When I suggested to my Beatles-obsessed husband that we should go to Liverpool, I won points for the rest of our marriage. What I didn’t realize until later, when I was standing on a certain lane behind the shelter in the middle of the roundabout, was that I would actually enjoy myself. Very strange.
I had wondered if, in making such a pilgrimage, there would be a place for the nonreligious. But when slanted sunbeams fell on Eleanor Rigby’s headstone as if on cue, I shivered a little and smiled.
My husband, Ricky, knows all the answers (at least when it comes to the Beatles), so I let him engage in trivia contests with our tour guide in Liverpool. Freed from the tug of minutiae, I was able to marvel in the phenomenon of the Fab Four: how one band united the world, and continues to do so, 50 years after the release of “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.”