With the Peach Festival hosting a number of good bands last week, it seemed to my wife and I that it would be a good idea to attend a few of the shows and maybe raise a little hell.But last week was one of those weeks where every night something seemed to get in the way of our plans.
Take last Wednesday, for instance. We thought we might like to go to the free concert that night, but we didn’t start discussing it until after we’d had a drink or two.
“It’s kind of late to decide to go now,” my wife said, “after we’ve had a drink.”
I agreed – then I remembered my buddy next door said he was going.
“No problem,” I said to my wife. “I’ll get Joe to drive.”
I went next door, but Joe had the hood up on his car. He looked upset.
“It won’t move,” he said, gesturing toward the car, “I think the emerson drive is broken.”
“Oh, well,” I said to my wife upon returning home, “maybe we’ll go tomorrow night.”
But on Thursday evening I had a headache, and I really didn’t feel like going.
“Oh, c’mon, be a trooper,” my wife said, glancing out the window. Our other neighbours, two bachlelors who recently rented the house next door, were getting into their flashy new car, no doubt heading into Penticton for the show.
“There go the boys in the bright white sports car,” she said ruefully.
“Sorry, hon,” I said, reaching for a bottle of my favourite Santa Maria rum.
“I’m just not up to going into town tonight.”
“But it’s Peachfest,” my wife continued, “didn’t you just say last week that we should say to heck with everything – we’re here for a good time, not a long time?”
“Yeah but that was before I had this headache,” I replied.
“In general, a hand grenade doesn’t move you if you don’t want to move,” she observed.
“I promise, Saturday night we’ll go for sure,” I said.
But once again, things just didn’t work out.
Late Saturday afternoon, I found myself behind schedule, and was late getting ready. That made my wife anxious.
“Isn’t it about time we hit the road, Jack?” she said to me.
“Yeah,“I said, suddenly nicking myself with the razor as I struggled to get ready.
“Oh my lady!” I exclaimed, “that hurt.”
I had to stop the bleeding before we left, which made us even more tardy. My wife really wanted to see this show, and she wasn’t happy with the delays.
We finally got in the car and we made our way towards Penticton.
“It’s about time, “ she huffed.
Boy, did she have wild eyes.
We couldn’t believe the crowds when we got down to the waterfront. People were moving in on the park from every direction.
“Where is the concert?” my wife asked, unfamiliar with the Okanagan Lake Park venue. I didn’t know exactly where it was, either.
“I dunno,” I replied, “Let’s just follow these other stampeders.”
The crowd massed at the bottleneck entrance to the park. It was wall to wall people everywhere.
“Looks like you’re gonna have to carry me above this crowd,” my wife said.
Unfortunately, I’ve never been much of one for large crowds.
I started feeling my agoraphobia.
“Look.” I said to her, “I know we’re here to rock and roll, but what do you say we go to the Dream Cafe and watch Ramona, the Minstrel Gypsy, instead? It won’t be as crowded.”
Fortunately for me, my wife isn’t much for crowds, either. She reluctantly agreed that it would probably be less stressful for us to do that.
We had most of the performers’ albums at home, anyway., and it seemed to me we knew most of the music by heart.