Here's an-tother review, if you can call it that:

Arizona is a great place, but who’da thunk I’d go back so soon. I’d written off things that make me happy. Seeing the Moody Blues in Arizona is one of those fantasies, one of those things that in my warped subconscious is supposed to fix everything, give life a new start, or something. Getting tickets was hard, so I finally settled for a couple further back than I would have wanted.

Luna and I had decided to meet at my old beloved haunt, the library on the main campus of ASU. We were going to see the Justin broadcast there. I was looking forward to soaking in some rays, thawing out, doing some serious thinking under that big, translucent blue sky, and gorging my eyes on palm trees and bougainvillea.

I left straight from work. Before leaving in the morning, I threw the box with all my HBA into the car. I figured I could sort things out on the way. I stopped at Walmart to pick up some little bottles to play the TSA games. It was misty and dark when I arrived at the small airport. The gates were not open, so I soon found a way to get some sleep on the chairs, around the metal arm rails, while appropriately guarding my luggage.

Now, I didn’t bring back any souvenirs, so there is not proof that I actually went. After all, it was to good to be true.

I had made arrangements to meet up with an old mentor from my college days. Back then, I just took him for granted. I didn’t realize what a good influence he had been on me until about thirty years later. He was an old man back then, and somehow I learned he was still alive and living in Mesa or Tempe. I wanted to get in touch, but couldn’t find his contact information on line. Then, about two weeks before show time, I just happened to find a database that gave me a phone number. I called, and after the second call, he and his wife agreed to pick me up from the airport.

I called on the courtesy phone when I arrived, and they told me where to go. Then, I went into the hot Arizona sun, under the translucent sky, to the North Curb. It was rather sentimental. I recalled preparing my second invited presentation there in a wild act of procrastination. I had the weird feeling then that the heavens were more open than usual, and I could ask anything and get the answer. I relied on that very much as I worked out the maths. It was wonderful.

In about 45 minutes, the Wilsons arrived in their old Buick. The only thing that looked different was they were smaller, and Bill had changed his glasses. After a few suggestions, traffic and mileage determined we would just go to ASU. We couldn’t find the building where he used to teach, so we tried to get to the library. I knew how to get there on foot, but not by car. We wound up driving on the sidewalk as everybody looked at us like we were weird. We slowly got back to the road and parked. We found a shady table and hung out for maybe 45 minutes.

What was said doesn’t matter. It was the feeling that counted. I asked for a priesthood blessing, and got one then and there under the shady tree. It felt like coming out of the closet, gutsy, not having to be ashamed to practice my First Amendment rights. Then, we said good-byes. I headed toward the library and looked back twice to see the two of them shuffling back to the car, arm in arm. It brings a tear to the eye.

I proceeded to the library, relying on memory. It was a beautiful sight, the weird architecture with the spectacular bougainvillea. I arrived, but Luna was not yet there. I got my pass to use the Internet, and the librarian was gushing all over me. She said I reminded her of her sister, who she obviously looooooved. When Luna and I were watching Justin, she came over, as promised, to show us the photo of her sister. We brushed her off, which was not the way I wanted to treat somebody who cherished me like a beloved beyond beloved sibling, but I was never good at multitasking.

We had four computers staged, and only one of them had sound. The setup was weird. I toyed with the idea of putting a crumpled piece of paper behind my head for the next concert. I kept trying to go to full-screen, but every time, I fat-fingered the volume control. I knew what I had to do, but I kept botching. Luna insisted I just leave things alone – about three times because I would not listen.

I had problems hearing what he said a lot, so I had to listen to it over again. I remember telling Luna I thought we would be able to hear every word if we were to stand, pointing to the doorway on the screen, right there in the Presidential Suite. Luna was digging his shirt, which I hadn’t noticed until then was very cool. What was he playing on the piano at the end? I would have liked to hear more. If that is how he improvises, he is really good at that, too.

I thought he said something about having a Moog guitar, but Luna heard it correctly. It was a road guitar. He was wrong about being a “lazy idiot,” but he was right to give North Carolina an undeserved plug. I like how he got into explaining how the opening chord was constructed. It was really interesting, but I would never have given it two thoughts before. I thought he said Battered sang “When Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” so I was expecting there was a punk version out there. I had to look up both songs. They are beautiful, back from an era when life had meaning. Smoke gets in my eyes when I hear “The Western Sky.” Nat put smoke in my eyes, too.

The thingy was only a fast 20 minutes. I did a few other things on the computer, and then we split. Luna wanted to see some Frank Lloyd Wright. When we arrived on premises, I noticed a pink flower totally wilted as if to say, “I give up.”

I was really happy, in Arizona, under the sun. I had just had a happy reunion with a great person of as near as I can tell perfect integrity, though I know that is not possible. I had just seen a nice video of Justin talking. There would be a concert later, and I had happy music in my head. I got the urge to celebrate by playing in one of the FLW fountains.

