Roll Over, Beethoven

Let's be real here: making it to five years is an accomplishment.

If you can also score $10,000 on your fifth anniversary, there's even more reason to celebrate. No, no, I'm not talking about relationships here (though I could) but about the little music organization that could. And did.

After a delightful day in the warmer environs of Norfolk, I got home with barely enough time to shower and make it to the Hof in time to score a ticket for Classical Revolution's Birthday Bash with Beethoven's 5th.

The first people I spotted were Beckham and Beauty, but since I hadn't known I was coming, they hadn't saved me a seat in the front row with them. And by front row, I'm guessing they could have seen the fillings in the cellists' teeth if they'd yawned, they were that close.

I found a seat two rows behind them and chatted them up from there - given our shared affection for South Africa, they were the ideal friends to share the Post write-up about Stellenbosch Vineyards Four Secrets Sparkling Shiraz I was reading - as the crowd wandered in and the room began to fill up with music lovers and the 40 musicians who were about to dazzle us.

Surprisingly, I only spotted a few people I knew: the museum director, the Man About Town, the former neighbor and his main squeeze. While I read the rest of my newspaper (Roy Moore is clearly the serial pedophile from Liarsville), DJ Rattan played his always excellent music choices, nailing Latin gems, obscure foreign pop music and the random Steely Dan song, in that way he does so well.

Once the room was standing room only, Classical Revolution's director Ellen took center stage to talk about the non-profit's original mission to get classical music out of concert halls and into everyday life, where they've succeed at playing in bars and bookstores, cideries and galleries, breweries and theaters, even a pedestrian bridge.

I'm truly sorry I missed that last one. Sounds right up my alley.

She went on to issue thank yous to sponsors, the musicians volunteering their time and talent, supporters and, especially, those who'd showed their love with cash. A local couple had issued a challenge that if CR could raise $5,000 during the week of their anniversary celebration, they'd match the amount.

Today, she said, they'd surpassed their goal, so she turned toward the couple, also in the front row, and joked, "I'm going to take you up on that!" as the man extended what looked like a folded check. Real or not, the crowd went crazy hootin' and hollerin' about the good news.

After reminding the crowd that this was a raw performance - everyone was sight-reading music and there'd been no rehearsal - she introduced conductor Daniel Myssyk. He took up his wand, looked at the orchestra and turned back to us. "The beginning is very tricky, so I need to have this very brief conversation with the orchestra musicians."

Take as long as you need, Daniel. In what seemed like no time, he whirled around and said, "Easy!" and the performance began.

The beginning of Beethoven's Fifth is so instantly recognizable (come on, even cartoon fans know it) that right away, people began reacting.

More than a few closed their eyes, several with their heads back. The Hat followed the music's movement with his entire head. A redheaded woman smiled broadly as she watched. A young girl sat folded on her chair like a pretzel, busy reading a paperback rather than watching the orchestra.

Everyone experiences Beethoven in their own way. I vacillated, sometimes closing my eyes to let it wash over me and other times, focusing on a musician, section or Myssyk, who, by the way, gave good conductor face. No guitarist could have done better at guitar face.

Unlike at a more staid Richmond Symphony concert at CenterStage, this crowd, diverse with Baby Boomers, Millennials and everything in between, wasn't shy about clapping in between movements. The first time, the conductor looked surprised, but he adjusted.

You can't very well play in a bar and not expect some spontaneous reactions. The standing ovation at the end felt as much about the pleasure of hearing the music as a celebration of what Classical Revolution has accomplished in five short years.

Walking out with Beckham and Beauty, we encountered a distraught-looking woman who said in an accusatory tone, "They towed my car!" Without a word, we nodded together in sympathy and kept walking, with Beckham murmuring our thoughts, "The way to prevent that is to park legally."

We'd barely turned the corner when we saw an older couple standing in a business lot and he was testily identifying his missing car to the person on the other end of the line. "It was a Ford FAIRLANE!" No need to shout, sir.

No doubt it was a hell of a buzz kill after that fabulous performance to come out and find your car gone, but like Beckham said, there's ways to prevent that.

Kind of like there's ways to celebrate having made it five years. As a man once told me, "Five years with you will never be enough. I'll need at least 25!"

I say we raise a glass of Sparkling Shiraz to Classical Revolution's next 25 years.

Big Love

Be present. Well, duh.

That zen-like reminder was painted on the wall of the restaurant, but not the first restaurant I went to today because that one was in service of my hired mouth and was for breakfast.

Breakfast was before we took a road trip to Norfolk listening to REM and the Bo Deans and cursing people who brake for no good reason and before our silver-tongued tour guide gave us a walking tour of Norfolk's waterfront.

