Not the way I remember seeing Pink Floyd

After a long work week, my husband and I decided to go out Friday to see a newly formed local band who play the 'entire Dark Side of the Moon album' (can you still use the word 'album'? hmm) at an all-ages venue.

My first thought was, 'Do the kids still listen to the Pink Floyd?'. I mean, I know that you can buy a 'concert' t-shirt at Target these days for about $12 (unlike the days of actually having to scour the thrift shops looking for someone's unloved Cure or Depeche Mode tee in the .49 rack at St. Vincent De Paul's shop and praying that you didn't get impetigo again because you didn't want to wash your clothes before wearing them to school); but is this album still a rite of passage? I wanted to know.

So we packed up our 5 month old baby and hit the road to the coffeeshop about 20 minutes away. We listened to the first few songs at the back of the room and I started up a conversation with a women standing next to us who also was holding a young baby.

We chit-chatted about random topics (the volume of the band was rather comfortable, considering) and I had questioned her about the earplugs that her baby was wearing. Pink and squishy, like play-doh, it appeared. She asked me if I wanted some and I momentarily flashed back to that summer day in 1994 when I saw Pink Floyd in Indianapolis and, literally, couldn't find my way out of my own vehicle because someone had asked me if I 'wanted some' and I enthusiastically nodded my head in agreement. So when I said, 'yes' to this woman and she carefully reached into her purse and pulled out a clear plastic container with about 10 pair of pill-like pink earplugs, I started laughing at the absurdity of the moment.

I then pushed the little discs onto my daughter's ears and danced with her in my arms at the small coffeeshop to a cover band playing the second side of the Dark Side of the Moon album and wondered how I could have gotten so lucky.