Doing a “Flash Dance” routine, I lost my glasses. I couldn’t find them. I was sure they had gone down the drain. Luna then got into the fountain and found them. She’s so good at stuff like that. Then, she loaned me a nice gypsy skirt ‘cuz mine was so soaked. I changed in public, putting both on before one went off, so there wouldn’t have been any risk of indecent exposure – except I tucked the skirt into my skivvies and was going around like that until Luna noticed. When we got to the motel, I hung the black, soaking skirt in the sun to dry, calling it our pirate flag. I showered and went to the pool to dry my hair. The sun did the job in about half an hour.

We did the strange change thing and went to the show. We walked around. I wanted to be out of the AC, but the views out the windows were nice. We spent a little time outside in the courtyard. I liked the furniture and the landscaping, and Luna called my attention to the beautiful tile job on the walls. We went somewhere from dinner. We had to go to the Keno tables to sit down. A couple sat down beside us, and Luna, acting like a familiar friend, started communicating with them in sign language. She got up to ask where her food was, and I had to sign to the guy, letter by letter, remembering from fourth-grade camp, “I-D-O-N-T-K-N-O-W-S-I-G-N-L-A-N-G-U-A-G-E.” He laughed.

We eventually went into the showroom. My seat was several rows back, but well toward the center. I had the privilege of sitting next to a very nice fan who has helped me with tickets in the past more than I can ever say enough to appreciate. We talked about a few things. Normally, I cry for “The Western Sky.” It just happens that way. This was different. I don’t know how soon it hit me, but early into the concert, I burst into tears. The timbres and harmonies were perfectly beautiful, the words and the mood were also. I just lost it and sobbed for the remainder of the show.

Beautiful music does that to me – not all beautiful music, but tremendous masterpieces, like that twelve-part harmony monk’s choir’s rendition of Mozart’s Requiem that I remain unable to locate. I did this once before in Arizona. That was on the most memorable stop in Holbrook. I went to church in a remarkably beautiful building. It had a pretty motif hewn in the stone outside that was echoed in the wood carvings inside. There was also a pipe organ inside. I thought of the pioneers out there in the middle of nowhere, with nothing, creating something so beautiful to glorify God – and then I lost it. I don’t know what was said or what I said. I only remember bits and pieces. The rest was –

I don’t want to talk about it. I’m just digging myself in deeper. But the same thing happened, and I told my friend after the show the beautiful music was making me cry. She assured me that we all knew it wasn’t the music, and we knew what it was. I don’t know what she meant. Was she saying it was the Holy Spirit? Surely, it was, but what was the message?

That was your concert review. Did you catch it?

I didn’t want to go after the show. I kept telling Luna Justin would not be back at our motel. I wanted to go back to that lovely patio. Luna consented. We sat on the furniture made from the palm tree bamboo stuff. Luna told me what it was, but I forgot. I lounged sideways in the air. Luna watched the wildlife. I watched the trees and the sky. It was so warm, and everything was so copacetic. I did not want to say good-bye. But we eventually did. Luna was driving, so I had to respect her need for sleep and all.

The next day, I did what I had to on the computer and took a small walk. The hood was not good. I had a nice breakfast, and we soon split. We set out to see some more FLW stuff. I hastily sent off post cards to people I was supposed to visit last month.

On the way, I saw a building that hit me with a big déjà vu. It was so familiar. I was sure I had never been where we were, but I’d seen that building many times, as in a recurring dream. All I could recall was something vague about boys sledding. Luna tried to take me there to investigate, but it was sealed off to the public.

The big building at the Biltmore was really impressive, except the kiva room had a horrible smell. I dreamed of the motifs just last night. We got out and toured around. I tried to sew a jacket into a skirt as we drove around. My vocal cords were shot, something about a well-deserved and yet inadequate cheer as I recall; so I was talking in a tiny, sarcastic voice. I couldn’t find my needle when we got back to the car, so I shot into this tirade of, “Needle gone!” I tried the skirt on during the stop and found I had gained about four inches in circumference since leaving home. I had to redo. Ever-ready Luna loaned me a needle, which I used until I found the old one still on a thread in the fabric.

We went to the gas station, and then to the store, and that was when I realized one of my thongs (flip-flops) was gone. Yes, it managed to fall out of the car somewhere. The pavement was wa-a-a-ay hot, and I stepped on it with the chorus of, “Ooh, ow. Ooh, ow.” Ever-ready Luna once again came to the rescue and gave me her beautiful blue thongs, which went so well with her blue toenails. I had asked if we could stop at a Goodwill, but we didn’t see one.

We stopped at a rest stop. I marveled at the smooth green of the palos verdes. It looked like it came from Mars or something. I got a cup from Luna, but I couldn’t operate her water jug, so I just dipped it in the melted ice. It was very nice. Then, Luna shared some scrumptious pineapple and other fruit. I was feeling like a baby.

