It's been awhile and that's the point, I suppose. Been awhile since I've dropped words here but that's only because, like a good poker player, I've been playing those words close to my chest. Keeping them in my heart. No speaking them to anyone, rarely even talking out loud to myself. I suppose in many ways it was inevitable that I would get to this valuable space, to this point of peace, of resolution, of quietude. A good thing, I suppose, since the only feelings I have about anything when it comes to you is a kind of quiet whisper with ghosts. I am good with that.
Then all that blows away. That quiet, that peace. Maybe it's only for a moment but I popped in Bowie's Hunky Dory last night waiting for The Boy to finish up a class. It was late, the night lit by streetlamp and a Cheshire Cat moon. It finally came to me a week or so ago, an album that I put in an order for at a local used record house. It was familiar, a welcome addition to my burgeoning collection here in Boise. I know I had a copy of it in storage but I needed to have it here.
So I popped it in and suddenly it was no longer a cold night off of Overland Blvd. It was a hot August night in 2005. We had already exchanged emails about that day we shared. The seal off in the Sound, the rugs at Ikea, the leaves of the Oregon Maple spread above us in Loyalty Park. We were in separate quarters and miserable and the evening was hot and I had two pieces in the cassette deck, both set on endless play, forever looping, one sound track into the other, fueling desire at the end of that priceless, perfect day.
We can always look back into the grandest moments of our lives with just the right scent, just the slightest snippets of sound, serving as vehicles of transport. Last night the tinkling of pianos, the warbling of voices, the strumming of guitars, took me to a sweaty evening, flat on my back on a leather couch in front of a window that providing little breeze, providing little relief to the fire that raging in my heart that night.
Somehow I know, no matter how far away I get from that evening, that that fire in my heart will never quite go out.
May you find that bit of music someplace, sometime in your life, that will take you back there, to that place, to that moment you sent me that email, telling me to tell you what to listen to. You said you'd listen to anything that night.
Listen to this:
I miss you still.
Spin some Bowie. It will take you there.
Your WHMB
Then all that blows away. That quiet, that peace. Maybe it's only for a moment but I popped in Bowie's Hunky Dory last night waiting for The Boy to finish up a class. It was late, the night lit by streetlamp and a Cheshire Cat moon. It finally came to me a week or so ago, an album that I put in an order for at a local used record house. It was familiar, a welcome addition to my burgeoning collection here in Boise. I know I had a copy of it in storage but I needed to have it here.
So I popped it in and suddenly it was no longer a cold night off of Overland Blvd. It was a hot August night in 2005. We had already exchanged emails about that day we shared. The seal off in the Sound, the rugs at Ikea, the leaves of the Oregon Maple spread above us in Loyalty Park. We were in separate quarters and miserable and the evening was hot and I had two pieces in the cassette deck, both set on endless play, forever looping, one sound track into the other, fueling desire at the end of that priceless, perfect day.
We can always look back into the grandest moments of our lives with just the right scent, just the slightest snippets of sound, serving as vehicles of transport. Last night the tinkling of pianos, the warbling of voices, the strumming of guitars, took me to a sweaty evening, flat on my back on a leather couch in front of a window that providing little breeze, providing little relief to the fire that raging in my heart that night.
Somehow I know, no matter how far away I get from that evening, that that fire in my heart will never quite go out.
May you find that bit of music someplace, sometime in your life, that will take you back there, to that place, to that moment you sent me that email, telling me to tell you what to listen to. You said you'd listen to anything that night.
Listen to this:
I miss you still.
Spin some Bowie. It will take you there.
Your WHMB
