keep rocking and rolling


In the midst of travel and deadlines and family and the flu, I love it when a plan comes together. I’m always amazed when a party, or a pair of tickets or a vacation goes right. So much can go wrong, so many wrenches thrown into the works.

On my side of the street, anyway, there seems to be a direct relationship between importance and impotence.

I know I’m not alone. It’s what makes life a never-ending, miraculous, awe-inspiring surprise, meaning a great big pain. You never know until you’re on the plane, in the car, in the seat if things will fall into place down to the last jig and jangle.

Take Mick Jagger for example, the ultimate jiggler.

I love the Stones, they’re still my best dancing buddies ever I swear, oh my God, I swear. See I’m a crazed fan. And I wish Mick well recovering from heart surgery, yet a little part of me is taking the news of his postponed U.S. tour in even stride.

He’s just like us.

I may not be able to move like Jagger -- Lord knows I’ve tried -- but I too have jaw-dropping stuff happen at the last minute. We’re in the same human, unreliable, surreal, pathetic species together.

I was all ready to buy my ticket for his June concert in Philadelphia, the third time I would see the band -- a mere pittance for some of you obsessives -- despite some blowback from my husband who said, “I’ll be the youngest one there.”

“Not true, not true,” I insist. “Everyone, every age, loves Mick and Keith and Charlie and, and, and . . .” I’m foaming at the mouth.

“At least we won’t have to worry about being trampled,” he added defeated, “except by wheelchairs.”


I don’t want to question the ultimate wisdom of the way things turn out, but it seems life would be a lot less stressful if the potential for all hell to break loose didn’t speed up the closer we got to a crucial commitment. It could make you afraid to put on your dancing shoes. I bet Mick is feeling the same way.

Nearer to home, with a big event at her house, my sister broke her toe. On the way to a shower for her new grandchild in California, my friend got the flu. Another friend, on his way to Antarctica, had to postpone when the stress test looked strange. I took the train to a recent workshop because I didn’t want to risk traffic; the train stopped midway and left us well short of our goal.

I want to tell Mick, don’t be so devastated you had to cancel, as he said in his statement to his fans. Stuff happens -- bad stuff, weird stuff --  and you’ve had an amazing run.

This takes me from Jagger to journaling, another obsession. Because at nighttime, when I list my blessings, I’m emboldened by how much actually goes right. I often have no explanation for why, any more than I can explain the train breakdown or the broken toe.

But I find, when I settle down, I have way more to thank my lucky stars for, than I have to bemoan the whim of the not-so-dancing spirits.

I hope Mick heals fast and we see him jiggling again soon. Or maybe, I’d advise him to cut back a little more. After thousands of concerts, perhaps it’s time to hang up the skintight pants and not tempt the spirits.

Silly of me to think that, for all of us. Even if he, or we, can’t move like Jagger once did, even if all hell sometimes breaks loose, you can’t throw a wrench in someone’s inner rock and roll.

Let’s boogie.

April 14, 2019

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