A night to remember

After weeks of quiet anticipation, I finally saw David Foster & Friends live. In my backyard, woot!  For three solid hours I was floating in an air of legend.  The household names I mainly attended the concert for, did deliver. I stepped on a pair of Vivienne Westwood stilettos, donned a backless top and without qualms splurged on the price of my seat, reveling in

1. The memories. The opening score was Theme of the Calgary Olympics. I remember my old cassette tape in which this was the first title among Foster’s compositions. It was a graduation gift from a college sweetheart I was madly in love with.  When he bombed my heart to smithereens I hid the tape in a shoebox with all those letters. I never thought that one night 17 years later I would be listening to this tune again. Wiser. Happier.

2. The nostalgia. Technology enabled Natalie Cole to sing Unforgettable as if her Dad was right there on the stage with her. My mind sped off to grandma’s WWII house where I used to hear this song on the phonograph. I almost cried when Natalie and her Dad blew kisses to each other at the end of their famous duet. I miss my father.

3. The awe. “… don’t wanna live all by myself anymmmooorrreeee….!!!!” The entire Impact Arena was stunned. It was a full  second before people could recover and realize what hit them. Charice’s voice is possessed.

4. The cheerio. Thank goodness The Hitman knows how to make his audience laugh, “so you are the rich people (addressing gold package holders) and you are the real people (looking at the bleachers). Back to the front rows he smiled, “just kidding.”   And he went on, “are there single ladies here? Please raise your hands.” A thousand hands shot to the ceiling; over the rolling but grinning eyes of the men, obviously boyfriends and husbands.  The Canadian Tenors were then introduced. As hit after hit was rendered and applauding got more intense, I had to adjust the little rock on my finger to prevent metacarpal mutilation.

5. The dreams. Peter Cetera’s You’re the Inspiration and Ruben Studdard’s After the Love has Gone sent me weaving beautiful dreams.

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