Now John's relationship with sleep is uneasy so he hates interruption when fully settled into dream land. Out of regard and wishing to avoid waking anyone else, I warmed myself in the car for awhile thinking it over, hoping someone would appear. Thinking didn't help; my thoughts grew unkind.
Next, I text messaged Keoni and waited. Nothing. Phone probably off. Ah well. It was now 7:30 a.m. I made the call to the master bedroom. Wendy rescued me and my keys; then, she went to the barn doing chores. Not a good time for negotiating our driveway car juggle, and John's car blocked me from the street.
The rest is fodder for situation comedies.
The service at church was welcome, but snow depriving the choir of practices (I need them a lot besides what I do on my own) resulted in a sort of worrisome singing experience this time.
Hmmm. Was I somehow running athwart the grain of life here?
"Relax. The day has just begun." answered the dust fuzzies.
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After church I drove to Lansdale Station to ride on the SEPTA train to City Center (Philly). I was 10 minutes too late for the 11:51 so I looked about me for walkable possibilities to get out of the 27 degree wind, and spotted a small "Mediterranean" storefront across the tracks. Packed inside the tiny business were every description of middle eastern-type foods and a few pastas on shelves and cases; including far orient garments for sale hanging high on the walls. I told the proprietress I was looking for a restaurant and she told me that she'd make me a "sandwich" for carryout--only 10 minutes. She named some menu sounding names and I chose one she said had chicken. Right on time she rang up that and a New Jersey canned guava juice I'd chosen. We parted and I wandered back to the depot platform.
The depot is locked up on Sundays so I waited with the gathering crowd on the lee side out of the wind. The sun hitting the spot where I stood kept me from completely chilling down. The lined London Fog coat I was wearing didn't quite make me comfortable. I shall have to invest in a real overcoat for next winter. My precious LF will be fine for spring and fall.
Boarding the Philly-bound train I looked for people dressed up in finer attire. I sat in the next seat by a well-dressed couple who maybe were about 10 years my junior. Before we took off I asked if they were headed to City Center and sure enough they were. I told them I was pretty new to the area and train system. During a brief conversation I learned their opera destination was two blocks from Kimmel Center where I was headed. They said that they'd walk with me and show me the shortest distance way.
That six dollars I'd just spent at the Mediterranean store turned out to be a handsome lunch I ate on the train. The very large "sandwich" had ample chicken and plenty salady ingredients tightly rolled in some sort of flat bread--the content flavors ran to pickle with sharp overtones of hot spicy-ness. Mmmm-mmm.
SEPTA employs people to take fares on the train. I was ready with my Medicare card and dollar bill for my senior fare and the employee just passed me by. I didn't say anything about it, but sort of wondered.
Arriving City Center the couple oriented me well and we conversed happily walking along until their destination where they pointed me to mine two blocks ahead. They offered to meet me afterward to see I got back to the depot OK. Thanking them, I declined the offer letting them know I'd return with family who'd made the trip on the train a couple hours earlier avoiding the parking fees and problems finding space on a car show, opera, Philly Youth Orchestra, and whatever else a busy Sunday afternoon in Philly had going. I'm still enjoying the warm feeling that couple gave me.
Wendy, John and Aidan waited in the Perch Club pub within sight of Kimmel Center until Keoni's PYO orchestra time. Ernie, Gena and Sophia, a young family, were there with them when I arrived about 40 minutes ahead of PYO time. John works closely with Ernie at their mutual employer, and had invited them for the afternoon. Keoni had been at Kimmel rehearsing since they'd arrived.
It is always daunting taking orchestra pictures. Nothing really does it well except an excellent lens and a tripod. A couple pages of the program...
Here are a couple smart phone ones to show we were there.
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| Michael Ludwig, in front of Keoni, was violin soloist for S. Barber Violin Concerto, Op 14. |
Keoni is growing so happily into a life of music. My grandsons, all, my granddaughter and my great grandsons are a crown of joy. But, you knew that.
All the while enjoying this wonderful music I am struck, once again, at the paradox of joy. This teenage boy makes me so aware that joy is in its own moment, to be experienced, yes, yes and yes; yet, it will be over. I wipe away tears remembering I can't hold its sweetness; just savor it.
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We made our way back to the train station. This time Keoni led the way since he comes to practice in Philly every week. I walked with him and correctly guessed each turn.
After our homeward train ride began the SEPTA ticket agent started down the aisle as before. John had his family round-trip ticket ready for punch. Seated with John, I held my senior dollar and medicare card. The agent waved it away and said, "Naw".
The dust fuzzies are right.
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