This Father’s Day, in a quiet ode to my own, I sat on my stoop and basked in the blistering Georgia sun reading a James Patterson novel with little redeeming value.
The calm of the day combined with the heat of my scorched skin and my weary eyes might normally have encouraged an early slumber, but last night, I did something brave. Something I don’t normally do. Something out of character. I was compelled though, driven by song and adoration.
I mustered up the courage to mingle among a crowd of people to see Jackson Browne at Chastain Park. He played for nearly 3 hours, solo. I can think of almost nothing I could enjoy more than sitting and listening to him live. Watching as he walked past the lineup of half a dozen guitars, trying to pick a favorite for whichever song was to be served up next. Seeing him behind the keyboard, sharing his soul through lyrics, I was misty eyed and enamored.
Unrelated, the next movie you should see:
Amélie
As a bonus, by watching this movie you can learn more about the origins of The Roaming Gnome. He’s my favorite.
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