Lumineer is definitely better than Lumi-far

Ring. Ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Savannah! What'ya doin'?"

"Oh...Lisa and I are just hanging out with the dogs in the backyard.

LONG PAUSE

"Uh...what are you guys doing?" my daughter politely asked (finally).

"Oh, nothing," I shrugged, valiantly trying for nonchalance, "We're just on our way home from The Lumineers concert."

SILENCE

Then...Savannah and Lisa exploding.

What does that say about me, as a human, that that was one of the many highlights of my INCREDIBLE night?

"What was another highlight?" my husband asked curiously.

"Is it shallow to admit that I loved being enveloped in the confetti cloud?" I cautiously inquired.

Brad laughed. "It was more like a blizzard."

I hadn't known being showered in a curtain of confetti was even ON my bucket list. I blame Erin, who has given me glitter shell-shock.

I bounced in my seat, still buzzing with excitement.

We had SO much fun.

My anxiety limits us much more than I ever like to admit. Bad enough that it affects me...but it also impacts Brad. 

He always supports and encourages my decisions...when I actually get around to making one. "I'd really like to go see The Lumineers," I'd shared, months ago. Then I came up with a thousand reasons why NOT to go see The Lumineers. Brad just patiently waited me out, knowing his role is ground crew on the day of the event. I hemmed and hawed for weeks before pulling the trigger. Sydney and I studied the map showing the available seating and she quickly ruled out the lawn seats. "There was plenty of room there during Willie," I pointed out. She smiled. "Willie Nelson is a bit of a different concert. Let's get you somewhat out of the fray."

Which is how Brad and I ended up with silver bracelets.

The only people who could get closer to the stage were the Gold Bracelets and they were all crammed into a corral like drunken cows.

Us Silver Bracelets had SEATS (not that we used them). We were so close that it was easier to look at the actual musicians than the video screens projecting the images of the musicians to the 17,000 far-sighted people behind us. 

18,000 attended. With me. The girl who crouched and cried in a mulch fort outside a grocery store during Covid. I now have a new favorite Lumineer lyric from the song "Slow It Down:"

And when she stood, she stood tall

Getting me to and from my seat was dicey...I've adopted a more-or-less successful eyes-on-the-ground, following Brad's feet as I clutch his hand strategy. I got flagged through the metal detector but Brad moved directly into my eyesight as security determined I wasn't a threat...the ticket agent just thought I was an every-day-sort-of-idiot as I fumbled scanning our tickets (Sigh...I miss paper tickets...doesn't anyone keep scrapbooks any more?) which I took as a victory, and the people who bumped and jostled me were too inebriated to react to my frightened jolts and gasps as Brad kept a firm grip on me in the crowd. We found our seats (Staff explained and pointed. I nodded. Brad listened and located.) and once I'd spent 30 minutes prairie-dogging the area looking for exits and calculating the quickest ways out of there, I settled in.

"Do the seats really make that big a difference?" I asked Brad as I rattled off a dozen more of my highlights. I likened all the musicians to television personalities...a thirty-something Ron Howard with a beard, Woody Harrelson, "Ann Perkins" from Parks & Rec, a young Bobby Flay, and Ed Helms (which was actually conceivable since he also plays the banjo). I watched them exchange insider smiles, wink at one another, toss guitar picks...I saw the skill and strain of fingers coaxing incredible sounds from a constantly-revolving array of instruments. Yeah. The seats make a HUGE difference. In all the other concerts I've attended, I was swept up in the energy of the crowd...an almost revival-type relationship where we are led to sing with one voice and move in metronomic motion. At this concert though, that chorus was behind us...an incessant energy pushing us forward...up...up...up...toward the band...where the energy originated and pulsed out...you could feel it in your stomach...by the way the hairs on the back of your neck lifted...and in the way you couldn't stand still. Electric.

I'd warned Brad during the drive to the concert. "There are four songs that I know by HEART," I confided, "so I'll be good-to-go if I get called up on stage." "What about the other songs?" he wondered, worried on my behalf. We wouldn't want me to be embarrassed, after all. "I just won't make eye-contact during those numbers," I assured him. Turns out, I was relieved that the band didn't need me to help them out because the biggest highlight of the evening was standing next to my husband at that concert. 

 

The Lumineers: A Seven Hour Journey...Wait! That's Fourteen Hours 'Round-Trip!

 I hadn't seen my eldest daughter since Christmas. "I'm thinking about going to see The Lumineers next week," she told me Sunday on the phone. "I LOVE The Lumineers," I squealed while mouthing the words "Do I love The Lumineers?" to my youngest child who was sitting next to me. "You have three of their songs on your playlist," she whispered back. I nodded. I DO love The Lumineers. Which is why I did the unthinkable for a teacher. I constructed two days worth of sub plans to drive seven hours to see the band I love. Most educators would prefer teaching with typhoid rather than to write sub plans. But I am a HUGE fan.

