There's something you should know before you read on.
I cry easily.
At odd times and without warning.
Remember the Ma Bell commercial about the college freshman away from home for the first time? Every single time I watched that silly, sixty second melodrama I reluctantly produced tears.
Did you cry when you saw The Incredibles? I did; even the third viewing.
One of my more impressive moments came late one night a few years back. My husband and I stumbled upon the final moments of Out of Africa. You know the part where Robert Redford's plane doesn't appear in the sky and Meryl Streep knows she's lost the only man she could ever love? That part? Swear to God, although we'd just tuned in, and I'd seen none of the emotional build-up scenes that directors use to tug the viewers heart strings, I was bawling, you guessed it, like a baby.
The tears come at other times too. Notably, during sex. I'm more selective here. It's not the everyday poke that leaves me with streaked cheeks. Make no mistake, I'm not talking about making love, I'm talking about the exquisite, soul searing stuff. Yep, that’ll put tears on my pillow too.
Exquisite people can release the tears as well.
It's a kind of barometer, I guess.
The director of my daughter's school, a genius when it comes to the education of children and adolescents, can utter the most precise observation about our youth and there I'll be, looking like an idiot crying, while the other, intelligent parents are asking insightful questions.
When I met Bonnie Raitt, I could barely say hello for the tears that were welling up. The Rodin exhibit we saw last summer. Well, most art museums really. No, I won't go there. Suffice it to say; when I go to art I've got to have an arsenal of tissue in my tote.
And it was just that, a small package of Kleenex that sat in my lap as Bob Newhart took the stage at Benaroya Hall last night. Good thing it was there too. Although I'd planned for tears of laughter, I never would have guessed that this (apparently exquisite) comedian would get me started. The crowd was applauding appreciatively, he was beaming his infectious smile and my emotions were welling up inside of me and streaming right down my cheeks.As it turns out, he's been performing since 1964; the year after my birth. He was a favorite of my mother’s, and has been in my conscience for as long as I can remember.
No wonder.
As I mopped up, Newhart easily, quietly slipped into his repertoire. Thankful of course, to be back in the Seattle, he recalled moments before his career began while he was stationed here during the Korean War.
Did you know the National Guard was once called upon to combat the mounting snow levels at Mt Rainier? “It didn’t go well; the rocket launchers entirely missed their looming target.” Big Laugh. “Perhaps they should have practiced on something bigger – say the Pacific Ocean.” Bigger laugh.
And so the next ninety minutes went: he recalling jokes and events from his past, we laughing, laughing, laughing.
Was it funny? Yes.
Was it fresh? Not really; except that like others of his era, he didn’t jab the administration, use obscenities or even one dally in “bedroom talk.”
Did I ever use my Kleenex to wipe away the tears of laughter?
No. Not until the encore, when he finally got out his famous “phone bit.”
And then I laughed so hard I cried.
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