Bruce Cockburn is a very talented musician and I’m sure an inspiration to many, but his songs leave me yearning for Harry Chapin, or even Bob Dylan. Except Bob Dylan is a lousy entertainer. Great songwriter, lousy entertainer.
So there I was, at Bruce’s concert, trying not to fall asleep on Frank’s shoulder because, well, it would be rude to Bruce AND a waste of the $50.00 ticket. To occupy myself I started plotting a story. Before long I had a first page, a concept, and a new word; Tormentation. The torment of temptation. All I needed was a piece of paper and a pen because my memory is lousy and my mind is a vacuüm. I would not remember any of my latest plot by the time I got home.
It was dark in the concert hall so I had to rummage around in my purse and, fortunately for me (and maybe to make up for my vacant mind), I am blessed with an exquisite sense of touch. Pen and paper are found forthwith so I’m all prepared to write except, as I mentioned…it’s dark. My purse is huge, there is room for a flashlight, but I don’t happen to carry one. Which is just as well. If Bruce thought my falling asleep while he sang his heart out was rude, what would he think of a flashlight stuck in my mouth while I wrote my tome?
Then, a brilliant idea. While Bruce is playing wind chimes with a foot pedal, I remember my phone has a notepad. It lights up. But, because I was raised to be fairly polite, I thought it necessary to stick my head into aforementioned large purse so the light from the screen did not bother the people around me genuflecting toward the stage. Hence, this is what I saw when I checked my phone the next day;
If anybody has any idea what this says, please let me know. I think it has something to do with a walrus.