While I was here barely surviving the domestic life until Bob got home from a week long business trip, my dear sister Sarah had a brush with greatness in DC. The funny part is that her day started by seeing the Presidential motorcade and waving to the President and Mrs. Bush. That’s not what I’m talking about. Shortly thereafter she found herself in the same hallway as Bono who was speaking at the National Prayer Breakfast. Sadly she was so starstruck that she didn’t get his autograph. She was however able to tell him she loves him -- I’m sure he’s never heard that before-- before he disappeared down the hall. Oh Sarah, have I taught you nothing? I almost certainly would have made some witty comment to make him laugh (or sputtered something unintelligible) and walked away with at least a photo.
Sarah’s recounting of the story made me even more certain that Bono is approaching what I imagine the perfect man to be. The first reason I grew to love him years ago (circa Zooropa) when I was in high school was his musical talent, his song writing and his onstage performance. These days he’s a humanitarian who is using his fame to help the impoverished in Africa. And now, he’s a prayerful man? In my book, it doesn’t get better than that. Well, except for my Bobby that is. He’s my very own code-writing rockstar.
A note to the musically challenged (that’s you, Mom): The first o in Bono is a soft o; don’t you dare liken his name to Bozo the clown.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
