‘Twas a few nights before Christmas, and my wife and I were looking for the stage door at the side of Symphony Hall.
While she’s a pretty good folk guitarist, and I can bang out “Last Christmas” on the keys at our annual holiday party, we had not been invited to play with the Boston Pops, but to read “A Visit from St. Nicholas” as part of the evening’s program.
It was one of those only-in-Boston opportunities — like tossing out the first pitch at Fenway — that felt too good to pass up, despite the pressure…