In times past, I would have concluded that my decision to travel 660 miles by car from Michigan to New Hampshire, departing at 9:30 p.m. Friday night after work, to try to catch Méav's concert that next night in Lebanon, stood as eloquent and conclusive testimony to the fact that I was either utterly impractical or completely nuts (or any combination thereof). These days, I simply look at it as proof positive as to how exceedingly and totally the woman has commandeered my heart; such an odyssey, trek, journey, adventure, in my opinion, says less about me than it does about what Meav has done to me. I'm 50 years old, fairly cautious, pretty conservative, not given to risk, whimsy, flights of fancy or capriciousness. There aren't a whole lot of performers I'd bother to drive six miles for (and there are all too many I wouldn't even cross the street to see). I wouldn't like to say that a 12-hour drive to see and hear Méav would be something on the order of a religious pilgrimage, because something tells me that Méav herself would be a little disconcerted by such a Messianic mantle, so, I won't say it (I'll just think instead, if that's okay). However, given the intensity, the depth and the breadth of my affection and admiration for Méav, whose voice has pierced my being so deeply that I sometimes find it as frightening as I do funny, such a trip seemed not only mandatory and obligatory, it seemed as perfectly logical, safe, sane and right as a walk in the park.

Of course, I never did make it. The severe winter weather that inflicted that entire region -- fully the entire length of my route there and back -- forced me, much to my chagrin, to cancel my trip (even the most Méavian-stricken among us still have occasional lapses of reason, I guess). It broke my heart a thousand different ways and into a thousand different pieces. And when the reports and reviews of the show I didn't get to see began trickling in on the forum, I reacted in ways the average grown man is usually morbidly ashamed of admitting to (yes, rather like a dessert-deprived child, I cried a bit).

But this is what I learned from those reviews, this is what I gleaned from those photos, this is the positive I took away from the negative: If ever there was and/or is a performer who could justify such a journey, it is Méav. I knew in advance that she would be worth the trip: Reading the reviews, seeing the photos, only confirmed that she was worth it even beyond my wildest imaginings. The woman, as a performer and even what little I know of her as a person, has pretty much defied and redefined at least a portion of reality as I knew it since I first heard her sing "Danny Boy," way back when (about a year ago now). Why should I be surprised that two hours with her singing, talking and generally holding heavenly-type court, should be anything short of miraculous? I told one forum member distance wasn't the issue: I'd drive 6,000 miles to see Méav, but I think we have to draw a line at personal safety, and enough people have supported me in that notion so that I don't feel like I wimped out or whiffed on My Queen.

I hope she'll be back for all us. I pray she'll be back for all us. I'd prefer she choose a warmer climate, and a better time. But if not, next time I'm renting a dogsled.