Right, so there'll be no more snide remarks about my husband's relative lack of posts.
And without further adieu, we now return to our regularly scheduled program.
It's been two days since we were lucky enough to be among the 65,000 in attendance at The Last Play at Shea, where Billy Joel was joined on stage by Tony Bennet (New York State of Mind), Garth Brooks (Shameless), Steven Tyler (Walk This Way), Roger Daltrey (My Generation) and Paul McCartney (Saw Her Standing There and Let It Be). Oh. My. Goodness.
I think my voice has finally returned to normal. Who WAS that simply squealing with excitement when Paul McCartney's name was announced? Surely it couldn't have been me! I am not a screamer, a shrieker, and I am most definitely NOT a squealer.
And yet.
How many times do you get to be there while history is being made?
I'd seen Billy in concert before. Several times. I'd seen Garth Brooks and The Who and even Paul McCartney before. But to be fortunate enough to be at this, the final concert at Shea Stadium, watching a performer I have long known and loved, and have him be joined in a surprise performance by, arguably, the greatest living music legend of all time, well, there really are no words to describe the feeling.
And when words fail, apparently squeals speak volumes.
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