Concert A-Going, Home A-coming, Clap Theorizing

On one of our rare cultural excursions, Mr. Typist and I went to the Celtic Woman: Homecoming concert at the Paramount this weekend. It was transcendent. I teared up at the beginning when they came out on stage and sang “Homecoming” while scenery of the Irish landscape flashed on the backdrop. It was all too much, especially these lyrics:

No matter far I may roam,

I have a homeland

I have a home.

I’m prone to a deep sadness around the concept of home, as I am in a perpetual search for mine, and I was overwhelmed with emotion at seeing Ireland again, flooded with memories of my October trip. Adding to my vulnerability, shortly before we left for the concert, I read a very moving blog post by my friend Frankie about her best friend’s childhood home, which she describes as a fulcrum of stability in her sometimes turbulent life. I loved this post, and I was very heartened to hear that my friend has had this beacon of stability to hold onto.

Being from a transitory military family, I grew up with no sense of stability around place. I think that some of my former reluctance to purchase a house and “lay down roots” was that I’ve always understood that a mere house is no guarantee of any sort of enduring permanence. I used to dismiss people who thought that as deluded. And yet, I had some of the same feelings about my late grandfather’s house as Frankie does about her friend’s. It was the one constant in my life in terms of physical place, and I went through a difficult grieving process when it was sold off, to the point that I actually considered buying it. So now I resonate with both points of view--the impulse to create stability through place, yet the knowledge that permanence is an illusion. If there’s one thing the last five years has taught me with savage ruthlessness it’s that things and people we take as a given will vanish from our lives with astounding alacrity, and there is no such thing as a constant.

So I continue to search for home, and continue to grieve for my lack of it. But I try to remind myself that I have pockets of home-likeness in my life: Mr. Typist, my community at work, my family who I have grown closer to over these years of turmoil, and a handful of steadfast friends. I’m hardly an orphan. Yet my heart never fully feels that I’ve found my home. So the “Homecoming” show was a weepy one for this typist.

My personal melancholy aside, the show was fantastic. It was refreshingly patriotic and wholesome, and all of the ladies were beautiful and brimming with grace and loveliness. They mixed it up well, too, with a good combination of emotionally-charged ballads and toe-tapping drumming and dancing. And, as a result of said toe-tapping, I now have a unified theory of audience clapping behaviors and the introversion/extroversion continuum. I shall explain: I was quite alarmed the first few times that the audience suddenly started rhythmic clapping along to the music. I didn’t know how everyone knew it was time to clap, and I was worried it would somehow “mess up” the performers. Then, halfway through the show, I finally noticed one of the dancers hold his arms over his head and deliberately clap, and that was the signal that I had been missing. However, I was horrified at the idea of joining in, because I have no rhythm and was convinced that I would single-handedly throw off the entire concert with my off-beat clapping. Plus, I’m just not a clapper-alonger. It seems to go along with not being joiner-inner, a board-game nighter, or a book club lady. After a spirited discussion with Mr. Typist (also a never-clapper) about the phenomenon, we both concluded that it was definitely the gregarious extroverted types who were doing most, if not all of the clapping-along, while the introverts in the house sat with our hands primly in our laps, silently praying that no one would single us out for our non-participation.

I’ve been cranky about extroverts in the past, but I’m glad they were there to do the heavy lifting. They made it a really fun show, and many of them were very friendly to me in the lobby at intermission. So, points to them. For now. Until one of them annoys me at a meeting again by pointing out to the whole room that I’ve been quiet and asking me what I think.

I couldn’t find a good Youtube clip of the show, so here’s a little nod to some Irish music and dancing. They’re shy and adorably awkward at the beginning, but damn, these boys got rhythm! 

--Kristen McHenry