YESTERDAY MORNING

(Part 4 of A Bemoan, written on December 24)

(We join our protagonist as, continuing to grapple with his britches in order to avoid being hauled into court on charges of malfeasance, he joins the queue heading to Carnegie Hall).

Are you exhausted, yet?

Me, too!

While waiting for the traffic light to change so we could cross the street, I found myself distressed by visions of my nose starting another flood during the concert; or of unexpectedly being required to stand, yet unable to grab my pants in time; or, well, or anything! The front row of the choir was to remain seated the entire time, but that fact didn’t stop me from being distracted by wild imaginings. In a day filled with distractions, I was so far gone, when it came time to cross the street, I failed to notice that the timing device on the other side, the device that counts down the remaining seconds before the light changes, had nearly reached zero. All at once, the light turned green and I found myself smack-dab in the middle of the street with cars moving again — right toward me, and from both sides.

I probably should have let go of the waistband right then. That would have stopped traffic! Instead, I hurried on. Reaching the safety of the other side, I turned around and discovered, to my great relief, that David had stuck close by and followed me to make certain nothing untoward happened.

Before I knew it, we were taking our seats on the stage of Carnegie Hall.

Let me repeat: I was seated…

….on the stage…

…of Carnegie Hall!

I seemed unable to grasp the concept. It was too surreal. I’d heard of this place almost my whole life, but there is nothing I possess that is worth putting on stage here. I may, in some fever-pitched delirium, have imagined such a thing happening, but now…but NOW! I was part of a group that was actually going to help present the event. To add to the headiness of it all, I was seated dead center of the front row. Yet, there was no room for fear or pride because this was such a team event. No wonder I was so awestruck.

I can’t recall much of the rehearsal. Two situations I recall rather clearly: the first was thinking the auditorium looked smaller from the stage than I’d imagined it would, probably because my expectations were based on movies and books and such. (I tried to take a photo from my vantage point, but all I had was my phone, so the quality isn’t that great). The second was when I saw, in actual real-life personhood, Joni Eareckson Tada. She arrived on stage, her countenance every bit as radiant and beautiful as I’d imagined it would be. The woman radiates joy.

After rehearsal, the choir went to our assigned green rooms for sandwiches and to wait until time for the concert. There was a great deal of chatting, a few last-minute spot checks of notes, and an unexpected (and beautiful) mini-concert by members of a local a cappella choir. Finally, it was time to take our places.

We were on the sixth floor, so we had quite a few stairs to walk down to reach the stage level. In spite of our distance above the stage, we were asked to stay as quiet as possible. Looking over the banister, I was impressed by the sight of the silent, seemingly never-ending file of people descending down and down in an unbroken succession of somber black garb. (What with having to keep moving, while maintaining a death-grip on my pants, I didn’t get a very good photo).

The first row, those of us who were to remain seated, were the last to enter the stage. Walking to my place, I was aware of over 200 people to my left, all seated in their assigned seats while, to my right, an auditorium was filled to its almost-3000-seat capacity. The auditorium seemed to have tripled in size. I was thunderstruck at the magnitude of it. Somehow, though, I did not feel the least bit intimidated or stressed. I felt fantastic!

The emcee greeted and welcomed everyone, introduced the Gettys, and so it began.

The first half, “Village Festival,” primarily featured performances by the band and guest artists: John Patitucci, the man who is solely responsible for my conversion to jazz appreciation (that’s another story); then David Kim, concert master of the Philadelphia orchestra, who gave such a performance of the “Winter” segment from Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons, I fully expected his violin to catch fire. The second half, “Village Carol Service,” was modeled after a traditional Lessons and Carols service, with Joni Eareckson Tada reading the lessons.

It was an indescribably stirring concert, and there are those who will claim that all the stress I’d endured, which included blood loss, all the distraction I’d encountered or created, along with the intoxicating thrill of being “front and center,” so to speak, on the stage of one of the world’s most renowned concert venues during such a thrilling concert in an emotionally charged season as this, must have combined in some sort of psychological backlash, in order to explain what happened to me next.

(*to be completed…)

• Mea Culpa: Earlier, I indicated this would be the final installment, but, well, I miscalculated and this segment kind of got away from me. I appreciate your patience in sharing this (mis)adventure with me, thus far, and… well… it’s Christmas! As this is the only gift I can give you, I’d like you to finish unwrapping it on Christmas Day, with the awareness that I’ll be thinking of you as much as you are thinking of me.