I was so excited when I got tickets to BEAUTIFUL in SF. And then this happened:
6:45 PM Friday night — My daughter and I were just about to watch a movie after eating take-out. It was a long week getting my classroom ready so I was looking forward to time with my rising college freshman. I was in grimy shorts and a tank, after working all day. And my husband calls.
Husband: Hey — I got this calendar message about BEAUTIFUL. It’s tonight?
Me: No . . . tomorrow night.
Husband: Would you please check?
Me — checking the confirmation: OH MY GOD IT’S TONIGHT! THE SHOW STARTS AT 8!
Husband: GET IN THE CAR NOW!
We live at least an hour away from the City, if there is NO traffic. Husband was in Burlingame, picking up our younger daughter from a friend’s (2nd daughter was in shorts). I threw on slacks. My oldest, in jeans, brushed her hair, and we flew out the door. We were on the Bay Bridge by 7:30 (don’t ask). And then . . . traffic. At 7:55, we parked the car at Fifth and Mission and started running. I was in heels (well, heels for me) and Daughter One was still in a boot for a sprained ankle. SHE RAN. ALL the way down Market Street. We picked up our tickets at “will call” and flew into the theater, where we got stopped and told we’d have to go into the “hold” room until a break. They were JUST pulling up the curtain and I was devastated. BUT — we had MEZZ tickets — NO HOLDS UP THERE, so we flew up the stairs, climbed over two very patient people just as the opening number, “Beautiful” was starting.
It took us a few minutes to catch our breath and realize we were sitting in our seats, just in time. It was truly a beautiful show — and it took me back to the hours and hours I spent listening to TAPESTRY. Time travel at its best. The fact that we made it was a tiny summer miracle. One we needed right about now, with all the changes afoot as we begin this new school year.
The moral of this story: Please, if you live with a teacher, do not trust her sense of the calendar at the beginning of the year. Many things can fall through the cracks and you don’t want it to be those tickets to a Broadway show! Thank you Husband. . . you’re my hero. Again.