I was supposed to be reviewing the premiere episode of Once Upon a Time. Was looking forward to it. Then the real world intervened.
I do home care for a family with a special needs child who also gets some of her therapies at home. Sometime, a couple of weeks ago, one of her therapists happened to mention that she had tickets to see a live presentation of the Lord of the Rings soundtrack and I said, "Ooo."
Friday, my kiddo's Mom said, "Did you really want to go, cause I'm getting you a ticket." Or something like that. It was a pre-birthday present and the middle of a lot of family-of-choice drama. Of course I wanted to go!
So we made all the arrangements. The day was already filled with a lot of Halloween party stuff for the kids so the event seemed like an adult extension of the day. I drove to Arco Arena (which is now called something else but I don't know what that is) and didn't know exactly how to get there. I knew the general exit but not the details of getting to the arena.
Not to worry. On the way I noticed a procession of cars, all driving with just the right of space between them, or so it seemed, and at the speed limit. I decided that they seemed to know where they were going so I followed them, slid into the lane that seemed the most promising and found myself deposited in the right lanes to pay the parking fee and get a parking space.
That was the beginning of a night in an arena filled with what I expect to be all introverts. I mean, it was so quiet! Mellow. Civilized. Only about a half dozen people dressed in costume: two Halflings, two Elves, one Gandalf and maybe someone or two else.
The concert, as it turned out, was a live performance with the full orchestra, two choruses (adult and children's) and the movie with captions. The captions were needed so we could know the dialog above the swell of the orchestra. My friends are both cellists so I was happy to be seated on the cello side.
I was enthralled by the film all over again. I think it had something to do with the spaciousness of the arena, as well as the orchestra and the audience. Perhaps some of the anticipation dulled the excitement and all that was left was reception. We were there to receive the gifts of these performers.
Three hours later, the young male soloist sang against the closing credits. The one thought that rose during the night was "heroic effort." It was a night celebrating heroic effort. For me, it was a lesson in tolerating the intensity of the situation. My life was changing and going in directions I haven't seen yet. I might never recognize. From my experiences with sitting in the pit, watching the orchestra members playing the same notes measure after measure, I empathized with the heroic effort it took to play a score that was probably originally played in sections. Was created to be applied in sections.
And there, at the end of the night, was this boy. He stood at the mic and sang. His voice, pure and bright, faltered from time to time. And he continued to sing, continued to bring his best effort until the very last image on the screen.