Yesterday, I saw “Wicked.” It was wicked awesome. My Massachusetts peeps will appreciate that. A couple of thank yous are necessary: (1) to my in-laws for giving us the tickets and (2) to my in-laws for babysitting. I guess that’s just one big thank you.
It was a great performance, and when the show ended, the applause was so fierce that it brought tears to my eyes. Real tears. Maybe it was because the show was so good. (It was.) Or maybe it was because when the actors bowed, I could feel the incredible sense of purpose each of them possessed. Or maybe it was because of the utter exhaustion I felt about having to leave the dark, majestic theater and return home.
Before we left, Mike and I grabbed a drink at a restaurant nearby. I didn’t tell him about my outburst of emotion in the theater – I didn’t really know what to say about it – but I sensed that he felt something similar…at least about the having to go home so soon part.
When Mike and I were in graduate school at Sarah Lawrence College, we used to get in the car on a whim on Saturday mornings and drive along the coast of Connecticut. We’d stop the car whenever we saw a fun shop or a beautiful spot by the water. We often ended up at the restaurant at the Madison Beach Hotel. We’d share fried calamari at a table overlooking the water and then find a motel somewhere near the highway to spend the night (we could afford the calamari there, but not a room). Whenever life is hard or just plain draining, I get nostalgic about those carefree Connecticut adventures.
Albeit brief and a lot less spontaneous, our Saturday matinee escape was lovely. We finished our drinks and made our way home. Tired but happy kids greeted us at the door. We put on comfy clothes, fed and bathed the boys and put them to bed. We snuggled up on the couch to watch “Sweet Home Alabama,” and I fell asleep about ten minutes into the movie. I was wicked tired.