lost many years ago. The local restaurant in Austin offers the specialty, but a twenty four hour notice is needed. Dana called on Thursday evening, and reserved the canard!
Friday was the busiest day of the week, and we struggled to complete all tasks before heading out to see "Just what the truth is", and decide if this would be an equivalent to what my memory had stored. Dana had googled 'Peking Duck', and was none the wiser. He explained the images that he had seen, and I just smiled. As we entered the restaurant, my husband announced, "We have a 7:30 reservation for a Peking Duck". The girl behind the desk looked at me as my eyes said, "Just what I'm going through, you can't understand". Reservation for a Peking Duck? "Oh, a reservation for two. You ordered the duck?" she said, in order to clarify. I realised that to my husband, this was an event.
The waitress came over, and asked how we would like the dish prepared. "We can bring it all out with the crepes and sauce, or do half, and the other half with mixed vegetables." I looked at Dana, and he looked at me. "Half and half?" I suggested, as I was not sure he would enjoy the delicacy as much as me, but knew he would savour the more traditional platter. "Sure", said Dana, with his "Just what the truth is, I can't say anymore" look. As the waitress walked away, he admitted, "I have no idea what she said!" I explained as best I could.
We waited and waited, and waited. Considering they needed twenty four hours to prepare the duck, (having prepared and cooked it, I understand this,) it appeared that they needed another twenty four to cut it up and bring it to the table! However, it finally arrived, and Dana's face was a picture. He followed my lead, with caution. "Beauty I'd (always) missed. Oh how I love you. Yes, I love you, mmm, mmm, mmm". The sensation hit my taste buds like ambrosia. I had not realised quite how much I had enjoyed and subsequently missed not being able to order this so readily. Dana not so. "Don't care for the sauce", he said, as I continued to croon, "Oh how I love you.....". He did enjoy the preparation with the veggies, and found that without the sauce, (which I think enhances,) the pancakes were rather good. We could not finish the entire meal, being that it was a whole duck, with sides so asked for a box for the remainder. "How was it?" asked the girl at the desk, as we headed for the door. I did not burst into song, but did give her more details than she was expecting, explaining how I used to enjoy it in England, etc., etc. She seemed to appreciate the feedback, but then she had also smiled at my husband when he announced he had a reservation with a duck!
Samantha had a bridal shower on Saturday between one and three, so our shopping trip started early, and ended early. I spent Saturday afternoon with my Instant pot. Having bought the appliance some eighteen months ago, I had yet to use it. After the better part of an hour, I had to relent and read the instructions, something that I am not partial to! I followed what I thought was the letter to the 'T', and put the machine on for ten minutes. After three minutes I realised that I had set the timer for ten hours! Attempting to turn the machine off was harder than I expected, and I had to go back to the instructions. "Just what the truth is, I can't say anymore". A night in white satin, never reaching the end, would have been preferable to the hour I had spent trying to get the 'instant' wonder pot to work! Finally, I found the way to set the timer, and sat for ten minutes. When the timer went off, I found I had merely set the timer! At last, I got it to work. I am now proficient in Instant pot in Chinese, Spanish, French and of course, English. Duck, meatballs and anything from France should now be easy to cook! With my Butternut squash soup made, albeit taking longer than if I would have put it in a saucepan, I felt less of a sense of achievement than I had hoped!
The meal was very different, but rather tasty. In retrospect, we ordered the wrong items, but that was personal taste, and not because they were bad. We enjoyed a shared dessert too, which was most unusual, and the bill was not as high as I had expected for a downtown restaurant. However, the wodka shot was more than a 'thimble full', and a little too much for a 'lightweight' such as myself, and although not quite to 'tequila effect', I was feeling a little high. I felt a song coming on, and my mouth lost touch with my brain. Swaying in my seat, I was humming the tune. "Cause I love you, oh how I love you, ah, ah, ah", I finally sang, whilst eating my dessert. All I could think was, thank goodness this was not tequila, or I would be performing karaoke without a machine, or mike!
"Let's walk down Sixth Street", I announced just as we were finishing. "Why", asked Dana. "Because I want to tell everyone that we went down Sixth Street on Saturday night, of course!" I had sent a picture of the plates, and wodka shot to Samantha, and was now letting her know our plans, for no other reason than that I was 'three sheets to the wind'. She send precautionary replies, suggesting I do not do anything silly, that I do not get arrested, and that I hold Dana's hand, not, "Cause I love you. Oh how I love you", but because I could not be trusted on my own! However, I did feel the urge to sing, because despite enjoying the proximity to home of our new office, and the ease of going too and from work, I miss Sixth Street, and the diversity of downtown. Like the taste of Peking Duck, I had not realised quite how much! "Cause I love you. Oh how I love you", was not quite what Dana felt, and despite offering to walk another block, he was delighted when I said, "Nope, enough is as good as a feast", never mind the fact that he could not see my reasoning!
We arrived home at eight thirty, and I let my daughter know. She called. "What are you doing", she asked, as she heard the piano playing in the background. "I am dancing around the kitchen, to Dana's music", I said, quite uninhibited! Although the 'twist' has probably not often been the dance of choice to go with Southern gospel music, I found it was ideal. I wondered if Dana felt the need to play to bring him back to a 'safer' place! Sixth Street, although not dangerous, is diverse, and as the night goes on, the diversity increases. I always maintain that I was born too late, and would have enjoyed aspects of the 'flower power' movement. Although I am sure I would not have partaken in the illicit drugs and other attributes, I loved the music and freestyle of fashion, etc., and to an extent, the release of inhibitions. I am the same with downtown Austin. I love the diversity during the day, and perhaps in the earlier part of the evening, but would like to be away before the 'heavy' arrives.
No white satin for me on Saturday night, but another night never reaching the end. My throat felt as if it were a desert, and my head was slightly throbbing when I awoke. I was desperately thirsty, and craved fried food. All that from one single wodka shot! Breakfast was good. I enjoyed a white egg omelet with brie and mushrooms, a croissant, part of Dana's chicken and waffles, and a bowl of fruit. I did not prepare it myself, but "Oh how I love you", was definitely in my mind!
To conclude, this is not a letter I am never meaning to send, as it is my weekly post! I do feel that as I get older, "Just what I want to be, I will be in the end!" Blue and Moody be it not! I have no specific plans for next week, apart from to eat less, and definitely steer clear from any offers of shots. Taking all that into account, I will try to entertain, nonetheless, in .......... another story!
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