Van Morrison was in rare form, and we have no regrets

Inever got to see him!” My mom shouted as she stomped her foot against the kitchen linoleum floor. It was the summer of 1977 and my dad had just told her that Elvis died. The King had performed at the Civic Arena the previous January and my parents didn’t go. I don’t know why they decided not to go; I don’t even remember them discussing it. But missing Elvis was one of Mom’s life regrets.

A few months ago, I thought of my husband, Bob, when I heard that Van Morrison was coming to Pittsburgh — Burgettstown, actually — as part of the Outlaw Music Festival headlined by Willie Nelson. Van Morrison is Bob’s favorite musician. He told me about his love for Van on our first date 30 years ago.

We saw Van Morrison perform in New York City in 2007 and it was fantastic. We were lucky. Van’s concerts can be great or terrible. Fans often accuse him of mumbling lyrics and phoning in performances. Being this was Van’s first stop on the Outlaw tour, there were no recent reviews to read. We didn’t know what to expect.

I really didn’t want to go to Burgettstown. The venue is more than an hour away from my house; it’s a pavilion, so weather is a factor; and it can take hours to exit the parking lot. At this age, 52, I just want to stay home and watch Netflix. And with good reason: The second season of “Ozark” just dropped.

I decided not to remind Bob that Van Morrison was coming to Pittsburgh. Sneaky of me, but there was no FOMO — “Fear of Missing Out,” as the millennials call it. We had already seen Van perform. So, unlike my mom and Elvis, never seeing Van perform in person was not going to be one of Bob’s deathbed regrets.

And then the Post-Gazette’s Scott Mervis wrote that Van hasn’t performed in Pittsburgh in 45 years. Guilt immediately set in. My husband had just taken me to Jim Thorpe, Pa., for my sixth Chris Isaak concert, so the least I could do was travel across town to see Van Morrison.

I reminded Bob that Van was performing nearby, more or less, and it would probably be our only chance to see him locally. My husband pondered it for a few days and then announced he didn’t want to go. He said it was too far away and cost too much money. I sighed in middle-aged “can’t wait to watch Netflix, not gonna pay Ticketmaster one thin dime” relief.

I felt good about things. I had mentioned the concert and Bob didn’t want to go. Total transparency. “We’re old and staying happily home,” I thought to myself.

The day before the Outlaw Music Festival, my brotherin-law called. He had a chance to get free concert tickets, so did we want to go? We’d have to pick up the tickets at the will-call window. My brother-in-law couldn’t go because he was going out of town.

The option of free tickets immediately made us feel a generation younger. Of course we wanted to go; why not? If the tickets weren’t at the will-call window, we’d just get lawn seats or go home, depending on the weather. “Living our best lives!” is what the cast of “Jersey Shore” cheers whenever they’re having fun, and that’s how we felt too.

“We are staying until the very end,” Bob declared. “You never know, Van could come out and sing with Willie.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed. “Living our best lives!” I yelled with a fist bump. During one phone call, I had changed from a middle-aged woman to Snooki.

The following day, Bob wore his Van Morrison 2007 concert T-shirt and I wore a Johnny Cash T-shirt, hoping to look more like an outlaw and not someone who has her black belt in QuickBooks.

Once at the pavilion, Bob had to show I.D. to get our tickets. Our seats were left center, tenth row. Wow. I vowed to make my brother-in-law his favorite Jell-O pretzel dessert for the next 20 holidays.

I’m no music critic, but Van and his nine-piece band were amazing. They played a lot of hits, which was a pleasant surprise and a few lesser-known songs like “Cleaning Windows” and “Broken Record.”

We sang and danced for about 90 minutes, relieved that Van was in rare form and so were we. I thought about my mom and how she never saw Elvis. I thought about how lucky I was.

If Van ever comes to Pittsburgh again, we will be there.