Know thy audience

Last night,the Alabama Symphony Orchestra gave a free Mother's Day concert at one of our upscale, outdoor shopping meccas.

Of course, we were there. It was free. And there were fireworks. Did I mention there were free fireworks?

We dragged our bag chairs through a sea of humanity to a relatively open spot stage right. The weather was much improved over the past two weekends. A cool breeze wafted Macaroni Grill garlic to mix with the aroma of tailgaters seated around us. There were people of all ages in the sea of chairs; old people with their older mothers, babies with their young mothers, middle-aged couples with their older children, and of course the pre-teen demographic.

Who were thrilled to be there, let me tell you. One in particular, seated in front of me to my left, stared a hole in the pavement, head in hands, waiting for the fun to end. He listened to his iPod until the batteries went dead, then he took pictures of his hand with his mother's camera phone before launching into a riveting round of Tetris. He was amusing to watch, and I was going to point him out to Evan, my pre-teen, but Evan was doing the same thing off to my right. Well, sans iPod and camera phone.

The concert was great. They played a tribute to Ethel Merman, some Edward Elgar, a couple of Latin-flavored compositions of Leroy Anderson, an extended medley from Camelot, and a medley of tunes from movie musicals.

Everyone seemed to enjoy the program immensely. An older man wearing a flannel shirt and a white-haired crewcut ask his daughter (I presume) to dance during one of the Leroy Anderson waltzes, to the delight of the crowd on our side of the parking lot. Several young girls, our Lora included, pirouetted between the chairs during some of the Merman numbers.

The pre-teens were, in a word, underwhelmed, let me tell you. Until the conductor related a story of taking his two young sons shopping for Mother's Day gifts. The punch line of the story was that they couldn't decide which Star Wars action figure to buy her. As the audience laughed, I read between the lines and correctly guessed what was coming next.

In that spirit, we'd like to present for you the Theme from Star Wars by John Williams, said the conductor.

That got their attention. They cheered, they applauded, they participated in the experience. Even before the fireworks.

Bravo, maestro!

See the Art in Me

Lora and I found ourselves alone this afternoon. She crawled up into my chair to share sunflower seeds and impede my reading.

With Joan and Evan gone, the house was unusually quiet. It apparently bothered Lora, so she climbed up on the computer table to retrieve a CD. She picked the self-titled Jars of Clay album and popped it into the player.

We listened to the first four songs at varying volumes (she kept turning it up, I kept turning it down, an expected conflict between a four-year-old and a forty-year-old). When the fifth song started, Lora turned it up and got out of the chair.

And she began to dance.

Not head-shaking, bebopping, gotta-pee-right-now dancing. She became a ballerina. She twirled. She skipped. She jumped. She flew.

She never once hesitated. She never gave a thought to her next move as she followed her muse throughout the kitchen, around the island, and back to the reading corner. She was free. Flowing. Focused. I was floored.

The name of the song was "Art in Me."

Images on the sidewalk speak of dream's descent
Washed away by storms to graves of cynical lament
Dirty canvases to call my own
Protest limericks carved by the old pay phone

In your picture book I'm trying hard to see
Turning endless pages of this tragedy
Sculpting every move you compose a symphony
You plead to everyone, "See the art in Me"

Broken stained-glass windows, the fragments ramble on
Tales of broken souls, an eternity's been won
As critics scorn the thoughts and works of mortal man
My eyes are drawn to you in awe once again

In your picture book I'm trying hard to see
Turning endless pages of this tragedy
Sculpting every move you compose a symphony
You plead to everyone, "See the art in Me"

Thank you, Father, for letting me see the art in You, through Lora's dance.