I used to attend rock concerts. Now I attend --- concerts. Often these are symphony performances (the wonderful Toronto Symphony Orchestra, the 'TSO') and sometimes they are a bit more rock and roll. But only a bit. Husband and I looked back on our non-classical-music ticket purchases of the past couple of years and we have been to hear Leonard Cohen, Willie Nelson, and Steve Martin (with the Steep Canyon Rangers). All figures who have moved from superstar to super-icon, really. We felt comfortable at these venues; we were with our peeps. We weren't old.
On Friday we changed it up a little and attended an event at the International Festival of Authors (#IFOA), an interview with Colm Toibin (please envision a ' over each 'i') and Marilynne Robinson, two amazing novelists, a Catholic and a Calvinist (the former lapsed, he says). Before heading out the door I checked with 11-year-old daughter about my outfit, because for the first time in days- possibly weeks- I wore something other than jeans.
"How does this look?" I asked her.
"Where are you going?" she enquired.
I told her it was to listen to a couple of authors.
"How old will the other people be there?"
Puzzled, I told her they'd be the same age as me.
"Well, then it's okay. You look fine."
I thanked her but wanted to know why the age of the other attendees mattered. Unfortunately, she explained it quite cogently.
"If they're old, they might be colour-blind, or have some other vision problems. So then it doesn't matter that your dress is dark grey and your boots are black."
That's me put in my place, just where I belong.
No comments:
Post a Comment