Second morning this week, I was to rise early and prepare for an “important” call only to flip through the phone and find that the call was cancelled, overnight. For a moment it's wonderful. Think of all that you could now do with your time And as I read through the New York Times, which hadn’t changed much from last evening's read at 11:30PM, till now, at 6:00AM, I got a wechat call from one of my colleagues. I asked him if I could call him back. Sure. But then I noticed that I’d suggested this would be a perfectly acceptable time for him to call. No one’s fault but my own. I’d imagined I’d be at work by now, not half asleep with the newspaper. So I threw some water on my face and called him back.
On our morning drive to her job, my older one talked about what she might want to do with her career. I felt the urge to tell her not to do this and make sure you pursue that, but it was just an analysis of my own choices concerning my own journey. And I managed to keep my peace and listen to her, as she thought through her options and told me why she liked one or another song she was playing. I wanted to ask her if anyone was taking any risks with their lyrics among the folks she enjoyed. Was anyone saying anything disruptive, or controversial? Had anyone released anything overtly political. Indeed, were there any bands on her campus that she liked? But I’ve asked all this before. I suspect the role of music, may have moved on from the manner in which I remember it being codified.
The gas was running low and she didn’t mind, so went left on 209, instead of right. The clunky, IVI system in our brand-new Toyota, which was dated well-before the SUV shipped, told us that there was a Sunoco station, two miles down the road towards Accord. Car companies excel at making engines, which is obvious whenever you try to rely on their increasingly important software features. This would mean that she’d be a few minutes late but she didn’t mind. Indeed, she seemed glad.
I, who am normally on the road for business and happily planning annual trips for the family, hasn’t boarded a plane in six months, and I seem to need to explore, if only modestly to massage my soul. Bluesy, disinclined to write anyone or call anyone, I went out the same way I had the day before and this time turned left when I got to Route Three and headed out towards Samsonville and left again to Tobasco. I kept hoping to stumble upon something interesting, when I turned a tight corner and considered the isolated store fronts that occasionally revealed themselves. But they were all closed, looking as though they hadn’t really welcomed anyone in a while.