Two out of a million dazzling moments: hearing Jeri's "WhenI Go", which she (amzing gal that she is) snatched off the radio and would not let escape until she owned it; and discovering from El Greko that the simplest sadnesses are sometimes the most overwhelming; I joined about thirty others in diving for the Kleenex by the time he finished his Christmas song for a departed mother. I swear this big, impressive hunk of a man has a heart of soft spun gold. Then there was the amazing performances from Wales which had me gobsmacked as well, and...the first five minutes was another miracle. I finally found this Hellangone back o'beyond after arriving at BWI hours late and feeling my way through the back-woods darkness on dwindling roads and marginal certainties. I was thrashed but excited to be there. I climbed down from my rental car and turned to see a figure looming up in the shadows. It was the man I had come so far to see more than any other single man, the Ole Skippuh himself.

I could not have started things on a better reception than that greeting in the shadows from ole Kendall his own self.

It went from new heights to newer heights thereafter.

I wish I could tell you-all how much it meant to me, but, in a rare and amazing Murphy Moment, I have to confess that words fail me. SNifff.


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