Day: October 1, 2024

Several months ago my husband, Mike, casually mentioned that Sting and Billy Joel were scheduled to perform in San Antonio in October. I laughed and said that we should go and celebrate since October is the month of our wedding anniversary. After all, we would be marking fifty six years of life together. It seemed like a good idea to make a big deal out of such a milestone but the conversation soon moved on to other topics and I mostly forgot about my spur of the moment idea. 

Fast forward to the end of September and I noticed that there was a notation on our family calendar that simply said “Sting/Billy Joel.” When I asked Mike what that meant he seemed to have no idea and insisted that he had thought that I had put it there for some reason, maybe a hint to get tickets for the show. We bantered over who placed the reminder there for a few minutes that then Mike began checking the different places where he keeps notes about upcoming appointments. Lo and behold he found tickets for the show that he had purchased way back in the spring. 

One of the joys of growing older is forgetting things and this would have been a doozy but for the calendar doing its duty of keeping us up to date. Suddenly we were planning for an exciting weekend in San Antonio. We knew that we would be able to stay at my daughter’s home so we had no need to reserve a hotel. Out next challenge was convincing my father-in-law to accompany us on our little adventure. At close to ninety-six years old he certainly did not need to stay by himself in our home for the amount of time that we would be gone. It took a bit of nudging but eventually he saw the light and agreed that it would be best if he came with us. 

We excitedly travelled on a beautiful Thursday morning with perfect weather and high hopes for the fun that lay ahead. On our way out of town we checked out the new Portillo’s that had just opened in the Houston area. We had such fond memories of Portillo’s in Chicago that we just knew that we had to be among to first to dine there and it really was on the way to our ultimate destination. 

The place was packed with people standing in line out the door. As is usual with a Portillo’s the staff moved the crowd along quite smoothly. While inching forward we got to talk with a lovely woman who was originally from Chicago who had come back to Portillo’s for a second time just to get a taste of her hometown. Sadly it was a soft opening for the restaurant with only a limited menu that did not include Mike’s favorite polish sausage sandwich. Nonetheless the food and the atmosphere was great and the manager assured us that a bigger menu was on the way. 

After another pit stop down the road at what is being billed as the biggest Buccee’s ever we made it to my daughters home with big smiles and lots of anticipation. Friday came and we spent most of the day driving around the Texas Hill Country listening to Willie Nelson tunes on the radio and enjoying wine at Becker’s Vineyards until it was time to head for the concert at the Alamodome. 

Our son-in-law had warned us that there might be a bit of traffic once we approached downtown San Antonio since the concert began at seven in the evening. Being from Houston where afternoon commutes are legendary we thought little of his concerns but still left two hours before showtime. Little did we know what a nightmare lay ahead of us. 

We flew down the highway until we caught up with a miles long ribbon of cars all heading to the same destination that we sought. As we barely inched forward we watched our estimated arrival time move closer and closer to the seven o’clock beginning of the concert. We also shook our heads in horror as signs along the roadway announced that all of the parking lots at the Alamodome were full. Not knowing the city well at all, we had no idea what lay ahead. We just kept moving as slow as a turtle with all of the other souls heading to the same place. It was already seven thirty by the time we exited the freeway and soon enough we saw people walking from far away parking lots that all seemed to be filled to capacity. So we simply drove and drove and drove until we finally saw a place that might hold our truck. It was at least ten blocks away from the venue but we were willing to hike even though it was now eight o’clock and we knew that we had missed an hour of the program. 

We were not alone in our quest. There were still hundreds of people stuck in long lines of cars searching for a place to stop. The sidewalk was filled with others almost running to get to the stadium as quickly as possible. We were all determined to make it by hook or crook. We finally reached our seats near eight thirty when Sting was performing his last few songs. Luckily we had seen Sting perform earlier in the year so we did not feel too much angst in essentially missing his part of the show. Soon the lights came on in the arena and it was time for an intermission.

Latecomers were still pouring in even as we settled into our comfortable seats and relaxed a bit before Billy Joel came to the stage. We tried to calm down from the anxiety that had sent our hearts into overdrive during the three and a half hours it had taken us to finally reach the concert. Soon enough the lights dimmed and seventy five year old Billy Joel was playing one of his many hits. It became apparent that he was as talented as ever. 

For two hours Billy Joel took us down memory lane to a time when we were a young married couple in our twenties with no idea of the adventures and tragedies and wonders that lay ahead. With each song a memory popped into our heads. We could see ourselves looking young and eager and optimistic. It was all incredibly glorious and Billy Joel and his ensemble did not disappoint. We agreed that we would have walked all the way from Houston for the opportunity to take part in the lovefest of that evening with people of all ages. 

