The wife and I see the invite to come to the convention center for an evening of desserts prepared by twenty-three area restaurants. A solid plus will be entertainment by duo pianists Felix & Fingers.
Event is sponsored by a local bank, proceeds to pay for scholarships awarded to area high school seniors, price: fifty bucks per couple. We call another couple, our friends, to ask if they wish to join us. They say yes. So we push the button twice and get two printed tickets.
Thursday evening arrives. Dinner is only a snack. Must save room for what’s to come. We dress, pick up our friends, and arrive in plenty of time for easy parking.
A smiling young sweetie (no pun intended) greets us, takes our tickets, gives us a list of the dessert offerings provided by the restaurants. Then I glance at all those little tables in the conference room, their tops filled with desserts, with one or two restaurant folks standing behind each table ready to serve those sweets with a smile. OMG, forget the diet. Forget the sugar. It’s straight ahead on a road of pure pleasure.
The plan is to hurriedly look at it all, then repeat but go much slower while sampling what looks best. Except it doesn’t work because with a slow stroll, I see four desserts, then five, with the sixth being a white chocolate blueberry bread pudding. I say, “Gimme that!”. Bite one is great, bite two is even greater. Bite three, the last one, comes all too soon.
Then I pause to take a closer look at my surroundings. There is no so-called “background music,” no loud talk or guffaws. Just honest meeting and greeting and good conversation. There are only a few athletic shoes, no sandals with dirty toes showing, a few heels among the women, some genuine black leather among the men. Dresses, pant suits, sharply creased slacks, upscale shirts, and sport coats prevail. Oh how obvious it was that everybody had called it right —pulled themselves down the top or lifted themselves from the bottom to meet in a most comfortable and likable middle.
I sample four more desserts with number three, a pastry, urging me to forget the rest and go back for a second serving. In between, I meet Burt, the event’s head honcho who says last year was the first event and raised about five thousand dollars and this second one will likely do better.
I then peek into the foyer where there is cheese and fruit to delightfully interrupt the sweet, a fine way to prepare everyone for yet another round of tasting. The ploy works, but thank you anyway, only one more sampling for me.
Eventually, we four ease into another large banquet room, dimly lit and filled with a dozen tables set to serve ten. Four candles per table, not the electric kind, but real ones with real flame that flickers. Sixteen more candles line the front of the stage set with two pianos and a set of drums arranged to form a shallow “V.”
Ready to play the pianos are Felix with a pony tail and Fingers with hair on shoulders. It’s soon clear neither of them learned to play by plodding their way through the infamous John Thompson books with the red covers. Naw, it came natural — was in their brain when they left the womb. As for the drummer, he wows the audience by tossing his sticks into the air and without missing a beat, catching them on the way down.
Bless their pea pickin’ hearts, they ignore music’s present whiney drool and mindless rap to play the memorable and always welcome likes of Brown Eyed Girl, Sweet Home Alabama, Take It Easy, Great Balls Of Fire, Nine To Five, and a couple of Credence Clearwater Revival’s and Bon Jovi’s best. At times, the outpourings of both pianos are enhanced with harmonica and tambourine. And check this: Requests from the audience come first.
During a quick break, five giggly ladies pose against a sparkly background as the photographer flashes the halo light. After they leave, I ask him if he will take a picture of the four of us. Sure. So we arrange ourselves, smile, the light flashes, and the moment is captured forever. Terrific, he says. He will send the pix to our phone numbers. Sometimes, technology is really wonderful.
The threesome is still playing as if they could and would play all night. The clock, however, tells us differently. We ease out the door, load up, drive home, do the bedtime routine, then slip under the covers while remembering the sweets and the beats as we begin fading ever deeper into dream time.
So, here’s the point.
Everywhere has music. Everywhere has desserts. Everywhere has benevolent people ready to help others — friendly folks who don’t hesitate to stuff all the hate, wars, politics, and financial stress into a sack, tie it shut, then walk away to dress nice and join others for some genuine down home enjoyment.
Now, just like we did, go find it and don’t ever look back.
