Friday nite, December 11th

I went to The Concert for Bangladesh tonight, or more accurately, as you have probably already guessed, The Concert for Bangladesh came to me tonight via DVD. I saw the original movie back in 1972. I purchased the boxed DVD set of the rereleased, digitally remastered and all that stuff they can do version, as a gift for myself a few years ago; thinking, silly me, that my family might want to watch it with me. It is, as of yet, still unviewed.

I am alone at the castle tonight. My husband is in Connecticut for the weekend helping my stepson and daughter-in-law prepare the nursery for the granddaughter who is due to arrive in early March; my daughters, as noted in previous blog postings, are in pursuit of and living their own young adult lives; and my 18 year old, senior in high school son who has been insisting for years now that for all intents and purposes he is living his life separate from me, is hanging with his bandmates on a Friday night.

I spent the majority of the day immersed in an emotionally draining project of compiling data related to my disability claim. Before I set off for FedEx Kinko’s to make copies to mail to an attorney, I participated in the irony of ironing a set of work clothes for my 18 year old, senior in high school son who has been insisting for years now that for all intents and purposes he is living his life separate from me. On the way home from FedEx Kinko’s, I stopped at the Stein’s Garden and Gifts to purchase another 200 white Christmas lights for the bottom of the tree and 2 spools of gold and green wire wrapped ribbon.

Back at home, I attached the lights around the bottom foot and a half of the Christmas tree, floated lengths of the ribbons in streamers from the top of the tree to the bottom, and made one huge, full, foofy, bow for the fireplace and another for the top of the tree.

I decorated the tree for my pleasure this year. It is simplicity with elegance. Loaded with white lights and completed with only the floating ribbons and bow atop; it has a certain orderliness that I need right now. The mantle has a string of fiber optic lights set in fake little poinsettia flowers interspersed with big and little pine cones. The rest of the house is darkened tonight except for the tree and the mantle and a sprinkling of tealites. The pretty softness is all mine to sink into. I am pleased as punch with how my big, fat bows turned out; it is not always a guarantee.

Amid the quiet loveliness, I let the concert begin. Watching the performers, captured here in a much younger form, striding through the backstage area, I was struck by how small in the hips and skinny in the legs men were in my day. I’d forgotten about that look in these decades of body building and fitness consciousness. Also noteworthy to me was the complete lack of pretentiousness of the musicians as they played (George Harrison, Eric Clapton, Leon Russell, Ringo Starr, Bob Dylan, greats in those days, icons in this day)– not a hint of self aggrandizement – just masters at work for a cause. So strange to see Bob Dylan with a rounded and full face, no trace of today’s cragginess and wiry eyebrows. (Watching the 2000 Oscars Show in which his “Things Have Changed” was nominated and he was there to perform it, my girls had a visceral reaction at the sight of him that went something like: “Ewwww who is that?” I was a little dismayed at their lack of awe, but in all fairness, Bob Dylan's beauty is in things other than his face and they didn't come of age with his music.) Seeing him tonight performing “Hard Rain”, I was reminded that I used to sing my son to sleep with that melody and my own set of lyrics:

Where are you going my blue-eyed son?

Where are you going my darling young one?

Well I’m going to sleep in my own little bedroom,

With my special blue blanket my Buscha gave to me.

I’ve played hard all day; now I’m ready to sleep.

And it’s a charmed,

It’s a charmed,

It’s a charmed,

It’s a charmed,

It’s a charmed life that I lead.

It was a good concert. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

After the concert, I took a break, stretched my legs, brought the dog in for the night, and loaded up the woodstove; then I settled back in to watch what has become in recent years my favorite, sentimental Christmas movie: “The Family Stone.”

Aside from the stellar cast and pitch-perfect portrayals, it absolutely captures the unique looniness of the less than perfect family, all grown up and home for the holidays with brothers wrestling; slap fights; bratty little sister, steady, solid big sister; outsider being introduced into the fray; and ultimately, the loss of a member and life goes on, old traditions linger while new traditions integrate.

It’s a good movie. I laughed. I cried. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

My kind of evening!