It was during that walkabout that he led us to Java Surf Coffee Shop, passing a window display with a sign that read, "In a relationship, one person needs to be the emotional designated driver," sparking a discussion of whether that's true or not. Dissent was expressed; I abstained.

Eventually, we made it to the piece-de-resistance: the USS Wisconsin, a circa 1943 battleship rising up like a giant silver blowfish on steroids when we first encountered it head on.

Honestly, I was unprepared for how massive it was and if we'd had the time, I'd have been all about touring it. Another time, I hope.

Impressive in a different sort of way was a ridiculously long dark blue sailboat (by that, I mean far longer than my apartment times two) with masts too high to fit in the photograph I tried to take of it. That it was registered in the Cayman Islands gave us to believe there was drug-laundering money involved, but made it no less beautiful or tremendously sized.

After meandering through downtown, we landed on the sidewalk in front of a doormat-sized inlay that used fancy script to spell out "The Fontaine Room," giving testament to the restaurant's former life.

These days, it's a swinging hot spot called the Grilled Cheese Bistro which required a short wait for one of the community tables (which is the only kind they have, a trend I embrace), but paid off in spades with exceptional sandwiches (cooked in buckets of clarified butter), killer fries and a bartender who never let the hordes wipe the smile off her face or the good attitude from her words.

I think it was because she was being present. I know I was.

Now that I think about it, though, I may also have been swayed by them having Dominion Brewing root beer on tap, because what accompanies a Johnny Appleseed grilled cheese better?

By the time we rolled out of there, a long line had already begun snaking down the sidewalk in anticipation of tonight's Hanson show at the Norva, bringing up the question, who loves Hanson that much in 2017 anyway?

Clearly the show was sold out, but it mattered not because by late afternoon, we were heading back because we've got shows of our own in Richmond, you know.

And tonight's was a helluva bill: the Richmond Symphony with Tim Barry, Clair Morgan, Natalie Prass, Bio Ritmo and Matthew E. White.

Setting out on foot, we breezed past the crowded Grace Street restaurant patios to land at Maya, where our server was a familiar face and, coincidentally, a J-Ward neighbor. Given tonight's show, the place was mobbed and he was keeping everything handled with his usual aplomb and self-deprecation.

I don't often eat three meals out in one day unless I'm on vacation (I could stretch that a bit and say that with the road trip and playing tourist all day that it was vacation-like), but sometimes you just have to eat the fish tacos and be happy someone else is willing to cook for you.

Across the street, the Carpenter Center was filling up with a mix of longtime Symphony Pops subscribers and a whole lot of people who'd probably never been to the Symphony in their life, but were fans of one of the bands performing tonight.

It was a pretty fascinating show in that local musician Trey Pollard had written arrangements for their songs based on what would best suit their existing music. It ranged from Tim Barry being just a voice and guitar to Bio Ritmo's nine musicians (tonight with the bonus of singer Laura Ann Singh) and salsa rhythms, providing huge flexibility in where and how much the symphony came in.

Clair Morgan provided humor when his band took the stage without him and he finally came out, saying, "My wife's gonna kill me, but I can't find my guitar strap." Luckily, it was soon located and they could play, vibraphones and all, without any husbands being killed.

Ultimately, rock trumped symphony and light projections made the performance oh-so groovy while the crowd didn't hesitate to call out to friends and favorite performers onstage.

In the loo during intermission, I heard my name called and there was the woman I run into everywhere: the Northern Neck, a southside coffee shop, an obscure house show, now the symphony.

Heading back to my seat, I heard my name called and turned around to see my former neighbor. When I marveled that he'd recognized me from the back, he said it was my hair. I think I believe him.

Walking through the inner lobby, I ran into a gorgeous girlfriend and once in the outer lobby, a favorite sax player greeted me. My people were everywhere.

Be present often enough and they all find you. Okay, maybe not in the Fontaine Room, but definitely here in Richmond.

Does being asleep count as being present? Asking for a friend...

Pass the Old Bay

I wonder if I could live at the water.

In theory, I feel like I could. Every time I visit people who live at the river or when I spend time at the ocean, I seem to come away just a wee bit green with envy of their proximity, not just to water, but to a more relaxed sort of lifestyle.

I'm a person who can sit contently in front of a body of water and wile away whole parts of the day. There is no more enjoyable walking than along the water's edge. It's tough to be stressed or unhappy listening to the sound of lapping water.

This is very much on my mind at the moment because of today's visit to a favorite couple's new digs in Ocean View. Back story: Two surfing types found a fantastic house, both loved it, but he still felt the need to ask of her, "Are you serious about moving?" Unequivocal yes.

The two-story house sits back on a big shady lot, tucked into a neighborhood where many of the older, smaller houses have been bonged down and replaced with much larger, showier houses. Not this one.

