If everyone threw their problems in the air, would you reach out and grab someone else's problem or would you look around and decide to pull your own back down and reclaim it? Depends on the problem, I suppose. The popular option might be to let them all just hit the ground and splatter like water balloons.

But, that's not an option.

Susanne and I had a very nice and extremely rare night out alone on Saturday. We had dinner and saw some great live music at the Tin Angel in Philadelphia. My mother and step-father, the angels that they are, agreed to mind the animals at home - checking Charlie's blood sugar every seven-and-a-half seconds. By the time we got home, the piece of paper with numerous blood sugar numbers looked like a page ripped out of a fifth-grade mathematics text book.

After dinner, we were taken upstairs to our reserved table for the show, which was about an arm's-length away from the stage. Sweet! Any closer and we'd be in the musicians' laps. Just before the headliner came on, two women were seated at our tiny square table, sitting directly across from us. I immediately formed my own opinions and observations. Fairly attractive; artsy; tall; smart; late 30s to early 40s; quite happy; lesbians.

But why weren't they acknowledging us? We were sharing a table! I mean, we were so close, I could see their fillings. I tried making eye-contact just to say "hello, I'm so and so and this is my wife so and so," but it just wasn't happening. They were engaged in the show and really could care less about us. I did, however, appreciate that they knew the words to even the most obscure song on the set list. This impressed me.

Were they forming opinions of us? Questioning what kind of fans we were of the music if we kept stepping away to make phone calls? Not knowing that every call was to see how our diabetic son was doing? I don't know. Probably not.

Today I found a concert review from the show we went to at an online forum. It was from a woman who was also just an arm's-length away from the stage on Saturday night.

She expressed the "pure joy" she and her sister felt during the show and how it was just what she needed before starting chemotherapy in a few days. The music was a "tonic," as she described it, "to help get me through the next few months."

Echoing an optimistic line from a gorgeous song we both heard that night called "horizon," she said, "Everything is going to be OK."

"I will keep my eye on the horizon."