In The Garden
So we’re back from Fort Worth (which I keep typing as “Forth”) and I’m busily writing up our adventures in that lovely city. But, before I get to them, I promised I talk about our Beethoven/Mountaineering expedition.
This all happened a couple of weeks back. As part of our training program, if you will, to get back into the swing of things, we had decided to start attending local events. The idea is that we would be getting in shape for longer, more demanding outings (like the one to Fort Worth).
In particular, we decided to attend a wind and orchestral ensemble that was being given at Southwestern University, the college here in Georgetown. It was to be our first evening out, and our first musical outing, since Martha’s fall.
The day came, and off we went.
Instantly we ran into some problems--specifically, in parking. There isn’t much to be had at Southwestern. But, I dropped Martha off at the concert hall and followed the rest of the crowd across the street and into the parking lot of a large church. Either the college and the church have some sort of working relationship on the issue...or there are some very pissed off church elders somewhere in the distance. But pissed in the most loving, Christian way, of course.
Anyway, I joined Martha and we had our second little incident. Martha loves balcony seats. She likes the view they give her. And she had reserved balcony seats for the night in question. Which was great except...
Except...there was this little issue of stairs. And with Martha still using her cane.
I asked the ticket taker about it nervously. This young woman smiled and said, “No problem! There is an elevator right over there.” Whew, I thought. And we headed to the elevator in question.
Which was tiny...and bumpy...and made funny noises...and I had a vision of us spending the night between floors. Great date evening, you betcha.
But, somehow we made it to the second floor. There, another young person greeted us. We showed her our tickets. “Just head over that way,” she said, cheerfully and helpfully. “And then go *up* the stairs. And then go *down* the other stairs. And then...”
Say what? we thought.
But it was true. The elevator just got you to the place where you could climb the first flight of stairs...the ones that took you to the first floor of the balcony. Then there was a second flight of stairs that went down the other side and delivered you, eventually, to your seats. Assuming that you could read the seat numbers. In the dark. Or the near dark.
I was actually going to suggest that we bail, but Martha gritted her teeth and up the stairs we went. And then up some more. And then down some more stairs. And further down. And still more down. I must confess, I don’t pray often...but, as I watched Martha go pale and fight with her cane... I was doing a few Hail Marys.
We finally got to our seats and waited for the lights to dim. Then the performance began. It was actually very good. It *was* a student orchestra, so of course there were imperfections here and there, but mostly it was excellent. I figured we would have a pleasant night after all.
And then...and then...
I noticed the heat.
There either wasn’t any air conditioning, or else it was turned way low. Whatever...we were sweating. I was sweating. Martha was sweating. The whole dang audience was sweating. It was like a freaking Tennessee Williams play, but with Beethoven. Symphony no. 5 in C, Op. 67 to be precise.
Anyway, we managed to make it to the intermission. Then, we beat a hasty retreat. Or, as hasty as you can be when your spouse is working her way, slowly, first up, and then down a steep, dimly illuminated set of stairs that were apparently designed to be used solely by eighteen-year-olds in peak condition, and/or mountain goats. Six of one.
But, anyway...afterwards, we congratulated ourselves for having gotten out at all, and for having lasted as long as we did. We told ourselves that we’d do better next time. Say, when we’re in Fort Worth.
I sure hope we’re right.
More to come.
On the photo...
This one has nothing to do with the trip to Southwestern, or to “Forth.” It is of Martha in our backyard in front of some of her irises. But, I thought it was pretty. So I’m posting it. So there.
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