I love everything west of the Great Plains, though some places are too cold and dark for me to care to linger much. I looked at the tour dates, but I can't process them, yet. My thought was maybe it was so difficult to get a car that runs because I should have been buying an airplane.

As you know, I am at work on average 105 hours a week. I cut back my hours, while the car was down, normally rolling out of my chair onto the office floor around 10:30 each night. I'm still trying to get used to the concept of driving home after work. The point was, taking more than two days off in a row will be very challenging, and if I'm going to take time off work, I don't want to waste time with a day off with nothing to do but tour. I could, however, enjoy a visit to the Goddard Library out east or something, but I'd feel too guilty about hiking breathtaking scenery.

The obvious problem match would be to fly out and use you for transpo and drive overnight so you can sleep in transit. It is too early for me to make any decisions about concerts. I definitely won't be buying anything Tuesday. I recall so many years ago sitting on the lawn at Chateau Ste. Michelle. It was a wonderful experience. I had a backstage pass for Kelowna that trip. Memories are flooding back. The brilliant Canadian mountains against a brilliant, broken cloud cover. The scenery was an eyeful. I didn't have anything to say, so I asked Justin if I could just stand near him like a stooge. I enjoyed it nonetheless. I wore aqua nail polish, a fabulous color. One day, I had the most perfect paper curls in my hair. I actually remember what I wore to each show. Weird. I remember Justin acknowledging us-all on the knoll at CSM. There was the bus driver who broke every rule to get me to the airport in time for my flight, and who won my applause when she ran a red light, the timing was so tight. Then, there was a lot of bad stuff. I think this was the trip when my driver's license fell out in my car as I was leaving the airport, so the car rental agency refused to grant my reservation, and after one day, alternative ground transportation had practically eaten through my budget.

EEE - that reminds meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

The moral of the story, of course, is spend your money on Justin concerts. Memories are eternal.

Yay! I have no movement on Justin tickets. I've been selfishly wasting money. Yesterday, I bought a carafe, and before that I bought various spices. I can't stand the water here, and so I soaked a lemon and cloves and went to heaven. I had to get me some gardenia scent if not a plant - and I found out I'm allergic to gardenias. The gardenia thing reminded me of Mother's Day in Surrey. Church was canceled and so I went to the park. The Moody Blues store was closed, too, so I couldn't go in and irritate Ivy. Whilst there, there was a very old lady sitting on a bench. Something inside said I should sit down and talk to her, but such is against my nature, but the urge persisted, and so I did. She told me stories about the old days there. One time, some military people got drunk and drove a tank into the lake. Then, there was this joint they used to go to and wear sarongs and drink with long straws heady water from a community bowl with gardenias. This, mind you, was a lady who looked like Ruth Buzzi on Laugh-In. I thought she was a sad, lonely widow; but she was quite the party animal. I'm so glad I got to hear her memories.

I also wasted money on a shower curtain. This one is tangerine instead of sandstone. The sandstone one was the color of a prosthesis and too purple for the rest of the decor. I put up the tangerine one and everything fell into place. I was so happy, the EVO! did not know what to make of it.

That said, when we add all that together, we come to about 10% of a good Moodies ticket.

I’m not begging for sympathy, but I have felt the gnawing need to explain myself. After all, I read enough concerns from frightened fans about my appearance when I go to concerts without incident.

But during my last group of concerts, I took a spill on the sidewalk about three blocks from my first show. I wasn’t wearing high heels, I just missed the curb and went splat. The millennials in the building nearby had a good laugh, and I smiled back at them as if I got the joke.

When I arrived at the venue, I was not in good shape. Mike was already playing, so I was asked to stay in the lobby. I am not good at feeling pain, but I knew something was not right. I was shaking, I could barely sit down, and I had a bloody knee, which a kindly usherette insisted receive attention from the house medic. Once that was anesthetized, I could feel my wrist was bumbed up, but I didn’t want to sit in a hospital cot. I wanted to see my big hero. So, I tried not to let on.