We went on to Tucson. Looming was the knowledge that my plane would leave Phoenix at 11:55. It was supposedly an hour and 45 minutes to the airport, shows were ending around 10:00, and the airports want people there 1-2 hours early. I was not happy about the situation, but Luna said she would leave when I had to go. I was more than halfway tempted to miss the flight, like I did in San Juan Capistrano all those years ago. I had more money back then, though.

We got to Tucson early. I did the strange thing in the car as Luna made the rounds. People were going around in red dresses. Luna told me not to look at them. I obeyed. Then, she went and struck up lively conversation with them and found out it was a fundraiser that involved people from all walks of life.

Tucson was a dive. It didn’t have the same vibe as the places closer to Phoenix. Everything was closed. I got as ready as I could without water or electricity. I told Luna, who is beautiful when she rolls out of bed, and doesn’t understand why I need to spend an hour with makeup and hair stuff to turn myself into a viper. She kept saying I should go as Mammy Yokum, but I was afraid to. Nonetheless, she drove me to a couple gas stations. I was able to get my contacts in, but the hair had to be abandoned.

Walking around, I saw a race on one end of town. The rest of the walk seemed seedy. It didn’t jibe with my past experiences in Arizona. Some people even made me feel uncomfortable.

At the venue, I fixed my hair and got a bottle of water, which I downed rather quickly. Not in the habit of frequenting bars, I later realized I had not tipped the bartender. I changed the poorly-sewn jacket skirt for a sweater with the arms tied in the back. I think it looked better, though I loved the colors of the skirt. It would have fit right in with the mish-mash of architectural styles in the showroom.

Before the show, we talked with this one and that one. Again, my seat was somewhat far for my taste. I warned the couple next to me that I had to catch a plane, and I would be leaving at 9:30. He thought I could last longer than that, and I wanted to believe him.

The show began. I only cried for one song this time. Nothing that I detected was that divergent from what was in the other shows. Everything blends together, now, anyway. I drifted away into that world of love, peace, and serenity. The harmonies and timbres were well worth the trip, and the spirit was as it should be. Lost, zoned, in trance, “Forever Autumn” ended, and the crowd applauded. Amidst the noise, I had a rude awakening.

The guy next to me patted my leg as Luna shouted my name from the aisle. I mouthed an epithet, the same one I do when my alarm clock goes off in the morning. I knew what I “had to” do. Luna was running for the door. I followed, clomping up the aisle in my stilettos, luggage in tow. She drove seamlessly to the airport. I arrived in time, and, waiting for the plain, counted the minutes to see how much more of the show I might have seen. I felt so rude leaving, and why did I leave? I work a job all my life to pay my bills and see Moodies shows, now I had just run out in the middle of one. How crazy was that? I wasn’t in the mood to be mad. I was too mellowed. As it turned out, all other factors being equal, I think I could have stayed through the show. But in actual fact, I risked having a bus of football players unload in front of me in the TSA line.

I watched the goofy Delta video, where all the people are letting their freak flags fly. It was funny. Then, I saw the guy in front was watching a horrible movie where people kept dying. It all took about ten minutes, and the next thing I knew, the captain announced we were beginning our initial descent. I changed planes, landed, and tore off like crazy. I was running behind, so I stopped off at another congregation to take the sacrament, and was back to the home ward to play piano for the kids. The only thing is, as soon as I walked in the door of the building – during the middle of a meeting – there was Mr. Stalker waiting for me.

“Yeah. Home,” thought I.

Happy perigee, too. Wow, they sang to you. Amazing.

Hooray. Justin's site has added something old/new. It was a breadcrumb, but it was delicious, reminding me there is something bigger and better than the current slump. "Inspiration." Now that's a name I haven't heard in a long time.

Yay! luna's back.

I'm sorry about the split finger. I thought it was fixed by the next time I saw him. Thanks for sharing the pain. Me wants to, too. Owie!

I feel poorly for people who live in cool, damp places; even though when I was a wee child I fantasized about growing up to be one of those Troll dolls. I wanted to be one with blue or brown hair, because they were so pretty, and I wanted to live in a cool lagoon because it felt so good when my mother rinsed the shampoo out of my hair with cool water. I don't know how old I was. I was too young to remember, and now I'm too old.

Anyway, I took the Glenn Beck approach to the germ from the fleabag that invaded. I drank plenty of lemonade, and took a seven hour walk in the burning sun. The lemonade was intentional, but the walk sort of got out of control. Regardless, the enemy was pounded to glass by 3:30.

One of the best pieces of information ever given to me about the biological environment is that bacteria function in a smaller range of pH and temperature than humans. I only stay sick when I can't get to a place to crank the heat high enough to kill the germs. Hot and sour soup has been good to help me break fevers.

Missing Justin is another story. I don't think there is a cure between tours.