Balance

One of the many reasons I enjoy having boys is that I truly enjoy "boy"ish things. I love camping and sports and I've tolerated the whirlwind that has been NASCAR becoming the "thing-to-love" in our house.

Sammy running errands with me and "racing" the other cars.

But I grew up in a house full of girls and with parents whose tastes run a little finer. Oh, sure, my dad enjoys sports, but he's not your average cheesehead. His style is watching in his button down shirt, jeans, and slippers and occasionally yelling "That was an awful call, ref! Boo!" while eating his bowl full of apples. And yes...he actually says the word "Boo".

A more typical choice of entertainment would be reading a good book (for my dad, usually a biography or church book; for my mother an English mystery) while listening to classical music. They usually have season tickets to the community concerts and we grew up very comfortable with Opera, piano concertos, and symphonies as part of our vocabulary.

The fine arts tend to be pricey, however, and I've noticed that during these lean years of medical training, I've lapsed in my attention to this area. My sister, Maureen, called last week and with enthusiasm, invited us to attend the season premier of the Utah Symphony. They were doing the Emperor's Concerto (Beethoven's famous 5th Piano Concerto) and Holst's Planets Suite. More out of a desire to go along with the invitation, than a personal passion, I agreed and Jay sort of absent mindedly consented to go along too.

Yesterday, the day of the symphony, turned busy. I ran around trying to get my passport and visa problems worked out while Jay got new tires on his car which required me to pick him up and drop him off. We also decided to drive to BYU's campus to get the "Fully Required" t-shirts on a day that we wouldn't be fighting 60,000 other fans for a parking spot. We managed to get back in time, but I picked up our babysitter a little late, and my plan of dinner at P.F. Chang's beforehand didn't work out. We ended up at Wendy's. Not exactly what you think of when you think of a night at the symphony.

Just your typical "let's-get-dressed-up-for-a-night-at-the-symphony" restaurant. Wait...don't all restaurants have a cardboard cut-out for photo opportunities?

Our seats were on the second tier in Abravanel Hall and we could see the pianist's hands clearly as he and the symphony took turns playing the delightful themes of Beethoven. As soon as the first chords were played, I felt the familiar tug of my adolescence. I know this music. i love this music. I am comfortable in this atmosphere. As the concerto ended and the applause about to start, a single word defined the gulf between this world of violins, oboe's, tuxedos and high heels and the world of sweatshirts, logos, statistics and sports.

The word: Bravo.

I heard it many times throughout the thunderous applause that brought the soloist out for his third bow. Bravo! Bravo! (Jay even managed to shout it a time or two to show that he was fully participating.)

I thought, "No one would EVER yell Bravo at a NASCAR race or a Football game. And yet...here we are...cheering because we are pleased. Cheering because we've been entertained. And yet...."

There is a difference.

I'm happy shouting "Defense!". I'm willing to shout "Go! Go! Go!" at a restart.
But, last night reminded me that I'm a girl that needs to shout, "Bravo!" every so often.

Before the concert. Next time, I'm wearing sparkles.