Toward the end of the concert there was a beautiful unity of spirit that reminded me of the times when we were not fighting with each other or trying to make each other believe or act in certain ways. Instead we were singing together and lighting up the stadium with our phones in a moment of peace and love that has been sorely missing. We did not care one way or another about politics or religion or race or age or any other kind of preference. We just had fun and shared memories while a very talented man brought us joy and even hope that we are going to get past the divisions and judgements that seem to be plaguing us. Life was good and beautiful then and now. Billy Joel reminded us of that. Nothing could steal our joy.

The summers are becoming hotter and hotter with each passing year. When the temperature hovers near one hundred degrees I cannot imagine how I was able to survive the first twenty years of my life without air conditioning. I remember it being warm, but nothing like the debilitating heat that keeps now me indoors for three or four months of each year. 

There was a time in my youth when I happily played outside all the day long, hydrating with the garden hose. I stayed cool wearing shorts and crop tops and cutting my hair short for the season. I’d walk across hot concrete in my bare feet and be so active that sweat accumulated on my neck in beads that locked like a necklace. I didn’t seem to notice the warm nights with the windows opened wide and the attic fan pulling in a muggy breeze. I suppose I was acclimated to the hot summer days because I never knew anything else. 

Even when school commenced after Labor Day in September I sat in classrooms without any kind of cooling system save for large fans strategically placed to send a bit of air across the rows of desks. There were walls of windows that opened to make the best of the ventilation. Being hot was standard fare for the first weeks of the school year and that pattern was repeated each spring. None of it stopped me from carrying on as though sweat was just a natural part of living in the south. I found ways to enjoy life and the great outdoors much like the folks up north adapt to the cold. 

Now too much time in the heat sickens me. I am like wilted flower waiting for more temperate times when I can return to dining on my patio and working with my plants. The weeds are collecting as I avoid the headaches and light headed feelings that overtake me after only a few minutes under the relentless sun. I wonder if this is a sign of age or just the result of being spoiled for decades inside air cooled rooms where I cannot feel the blazing rays on my skin. I worries me that I have become this way because I remember my grandparents toiling in the fields on their farm in hot summers when they were a good ten years older than I am now. The heat did not bother them, but of course their entire lives had been spent with few of the luxuries that I now take for granted. 

I get cabin fever and feel a need to travel to places were the summers are more moderate. I feel a guilty sense of envy for friends who summer up north and return to the south in October or November to elude the harsh variances of the seasons. I think of how wonderful it would be to enjoy spring like days in the middle of August when even my roses struggle to survive the heat. I feel so much more alive when I am outside communing with the flora and the fauna. I chide myself for not being able to ignore the heat and just gut through the experience like I once did without much thought or effort. 

I suppose that I could take a trip to the beach but I am more of a forest and mountains kind of girl. I like to explore on long hikes that take me farther and farther away from civilization. The more remote the place, the better I feel. I can hear the insects and birds calling one another. I can feel the breezes caressing me through the canopies of the trees. I feel as though I am in the paradise that Adam and Eve once enjoyed if only for a moment. Everything is perfect, my breathing, my heartbeat, my mood. I feel energized and ready to take on any challenges that may come my way. Being outside on a perfect day brings me back to life when my spirits are sagging. The outdoors is where I want to be. 

Of late I find myself searching each day for photos from a friend who has moved to Kodiak Island. She takes hikes in the evenings after work. The days are long up in Alaska so she has plenty of time to leisurely explore. She wears a light jacket with a hood in case it begins to rain. She seems to be alone in a magical place where she and the animals live in total harmony. She has seen mama bears with their cubs and starfish sunning on the beach. Mountains beckon along the horizon and wildflowers of many colors profusely grow along the paths that she follows. I have never seen anyone appear to be as happy as she is there and because of my own pull toward such places I understand why it is so. I live vicariously through her postings while doing my best to stay away from the heat that no longer leaves me alone so that I can be one with the outside world even on the hottest days. 

It will soon be just fine. I will return to my garden and let my plants know that I really do care about them. I will smile at the birds and watch the frogs and salamanders skitter across the lawn. I’ll put my hands in the dirt and feel as though I have placed them in a miraculous tonic that will heal both my body and my soul. My wait is almost over. I am ready for the times I love the most. The season of autumn brings my reprieve.