Instead, I allowed the kindly usherette to show me to my seat the instant the doors opened. It was very good for me – second-row center. I am not a doctor, so I cannot diagnose without a license, but I suppose what happened next was I kept slipping into shock. I was queasy, and I experienced spells of uncontrollable shaking. Now, the venue was very nice, but the seats were all bolted together with enough slack that I chattered my whole row each time. Also, I was close enough to the stage to be in the stage lights and visible to all in the audience.

What did Justin think? Again, I’ve read online about how I frighten him, too. Now, I was transfixed, in awe and smitten as always, and shaking like a dingbat to boot.

I told myself I needed to get out of there as I was disrupting the ability of so many people to enjoy the show. On a more selfish and compelling level, I was not going to miss the show for anything. I was exactly where I wanted to be, for about another hour, anyway. I prayed the people around me could please suck it up.

I couldn’t even clap, as the right hand was at this point “just hanging there.” So, I stored it in my lap and slapped it at the end of songs and slapped myself silly one-handed trying to make noise during the standing ovations. Everything about the show was praiseworthy for beauty, technical difficulty, and professional execution, but I couldn’t get into the zone.

The problems persisted at the next show, but following “The Western Sky,” which is always transcendental, I caught myself clapping and looked down and realized what was happening like people do in the movies when a miracle happens.

Justin broke with any script to ask that night if we had been told not to take photographs. There were, indeed, signs asking us not to. Justin said the instructions were not from his people, saying they liked it when people took pictures. Unfortunately, not much appears to have been posted to the Internet. I’d love to do something to make Justin happy, but – but – but – Do I really hate cell phones more than I love Justin? I trow not.

Another regret is I didn’t recognize James when he tried to start a friendly conversation. I hit him with a rude, “What’s it to you?” attitude when I should have been kowtowing.

Other than that, I would be a very weird person to call attention to nuances between shows. Even so, I do recall one moment thinking I hadn’t realized before how good Justin was on the guitar for one song, I’ve forgotten which. I have moments like that occasionally and probably will for life. He makes everything look so easy.

When all was said and done, in spite of myself, this was really a tremendous opportunity that I never would have undertaken had I not wanted to see [the insert thousands of heavenly superlatives] Justin so badly.

P.S. The hand is now extremely happy and comfortable, mending in a brace.

Thanks for your concern. I've been keeping the hand in the brace, typing one hand and playing piano two-fingered for the kids' great presentation. The condition is exacerbated by all the plumbing I've had to do around the office. So, yes. Any prospective employer reading be warned: I get angry when I have to pull apart sinks and plunge toilets with a broken wrist. The good news is, I should be living with at most only arthritic pain in a few weeks. The wrist is in a new configuration, but in some ways, it looks straighter than the other hand.

And while we're feeding my narcissism and trying to bring the topic back to music, I recalled just two days after I fell. I was in church, and there was no pianist for one of the segments, so I volunteered. They were so un-pianoed, the music stand didn't work on the piano, so a lady offered to hold the book for me. My fingers still had their full range of motion, but at one point, my pinky on my well hand spazzed, and did a "If you can't find 'em, grind 'em" routine. The lady holding the book said, "Beautiful!" like they say in the song about "On the Cover of the Rolling Stone." I laughed. She was funny. Afterward, she explained her uncle, who had since passed on, was a jazz pianist, and he would do embellishments like that. I had reminded her of her beloved uncle, and found my awful piano playing indeed could make the world a better place.

I'd rather be talking about Justin, but he writes to us so infrequently anymore, one would either have to rehash or make something up. Maybe I have my cause and effect backward.

Well, it's deadline time of the month, and I'm typing with a brace that likes to hit five keys for every one my fingers hit - I say with hyperbole. I'm also hobbled by a shortage of material of interest in my assigned categories.