The Sound of Silence

Los Angeles, California

I lied. I wrote that Eight was the penultimate post. And, at the time, I thought it would be. I signed off, even thanked the girls and my guy. But guess what? I'm not done here. I've been in a whirlwind of activity, seeing friends from out-of-town; house projects, so, alas, I haven't really launched the new writing project, and I keep writing posts in my head. So, for now, I've pulled Eight off my blog. It will be back, later. But for now...

I've always been a bit of a Springtime freak. Hills are green; flowers are blooming; everything and everybody looks a bit fresher. Baseball is back. Well, sorta. Though I have been an LA Dodgers fan since my college days, I finally threw in the towel on Dodger Stadium. I made the decision last year. It is just too fu#%ing LOUD. I figured out, a season or two back, that the only respite from the noise was in the club level seats. But it still assaulted you when you walked in. Announcers for opposing teams were commenting on it. In fact, a LOT of people were commenting on it. Even on TV, or over the radio, the stadium sound system was disconcerting. And, as more than one person lamented on social media sites, the strident screeching of those young women announcers who interacted with fans and players before and during the game: Painful. So, I decided to make the jump to Spectrum so I could watch the games at home. And then, I just . . . didn't. The season started and Joel and I watched a few games which were provided on TV locally (with copious Spectrum commercials), but then we just kinda lost interest...

So, I got to thinking about all the money we were saving while not sitting up in the club level at Dodger Stadium, and decided to look at some other things to do. And through this circuitous route, we ended up at The Hollywood Bowl last week, on Sandra's birthday, seeing Paul Simon in concert on his farewell, Homeward Bound Tour. And it was one of the best concerts I have ever attended. I've seen the Beatles. I've seen the Stones. I've seen Pavarotti. Who knew Paul Simon would be SO stellar in concert? Well, probably a lot of people but not me. I was never really a fan. But about a year ago, insomnia drove me out of bed into the den and while surfing around TV, I found his Concert in Hyde Park. Afterwards, it became the first complete album I downloaded into my iTunes library (I have since downloaded a cast recording of Candide, but back to Paul Simon). I listened to it enough to want to see him in concert, especially when he announced it as a farewell tour and I saw the venue was The Bowl.

It was a cloudy day and an overcast night. We had great seats, bought a bottle of Santa Barbara County pinot noir, and watched the Bowl fill with what mostly looked like 50-year high school reunion attendees. I remarked to Joel that this is where the last of Woodstock has come to gather (or wither). I don't think he got that. But we were both certain that the four pot-smokers sitting alongside us were grandmothers. We played Older or Younger, a game where I point out people to Joel and he lets me know if he thinks they are older or younger than me. It's a nasty game that really appeals to my darker side and puts Joel in a precarious position, requiring diplomacy. But as we sipped our pinot and the sky deepened, my dark side dissipated. The concert started with no announcement, just Paul Simon strolling onstage while playing his guitar and singing America. That was followed by twenty-five more songs, with the best saved for last: American Tune; Late in the Evening; The Boxer (my favorite), and The Sound of Silence within the sequence of the three encores.

The next day I found a website called setlist, which listed all of the songs played for each night of concerts. Utilizing the Hyde Park album and then downloading the songs that weren't duplicated from that concert, I recreated our concert on a playlist. And that has been the soundtrack in my house throughout Memorial Day weekend and ever since. It's gotten me away from NPR, any thought of TV, and is certainly more evocative than the sound of a crack of any bat, Dodgers or otherwise. I've been in concert afterglow. And that is a special place to reside.

Tomorrow night we head back to the Bowl to see James Taylor and Sheryl Crow. Great seats again, and another bottle, probably of pinot. My friend, Holly, and I saw James Taylor last summer in San Francisco. What a great memory we made of that weekend!  Everything we did was perfect, from the hotel to the restaurants, to the Summer of Love exhibition at the De Young museum in Golden Gate Park, and, especially, the concert. You don't expect every weekend away to be that stellar, any more than you can expect every concert you attend to be one of the best ever. Last week we were lucky. But, regardless, I am looking forward to sitting with Joel, sipping our wine, and looking out for those pot-smoking, J Jill-wearing grandmas. I have been reminded that these exquisite memories made are what makes life worthwhile. I had forgotten that for quite awhile while struggling to stay above my own personal undertoad (reference John Irving's The World According to Garp). But tomorrow I will be mindful, joyful, and very grateful, that as spring begins to give way to summer, I will spend the evening with Joel, hearing good music, under the stars. There won't be Under African Skies, but there may be Mexico. Fingers crossed...

Thank you for reading my blog. It ain't over till it's over...