Little Ship of Dreams

I got an email one morning just the other day that announced the upcoming North American Tour of the ‘70s rock band Heart. A stop in Birmingham later this year, and Ticketmaster thought I should know. I am not sure why. A YouTube video I clicked on, or some all-seeing/all-listening electronic entity noticed I always turn the volume up on my truck radio whenever “Barracuda” or “Dreamboat Annie” play.

I was intrigued. I clicked on the link to see what seats were available and how much.

Turned out two good ones at $130 per.

I almost got up to get my credit card, but I decided to mull it over until evening. The waiting was difficult because of a memory.

It was in ’79 or ’80. A brown-eyed boy asked a red-haired girl out on a date. One of the two in love – had been for quite some time. The other, not so much.

I got the friendship date. A few hours with her would be worth the cost.

It was, by the way, expensive. Eight dollars a piece on the seats. Probably ten to fill up the tank of the Camaro to drive to Birmingham and back. Another ten for dinner and concessions. All in, somewhere around $36.

You laugh and wish you were around in “the good old days.” But keep in mind that I only had a part-time-after-school-and-Saturday job. Minimum wage was $3.10. I had a solid 12 hours of sweat commitment to that girl. If that ain’t love, love never was.

My memory is that it was a great show. I did not win her heart that evening, but I recall a hug and a little peck on the cheek. Money well spent.

Back to the present day, forty some odd years later. I kept turning that sweet memory over in my mind as I drove down the road, the radio tuned to a “classic rock” station. “Barracuda” came on as if by magic. My mind made up. It had to be fate. I would pull the trigger on the tickets when I got home.

Then fate actually made an appearance. The DJ (what is the correct term for that vocation today, “streaming digital song selector?”) mentioned that Heart was about to launch a tour, and they had appeared on one of the late-night T.V. shows to kick things off. If I missed it, I could catch it on YouTube.

I did. Wow.

That sweet, amazing soprano voice was mostly gone. Her sister’s guitar work was adequate but labored. Frankly, I had heard better covers of the song. They looked and sounded so old. How could that be?

Because they are. So am I. I keep forgetting.

I passed on the tickets. Let Dreamboat Annie’s “little ship of dreams” sail on through Birmingham.

Besides, the investment paid off. I eventually got that Redhead to love me back.

I told you it was money well spent.