Monday, Monday

Well, we’re supposed to be sitting here in anticipation of Barack Obama’s appearance on The Daily Show tonight, but it looks like I’ll have to wake everyone up when it starts. Husband, sister, cats and the dog are all draped around the living room, sound asleep. It’s been a busy Monday.

I left work for a while to go to the doctor with Mr. Yenta. Wives often go to the doctor with their husbands if there’s a possibility of something being seriously amiss. This is not for moral support. It’s because we can never get the exact right information from our husbands. They don’t exactly recall what the doctor said, they’re not sure what, if anything, they’re supposed to do now, except in the most general way. Requests for specifics are seldom satisfied. On the whole, it’s just easier to go along and find out for yourself. In this case, it probably wasn’t necessary because everything was fine. A sonogram had shown something on his one remaining kidney and the urologist had ordered a CT Scan to see what it was. It was nothing. We were pretty relieved. Giddy even. We’ve been through enough tests that turned up Something that we don’t automatically assume Nothing anymore.

Then we got home and the euphoria ended. We learned that the bass player’s (the who lives in our spare room and is in the same band as our son) sister had died. She was only in her thirties so it really is very sad. It wasn’t unexpected. She’s been very sick for a long time. She lived halfway across the country and he’s been going to visit her whenever the band isn’t on the road. Now, of course, the band is going out on tour later this week, so in addition to getting a flight to halfway across the country he’s got to figure out if he can meet up with them in time for the first scheduled gig, which is a situation he really can’t control. The New Yorker magazine has run this boilerplate before their Nightlife Listings for as long as I can remember:

Musicians and night-club proprietors live complicated lives; it’s advisable to call ahead to confirm engagements.

It’s true. It’s not all arrests and rehab, you know. From time to time a venue has closed, or been closed by some governmental agency, for instance. Sometimes a performer gets rushed to an emergency room and fails to regain consciousness in time for load-in. But sometimes it’s just that musicians’ schedules don’t easily accommodate their lives. For the most part, they make that work by not having lives – not normal ones, anyway. They work tired, they work sick, sometimes they work when family members are getting married, having babies, graduating from things. Forget birthdays, including their own or most holidays. But sometimes you just have to show up for family, no matter where else you’re supposed to be. They’ll work this out. It’s all part of the deal.


2 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by thatsrightnate on April 22, 2008 at 12:01 am

    I’m happy for you and your husband, but sad for the bass player. I really enjoyed what I heard of the band.


  2. Very sad to hear of the death of someone so young, i don’t think you ever actually get over it. My thoughts go to your lodger and his family.


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