Rest? Dismay? Where did that come from?
One of the joys and frustrations of always having music play in your head is that you never know what numbers have been punched in your cosmic juke box. The melodious, sweeping musical orgasm of the angelic choir in Beethoven’s 9 th , growing from the lone, overstuffed baritone, “O Freunde, nicht diese Tone!,” bleeds into the repetitive syncopation of Captain Beefheart growling out the opening line to Frank Zappa’s Willie the Pimp, “I’m a little pimp with my hair gassed back,” and trails off into… God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen?
It must be Christmas. Nearly? Soon?
Rest and dismay fill my tiny space, a cocoon of muted sounds and heavily filtered light and darkness. I contort myself, seeking a joyless comfort and disturbed sleep in a space meant for neither. Despite the feeling many drivers you meet on the road are, in fact, asleep at the wheel, sleeping in a driver’s seat is no kind of sleep at all. I’m mentally booking appointments to see the Goddess of Physiotherapy or the Masseuse to the Stars, possibly both so thoroughly pretzeled will I be when I finally ooze out of this most uncomfortable of beds.
Seven hours ago, I left Squamish. It was snowing. Hard. I’d been trying to “beat” the storm all day long. Beat it out of Vancouver. Beat it past the endless construction. Beat it through the canyon. Beat it home to pick up Zippy the Dog — who in doggy psychobabble has developed separation anxiety since I left him with his second family for six weeks last spring — and log some therapeutic couch time.
When there was still hope — hours ago — I played music, listened to the radio, read the paper in the faint, yellow glow of the interior light, filled the cocoon with coherent sound to quell the cosmic soundtrack.
Then they — and who exactly are “they”? — closed the highway. “If you’re stuck on the highway, tough noogies. The RCMP aren’t releasing any information.” Oh well, I guess that’s at least unambiguous. You’re stuck; suck it up.
Christ our Saviour
Was born on Christmas Day.
Well, he wasn’t. Not really. Not even close. But it’s still the best excuse for the holiday and, at this late date, we wouldn’t want to start changing all the carols. Suspend our disbelief. Peace on earth….
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