My daughter has a recent post in which she bemoans the embarrassment of some of her toddler's public antics, foremost of which was a recent episode in a restaurant involving a straw wrapper somehow becoming lodged in the head region of the woman in the next booth. This story somewhat warms my heart...

When my two daughters were about 3 and 4 years of age, I had the memory-making "I'm the greatest mommy in the world" idea of taking them to a restaurant for lunch one Sunday after church. Their dad was at a meeting or something, which left just the 3 of us to enjoy a little Girls Day Out.

We went to the local buffet eatery and had a nice lunch together. Everything was going just fine. I must say, I was quite gifted at managing my children in public. Right.

After a very sweet time together sharing this midday repast, we were just finishing up when an elderly man from a nearby booth got up to leave. On his way out of the restaurant, he made a special point of stopping by our booth...and he then proceeded to lavish praise on my little cherubs, affirming them in their good behavior and extolling their "good girl-ness." I, of course, was very graciously accepting his accolades.

Then it happened.

As this kind man and I were sharing our pleasantries with each other...from somewhere across the table came this high-velocity missile that impacted me, I believe, right in the chest. WHILE WE WERE TALKING...WHILE WE WERE TALKING ABOUT MY PRECIOUS, WELL BEHAVED, PRINCESS CHILDREN. I think all I could muster at the time was to pretend as if I hadn't even noticed and to continue allowing him to continue in his tribute.

Hmmm...daughter of mine...I guess what goes around comes around, eh? Serves you right...

I stand corrected...

My dear friend Gregg has not-so-gently informed me that I may have fudged just a bit when I included the Fab Four in the music of the 70's (see my previous post). In actuality, he says, they broke up in 1970, which barely qualifies them...and also, coincidentally, barely qualifies me as a "youth of the 70's."

Alright then...so...(bracing myself)...I WAS A YOUTH OF THE 60's. There...I said it...satisfied????

No...this is NOT any kind of a mid-life ANYTHING...

OK...so it's almost midnight. I'm sitting here in my chair crocheting an afghan (like any respectable 50-something girl would be doing), flipping channels...and BAM...there he is...in concert...right there on my TV screen...Sir Paul. I'm fixated to the screen, somewhat dancing in my recliner/rocker...even singing along at some points. GASP...now he's singing "Hey Jude"...be still my heart...

You must remember that I'm a youth of the 70's...the decade of the BEST music, in my humble opinion. They just don't make it like that anymore. But these boys from Britain were just something else, set apart from the rest, intriguing, captivating.

In my mind I'm getting up off my chair...I'm packing my suitcase with just a few essential items (not my usual "take everything I could ever possibly need in the next 20 years" style of packing). I'm going to travel with them. Get on their bus and go wherever they go. Be there for every concert. They NEED me...

"Na-na-na-na nanananaaaaa.....nanananaaaaa....hey Jude....."

Eric will understand. I'll just be gone for a few short years. I mean, McCartney's older than I am, so how many more good concert years can he have left?

Hold down the fort, Honey...I'll be back...