I Married a Rock Star

I was ready for the mid-life crisis. I fully expected my husband to do some crazy things as he was approaching his golden years. I'd heard all the stories about running off to Jamaica with a secretary or buying a Harley and taking off for a cross-country adventure. But, while I was steeling myself for one of the cliched scenarios, I got hit with something a little different. My husband joined a rock-and-roll band. Maybe you're thinking, what's so odd about that? Nothing, I guess except in the almost thirty years I've known him, I've never heard anything but blues and jazz coming out of his lightening-fast, piano-playing fingers. The group recruited him on a recommendation from one of their fellow musicians and his keyboard wizardry blew them away. Unfortunately, most of the songs on the band's playlist had never been heard by my husband before and I'm not talking about obscure B-side melodies, I'm talking about top ten Rolling Stone, AC/DC ditties. To compound the problem, he doesn't read music so he has a stack of cheat sheets with chord progressions sitting in front of him at every gig. It's kind of cute how he has to peer over the top of his reading glasses in between songs. He's not alone. The whole band is a collection of middle-aged, frustrated musicians that is grasping the opportunity to show the kids how its done. The amazing thing is, they're damn good. As they rock out on everything from Dion to The Eagles, it's obvious how much they're enjoying themselves. And isn't that the point? Of course, it doesn't hurt if you pick up a few fans along the way and they seem to be doing that too. In a weird way, this time of our lives is a perfect time to do whatever the hell you want. If you do it well, everyone will be impressed and if you stink, people will still give you props for trying. I wonder if it's too late to slither into one of those sequined costumes and start figure skating?