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Macca returns

Such a beautiful mild early evening, birds at the feeder, roses beaming by the fence, spirea pale pink, begonia hot pink, the purple clematis finally deciding to unfurl, and the stunning magnolia bush W*yson brought me flooding the air with scent. It’s quiet, the sun still bright but a hint of coolness in the air – supper made for me yesterday by my son heating in the microwave, a glass of red, a great class at U of T this afternoon – does it get better than this?

Only one thing would have made today better – a sugardaddy or mama with an American Express card. My friend Paul McCartney is playing in Toronto on August 8th, just after my birthday, and today at 10 a.m., tickets went on sale only for those with American Express cards. I can’t even imagine what they cost.
I did make two attempts to join the lucky few – I called a friend of my ex-husband’s who is connected to the ticket business, but he did not respond. I wrote to a friend of a friend who’s a McCartney fan, only to find out that she lives in a world far more intense and complex than mine. She is a SERIOUS fan; beside her, I am the rankest of amateurs. She travels around the world to McCartney concerts in the company of an international group of friends who do the same thing – very soon she is off to Glasgow and to Wales. She pays extra, many hundreds of dollars extra on top of the ticket price, to be there for the man’s sound check. She has connected with him and his band in many ways; she says that he has looked at her during sound checks. I know how exciting that is, because I know he looked at me during a concert in Paris in June 1965, when I stood in my best dress in the 8th row centre waving his picture.
But I just cannot devote that much time and money. He means a lot because he was the great love of my early adolescence, he sang the most beautiful songs, because in his late sixties he goes on making fine music and touring, because I know the words to almost everything he sings, except for the songs from the mid-Seventies to the mid-Eighties, which I missed completely.
But I did go to his free concert in Quebec and can live without another concert. I’d rather spend the money trying, once again, to take my kids to Europe. Or going there myself.
Or maybe not. My daughter spoke about the 3 of us going, right after my 60th birthday – my son, her, me, all of us up and dancing to the one of the greatest pop musician of our time. What an experience that would be.
Maybe I should get an Amex card for the next time. Wait for me, Paul. Wait for me!



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About Beth

I began keeping a journal at the age of nine. Nearly fifty years later, I started this online journal, sharing reflections, reviews, updates, and the occasional secret.

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