Theirs is compact and charming, with blue trim on both porches, seashells instead of handles on the screen doors and entire walls of windows. The downstairs floor plan is completely open, much like my favorite beach cottage, for easy interacting no matter what room you're in. The radio plays music for the entire floor.

Step out in the verdant backyard and you see a patio and a lattice storage unit for their many surfboards. The upstairs porch off the bedroom is the dog's favorite place to nap. Photographs of trips to Nicaragua and California fill the walls.

They're one block from the Chesapeake Bay, up some wooden steps and down a few more to the beach. That's where we spent most of the day, beach-clad, under an umbrella, in chairs. Because of the proximity to the ocean - the Bay bridge tunnel is easily visible to the east and the eastern shore beyond that- there were plenty of waves.

I'd brought my book but never got to it. A pod of dolphins entertained us with tail splashing and high diving. Tumblers of wine kept the conversation flowing, a walk to Little Creek for a view of the Joint Expeditionary Base (I heard my first hovercraft) took us as far east as we were able to go and the bath water-warm bay provided the setting for a solid hour in the waves.

Because they've only been Ocean View residents for two weeks, they're still learning the 'hood. Fair enough. But when they told me there was a waterfront restaurant within spitting distance, I was amazed they hadn't yet checked it out. You've got  a bayside bar you can walk on the beach to?

That was the point at which my plans to leave before dinner changed. We were all three showered and strolling down there within 20 minutes.

Although they'd never been, they'd heard some scuttlebutt about the place - rowdy tales of pool games, an unlikely piano and, most  intriguing, a tree growing in the men's room. Inquiring minds wanted to know.

Despite arriving at the bay-front patio, we dutifully walked to the front of the restaurant to enter. The place turned out to be huge, very deep and definitely a little long in the tooth. We spotted a shuffleboard table, but no pool table, an upright piano and several private dining rooms. Not a soul was eating inside.

The crowd was out on the patio, of course, where half the tables sat in full sun and the other half under an awning. I'd have been willing to bet that I was the sole non-local. A band was setting up. Our tentative server told us it was happy hour and encouraged us to drink up, so we did.

Trying to decide on what to eat, we spotted some sumptuous looking sandwiches at the table next to us. Turning in our seats, we inquired, only to learn that they were lobster rolls, which both couples at this table were having.

"It's so good," the one guy said, explaining that it was a special and not on the menu. "But hurry up and order before they run out." Tragically, they already had.

But our new friends were there to do more than tease us, offering up the full scoop. Fridays are lobster roll special days. Mondays, everything is half-priced, food and drink. For decades, the place had been a high end restaurant that attracted people for miles around. After the owners sold, the place went through a succession of owners.

The current incarnation, Mac's Place, has only been open for "four or five weeks," they said. And they should know. The handsome guy told us he'd come to Ocean View in 1959 and watched it grow. The other guy, hearing I was from Richmond, shared that he'd graduated from RPI. "Not VCU, RPI," he said, as if we'd never heard of the school's predecessor.

They'd discovered the lobster rolls last week. "There were 15 people here last week at 5:00 for them. This week, there were 30 people here by 5. You need to show up at 4 when happy hour starts," they advised. Duly noted.

After thanking them for their assistance, we turned back to our table, every few minutes hearing one of them say loudly for our benefit, "Boy, this lobster roll is so good!" to rub it in.

Nothing we ordered wowed us like the lobster rolls had the locals, but as my host reminded us, "We didn't come for the food."

That much was true. The drinks were cheap, the early evening light made the water and sky a brilliant blue and the view of sailboats, powerboats and a Navy ship (the one we'd heard firing earlier) created a picture postcard view.

"I am so happy to be here," my host said, beaming. "You started something, Karen. We're going to have to bring all our guests here." I told him if my neighborhood bar was a quarter mile walk down a beach, they'd have a stool with my name on it.

By the time I left, I'd seen an "I LV OV" license plate, met three beagles on one leash and been invited to return for an overnight visit, an offer I will undoubtedly take them up on. If nothing else, I need to return and verify that tree in the men's room story. It was occupied when I went to check.

But could I live there? Could I give up city life like they did and move to a place absent so many of the things I like to do? Would I miss being able to walk to venues and theaters, the grocery store and restaurants?

Being a block away from such a lovely beach is powerfully appealing. The ocean is within sight or a 15-minute drive. Everyone I met - on the street, at the beach, in the restaurant - was incredibly friendly and all of them very much sending out "I love my life and where I live" vibes. Small, old, affordable cottages still sit between McMansions. Tempting, all of it.

According to the happy couple, it just depends on how serious you are about moving.