HAPPY, HAPPY

I'd like to be the sort of person who can tap-dance herself out of a depression. But for now I'll settle for watching someone else who can.

I saw the Grace sisters at a house concert last night, and it was a happy night. They radiate joy. Not dumb joy — the kind that comes from lacking a tragic sense. But just the opposite. They've been around. They've lost. But the sweetness of life — the gratitude for its every minute — grows in them like a weed and tangles up everyone in the room.

They've been performing together since they were kids. They don't wear matching dresses anymore. They play every stringed instrument, with an emphasis on banjo and mandolin.

They sing.

They dance.

They promote social justice, with an emphasis on gay rights. They sing odes to goddess lovers.

They rock.

See them if you can.