So I spent six hours constructing meaningful lesson plans (Hello, Saint Patrick's Day Lucky Charms fraction activity!) only to receive a robo-call informing me that I was teetering on the precipice of The Blizzard That Never Was. Schools across the state, even mine, were closed for the next two days. Glory be! Thanks to The Lumineers and media hysteria, I had stumbled onto the mythical one-day work week...in MARCH!!! Statistics show that the majority of self-inflicted pencils-to-the-eye teacher-related work injuries occur in March.

So with a baggie filled with stale marshmallow yellow peep rabbits, a trio of string cheese(s), and two Russel Stover chocolate marshmallow bunnies, I embarked upon my seven hour pilgrimage to Connecticut. ""I'm saving them for when I hit the Massachusetts border," I vowed to my husband as he kissed me good-bye. "Why don't you make Utica (or Ithica or some city that ends with a ~ca sound) your first snack break," he suggested, fearing that I'd set an unrealistic goal. He was right. My snack was gone before I'd made it to the opposite end of our neighboring town of Perry.

Because I only got lost twice this trip, I made it to Savannah's in record time. As a "good" writer, I intentionally used the word "record" in a story about my going to see a band but Savannah thought that this deliberate inclusion was both irrelevant and unnecessary as bands don't use "records" any more. "Everything is digital now, Mom," she sighed. So let me amend my carefully constructed intro: Despite getting lost twice on this trip, I was delighted when my digital clock revealed that I'd still made it in record time. Better?

Because I was so excited to see The Lumineers, I just couldn't seem to stop talking. We followed a family through the smoke-filled haze of the casino. "I brought my kid, too," I smiled at their seven-year-old before pausing to point out an animatronic wolf perched on a tall rock for Savannah to enjoy. "Look, Honey! It's ears are moving!" Savannah and the seven-year-old both rolled their eyes.

Savannah found us our seats and I immediately began people-watching. "You look like a gopher," Savannah snapped, "Sit back!" Apparently, she'd forgotten that she hadn't seen me since Christmas. I squinted at the screen by the stage. "Is that a viking," I asked, "or...an angel? Is is a viking-angel?" "Are you serious," Savannah asked before immediately realizing I was. "Mom, it's Cleopatra. Their album-title." Oh. I pulled out my little camera to take a picture. "Mom! Put that away!" she hissed. Again. I was confused. "If you HAVE to take a picture, I'll do it for you with my fancy gizmo high-tech fancy phone." (I MAY have paraphrased a bit there.). "I had no idea that my camera was such an embarrassment to you," I sniffed. "It's not the camera," she mumbled. Maybe I don't like The Lumineers as much as I thought I did.

Oh. I'm just being silly. Of course I do. I began the important process of bonding with those sitting near us. "I love the smell of your hand lotion," I complimented Dressed-Up Girl Next to Me. "Thanks," she smiled, admiring my cute black flats (I'm so glad I didn't wear my winter boots like I'd planned), "Would you like some?" Savannah reached out and grabbed my out-stretched hands. "No, she's fine." After gagging repeatedly while watching Shaved Head Guy With Great Cheek Bones spitting his chaw into a water bottle, I made a list of acceptable containers of which he could spew his nasty mouth brew into...ALL of them NOT CLEAR before drafting a letter to my congressman about outlawing chewing tobacco at all Lumineers concerts. I was then distracted by a man who enjoyed yelling the name "Jenny" into every available lull. I named him "Forest." Guests arriving late disrupted the row ahead of us (Home to Girls Who Asked Me to Take Their Picture And Then, Not

Wanting To Hurt My Feelings, Had It Secretly Re-Taken By An Usher Who Looked Like Professor Slughorn From Harry Potter). "We don't want to inconvenience everyone by crawling over you," Young Man With Glossy Hair, a Salesman's Smile, and Was Working Towards a Degree in the Political Sciences apologized, "Why doesn't everyone just scoot down instead?" Not knowing what else to do...they DID! I watched, delighted, as "Chew-tobacco" lost his spacious leg-room seat to The Rainmaker. "Chewing tobacco kills brain cells and the art of the negotiation," I whispered loudly. Unfortunately, you couldn't hear me over the guy yelling, "Jenny." Enough about the crowd...except for Shrill Drunk Middle-Aged and Inappropriate Woman Behind Us who yelled profoundly inspirational comments during the lead-singer's heartfelt song introductions such as "You don't have to touch to feel" as well as "Put it in me, baby." I was surprised that Wesley didn't immediately drop his microphone to "put IT in her." "Put WHAT in her," Savannah asked, finally feeling feisty, "a hypodermic needle?"

It was an incredible concert! Who doesn't love an accordion?  And a cello! Instead of a mic-drop or smashing his guitar, Wesley broke his tambourine before racing out to sing in the crowd which proves just how down-to-earth, fiscally-responsible, and ecologically-conscious he is. They played ALL three songs on my playlist! And I left, thinking that I might add a few more! "How do we get out of here," I asked, tugging on Savannah's sleeve as we fought the crowd streaming out of the arena. "We turn left at the automatronic wolf," she answered, grabbing my hand. I love The Lumineers.