December 5: Instead

December 5 Prompt: Let Go. What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why? (Author: Alice Bradley)

I find this prompt to be the hardest one by far. Granted, I am only five days into this Reverb 10 project, but this one makes me uncomfortable. And it makes me uncomfortable because I know exactly what I want to write about, but I can't share it here with you.  There is a fine line between over sharing and being an open person, and it's glaringly clear sometimes when I'm about to cross it. And it's most always when someone else's story is involved.  I'm surprised that line doesn't materialize more often. Everyone who publishes a personal blog crosses this point now and again, how much information is too much and when is it too personal to share? We all have complicated, deeply private relationships with friends, family, spouses and these loved ones have every right to keep their own lives private. The last thing I want to do with this blog is hurt anyone's feelings or air dirty laundry that isn't entirely mine, you know I don't mind airing my own. I don't say this to be provocative, just honest. I'm going to skip publishing today's prompt. I'm going to write a response offline, because I do want to honor my commitment to the project, but I simply can't share. And that's ok. 

So instead, let me tell you about the lovely evening I spent with my mother tonight. A few months ago my mom got a new job working for an investment company. Like many, many people right now, she had struggled for months looking for a new job, and finally success! Not only did she find a great job, but she was hired by one of the top ten best companies to work for, according to Forbes Magazine. And one of the perks she gets for working for such a wonderful company, is that she, along with a select group of clients, was invited to attend a private Christmas concert performance of the Kansas City Symphony. And I got to be her date.

The company rented a lovely travel coach, (read: fancy bus) and took all of us downtown to The Lyric. And this was probably a good thing, because I was easily the youngest person on that bus. Ok, according to my mother, the second youngest, but still young. There was a lot of white hair and the consensus was that driving at night downtown would be like driving in Beirut in the 1980's, scary, violent and possibly deadly. Yeah, they don't like driving at night. But it was kind of nice to just sit back and let someone else get us there.  The city looks different from a bus. I felt like I was on a school field trip, only with a bus load of my grandparents. Everyone was very chatty and kind. The jokester sitting behind us kept everyone laughing. And one dapper gent was wearing velvet. I love velvet on old men. I kept singing that line from Annie in my head when I saw him, "Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly, but you're never fully dressed without a smile." He wasn't wearing a smile. He had more of a smug grimace. I would have expected a velvet wearer to be happier than that. I wanted to wave my jazz hands in front of him and see if we could get a reaction. I refrained, wouldn't want to get Mom fired.

The concert was beautiful. A mix of traditional carols from Mendelssohn and Handel, a spot on version of Manheim Steamroller's Stille Nacht that was breathtaking, some Nutcracker, some singing along to Jingle Bells and the always enjoyable Frosty and Rudolph (I whispered all the little kid "like Monopoly" lines at Mom,) and they closed the evening with three pieces from popular Christmas movies, It's a Wonderful Life and Polar Express. It was a festive, light and thoroughly enjoyable evening. Mom and I laughed and reminisced a bit about Christmases past and just enjoyed spending some time together. Thanks again for letting me be your date! It was a perfect way to get into a Christmasy mood, and I haven't felt so sprightly and youthful in years. Especially when the lady sitting behind asked me if I was in college and said I couldn't be old enough to have my own children. I wanted to kiss her, but she probably just forgot her glasses.