In the process of digging out our suitcases from the basement storage room last Monday, I made the mistake of twisting my back in some ridiculous way. The box I lifted wasn’t heavy (not for this weight-lifting, throwing-the-kids-into-the-lycra-swing-at-work mama), I just lost my head in that awkward little space and moved the wrong way. By that evening, I could not easily move from sitting to standing and was generally feeling the back pain for the first time. Not fun.
I share this to explain why, the next evening, I stayed at the vacation house laid up on the big leather couch with my book and a heating pad rather than making the trip down all those stairs to the beach for a picnic dinner. (Honestly, there are worse places to be in pain.)
My trusty iPhone made the quiet whooshing sound that told me an email had just been received. Taking my eyes off of Patricia Wood’s thoroughly enjoyable book “Lottery” for a moment, I saw that it was one of the million emails I receive daily from the Obama campaign. This time it was an invitation to a fund-raiser.
Ha! I thought bitterly to myself as I immediately deleted it. Who has money for that? It’s probably some $500 a plate dinner. It was only after I’d hit that little trash can button that it registered: Did that say something about Barack Obama and Jeff Tweedy? WAIT, COME BACK!
Gingerly raising my aching self from the couch, I managed to make my way to my laptop across the room and opened it to take a closer look at that email. Sure enough, it informed me that the fundraiser featured not ONLY our next President but Jeff Tweedy & Friends (other Wilco band members?) and Otis Clay. Clearly, this bore further investigation.
As it turned out, this was no fancy dinner, but an actual concert to raise money. Awesome musicians AND our man Barack. In one place. I was informed that there were a limited number of tickets at the lowest price, which was not cheap per se, but no more than a really good rock concert would cost.
The mass email had been sent out only 3 minutes before, but I know how rapidly a good show sells out. I did not stop to think, but clicked through as fast as these stupidly small fingers could manage, until I breathed a sigh of happy relief reading the confirmation email just a minute later. I did it! I got ’em! Only then did I stop to rationalize the purchase by thinking: a) we were going to give one last donation to the campaign (we’ve never given to a politician before and yet we have given more than we probably should at least three times to this man); and b) our 12th anniversary is coming up next month: this will be the celebration. Easy. (Phew!)
When the gang returned from the beach, I was dancing excitedly (and somewhat painfully) as I told Matt about my score, and the fact that I’d already booked our sitter to stay late that night (what’s not to love about text messaging?).
We’ll be at the Barack Concert, as we like to call it, this Friday evening. I will be sure to tell you everything – and if I’m half as lucky as Mom-NOS was when she went to hear Obama speak, I’ll be a very happy super-fan.
Not a bad a silver lining to that pulled muscle, eh?