According to the version of the story that Cyndi tells, she didn’t know all that much about what our Thursday evening consisted of either. But I knew when I saw her in that short turquoise dress with her cowboy boots she was planning to have fun.
Earlier in the week she’d told me the Perry’s had invited us to join them at their table for a fundraising dinner. Of course we said yes. We’ve never been anywhere or done anything with them that didn’t turn out to be great fun.
All I knew was that we were having dinner together and there would probably be some form of entertainment or speaker. This lack of information was unusual because I’m typically the one of the two of us who checks out all the details beforehand. Not this time.
It turned out to be an outside dinner, and they served gourmet tacos and roasted ears of corn. Perfect. I couldn’t have been happier. Until, that is, I looked up at the stage and saw the huge sign behind all the sound equipment that read, Los Lonely Boys. “Are you kidding me?” I asked Cyndi. “The Los Lonely Boys are playing tonight?” Cyndi shrugged and said, “I guess so. I didn’t know, either.”
Well, the Los Lonely Boys were great. They get an incredibly dense sound for only three musicians, and their harmonies were spot on. It was an excellent concert. I was one lucky guy.
About two songs into their first set I knew it was time to ask Cyndi to dance. Well she actually broached the topic first but I knew it was imminent when she started swaying in her chair and smiling, so I had my answer ready. There was a time in my life – say the first fifty years – when I never would’ve gotten up in front of an entire dinner-and-concert crowd to dance near the stage. That is, unless sixty or seventy couples started dancing first. This is mostly because I have no confidence dancing, fueled by the fact I have no real skills. It’s been reported that I dance in the sense Rex Harrison in My Fair Lady sang. I only have about two moves and they both involve the two-step.
However, when Cyndi dances, her entire body lights up. There is a glow of energy surrounding her. Even her shoulders smile. How can I possibly not be part of that? She lures me in close with her sparkling eyes, not that I have any plans to resist, and before I know what has happened we’re dancing alone near the stage, the very first couple to give it a whirl. All by ourselves.
After a couple of minutes of being the only people dancing AT ALL, Cyndi smiled and said, “I love you, Berry.” “I know; and so does everyone else who can see us. It’s no secret anymore.”
Eventually the Perry’s joined our dancing for a part of the song, but they were the only ones all night. I didn’t mind. I was so infatuated by my date and overwhelmed by how great our evening turned out I was sparkling just like Cyndi.
However, I’ll be the first to admit, well second to admit since I heard it first from Cyndi, that Cyndi doesn’t like long instrumental breaks or solos, something most bands such as Los Lonely Boys love to include in their live performances. “Nobody likes that much guitar” is what I heard her say. She prefers music that makes her jump to her feet and move. All I could say was “If I could do what he’s doing, and do it with my brother, I’d never do anything else.”
Well, I had intended to write a piece about how much I enjoyed the rain Thursday afternoon but the floods in Houston are still too recent to do that in good conscience. And then I was going to write about moving-in and moving-on stories, but with the music still ringing in my head and the taste of chili-lime roast corn in my heart, I wrote about this instead. As I said, I am one lucky guy, and that’s worth writing about.
“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32
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