Blissfully unaware of the time, I got up from my seat at the concert and began heading for the door.  It was so relaxing and rejuvenating to watch these professionals, singing along with the songs I knew, tapping my feet to those I didn’t and just closing my eyes and taking it all in.  So it wasn’t until I heard someone ahead of me say, “wow, it’s 11:00!” that I realized it was past my bedtime.

10:00 p.m. is the goal to be in bed and if all goes well, I’m asleep soon after.  We were still in the arena at 11:00 which meant walking to the car, getting through traffic (yes, there’s some traffic in little Lincoln), and getting ready for school the next day before jumping into bed.  By the time that happened it was midnight and the next six hours went pretty quickly.

Up at 6:00 and at school about 7:15, I could not stop yawning and could not keep my eyes open despite the massive amounts of caffeine I was taking in.  At one point I thought about napping until my first class but then I got my stuff together and kicked into my usual routine.  Somehow I woke up enough to begin teaching and then was saved by my wonderful student teacher while I worked on paperwork.  Age is a wonderful thing.

All of this is a bit ironic considering who I saw in concert last night –  you know, the ones who actually worked on stage for hours.  James Taylor is 70 and his “warm-up” act Bonnie Raitt, who at age 69 rocked the stage with her down and dirty blues and virtuoso guitar playing.  All I had done was sit on my butt for 3 1/2 hours and they had played a show.  A LONG show.  With the energy of someone half their age but with the expertise of someone who had literally been doing this for two thirds of their lifetime.

Perhaps they don’t have to get up as early as I do.  They also have someone who literally runs on and off the stage bringing them things like different guitars and stools.  I on the other hand have to herd cats – I mean children – for hours a day.  It’s a different kind of lifestyle, that’s for sure.  But 70?!?  Even some of their band members were in their 60’s and 70’s and they rocked the house.  Doing what you love, even if it means playing the same music night after night, must keep you young.  Obviously I must not be doing what I love or I wouldn’t be so tired, right?

I also observed people around me, the median age seeming to be, well, MY age.  I watched them sway together in groups, their arms around each others shoulders.  I watched a woman my age or more dancing by herself to the music and older couples holding each other while moving to the music. People were singing and bopping their heads, some yelling “we love you James” or we love you Bonnie” to people who in reality were complete strangers but who also created the soundtracks to our teen aged years.  It’s hard not to feel connected to people and their music when you remember singing or dancing to it in high school with your boyfriend or girlfriend at the dance or at the local pizza parlor.  It’s like getting lost in a great conversation with a person you’ve known forever until you realize how late it’s getting.  Like past your bedtime late.

So as I sit here still trying not to fall asleep, as it approaches my bedtime, thinking about these older people who still manage to rock out until 11:00 p.m. and I think, more power to them.  I admire them. But I’m going to bed now.