It was a thrilling night of music for both Kathy and me, even though only one of us was at the Rosemont Horizon seeing James Taylor and Carole King in concert. . . and it wasn’t me.   Kathy got to go to tonight’s concert because of  the thoughtfulness of our dear friends Ted and Vicki Repsholdt (who are now even dearer friends) who called Kathy this morning and offered her the ticket that their daughter Claire was suddenly no longer able to use.  They knew that we’re huge James Taylor fans – and heard us talk about how much we enjoyed his Ravinia concert the summer before last –  so they had to know how thrilled we would be at such an offer. . . but still,  they could have called anyone closer to home,  so the fact that they thought of us was so sweet.  And it was just as well that only one of us was free to accept the ticket. . . otherwise, we would have had to arm wrestle for it.  (And I wouldn’t have had a chance….  not with James Taylor tickets on the line.)

There was no way I could go because of summer show auditions at the Racine Theater Guild this evening – but that didn’t prevent me from feeling a little bit blue thinking of Kathy experiencing two such living legends live in concert.   And then when I climbed into the car to head off to Razor Sharp and the treadmill,  I turned on our radio- switched to the Sirius XM Metropolitan Opera channel-  and could hardly believe my eyes:  playing was one of the most legendary broadcasts in Met history,  Die Frau ohne Schatten by Richard Strauss.  This opera was first performed at the Met in 1966, on the second night of the company’s first season in its new (present) home.  And unlike the first night of that inaugural season (Samuel Barber’s Antony and Cleopatra, which was basically a bloated mess)  Die Frau ohne Schatten was a gigantic triumph . . . thanks in large measure to the spectacular quartet of singers who headed its cast:  Leonie Rysanek,  Christa Ludwig, James King, and Walter Berry.  The broadcast which followed a few weeks later is a momento of one of the most important night’s in Met history.  And there it was,  playing on my car radio – one of the only musical treasures that could possibly make me forget all about the singers my wife was hearing at that very moment.   James who?   Carole who?   Suddenly,  I felt like the lucky one.   And a few minutes later,  I found myself with a lump in my throat  as the opera reached its incredibly moving climax:  the title character,  the Empress,  has no shadow- meaning that she is infertile.  She is mightily tempted to take the shadow of the unsuspecting Dyer’s Wife,  and then at the last minute realizes that she cannot bring herself to do this. . .  and in a stroke of genius,  Strauss has the Empress speak rather than sing the climactic words “Ich . . .will . . . nicht!”  (“I. . . will . . .  not!”)  As Leonie Rysanek’s majestic voice emanated from my speakers,  it was as though she were grabbing me by the collar and shouting those words right into my face – and I felt it right to the very bottom of my soul.   And while I’m sure that it had to be thrilling to see Carole and James sing “You’ve Got a Friend,”  this moment with the radio was nearly as thrilling for me-  and until that moment,  I would not have thought such a thing possible… I mean that listening to a voice over the radio could be such an overwhelmingly powerful and moving experience.

And this from someone who has been working on the radio for 24 years!  It’s amazing how life teaches us lessons that we didn’t even realize we needed to learn.