HEAD(hed), (n.) 1. the top part of the human body or the front part of an animal where the eyes, nose, east and mouth are. "Your brain is in your head." DIBS(dibz), (n.) 2. a thick, sweet syrup made in countries of the East, especially the Middle East, from grape juice or dates. [Arabic "debs"]--World Book Dictionary, 1976.
Finishing Chapter 8. Halfway through but it’s an uphill climb. Need a break but afraid of stopping.
Get link
Facebook
X
Pinterest
Email
Other Apps
Windows Down
Get link
Facebook
X
Pinterest
Email
Other Apps
-
When I have the opportunity, I drive with the windows down. Most often someone else is in the car with me and that's ok. Most of my passengers (my wife, my daughter, my niece) are "windows up" kind of people--which is fine. That is a different kind of comfort. But when alone, the windows go down. Sometimes my son is "windows down." He works in that environment anyway. He doesn't think anything of it, I'm sure.
Perhaps I should clarify: when the weather's nice, the windows go down. But not every time. Sometimes when I am able to drive in the rain, the window comes down just far enough to put my hand out and get stung with a million high-fives by heavy drops. Sometimes the bite of cold winter air snaps one to a new level of consciousness. Still cautious of the deeply humid summertime air of the South, though--got heat-stoke once a few years back while driving a couple hours with no air conditioning in the middle of June. Maybe it was July. Bad stuff.
But mostly it's "60-4 Air Conditioning" (drive 60 and roll down 4) when I can. Or 70-2. Or 80-2. etc.
I like to feel "outside" when driving, to feel the temperature changes, to take in the the smell of freshly mown hay, to feel the wind cut across the road and tussle my hair in unnatural directions. You can't let your hair down when the window's up.
"Inside" is for commoners, for that's where the work is, but "outside"-- now, that's Regal. Liberating. Why should one leave the walls of a building and climb in between the walls of a car when this is the closest one gets to flying? To smell like the wind, the un-bottled scent of Peter Pan, free of charge!
You know, my son won a bet because the window was down. His work truck was following another truck hauling a couch that was losing it's stuffing in the wind. Someone said, "I'll bet money you can't grab a piece of that puff" as they barreled down the interstate. He put his hand out and harvested a piece in mere seconds. All because the window was down (somebody still owes him money, btw).
Dogs are happiest when the window's down. Cats just run off. Well, dogs do too, but that was another story. Speaking from experience here.
There's a big world outside so I drive with the windows down. Massive clouds pass in their shipping lanes above, all in the guise of camels, rabbits, dogs and horses rearing up on hind legs far above the treetops. That big hard sun beats down big people in a big hard world (Vedder). Drive in the mountains and bend your neck to see the top.
Maybe, just maybe, one day I'll get a bike. It's just a maybe. Not building up hopes about it, but to fly down the road with the earth spinning under my feet . . . not a Convertible--that's too cautious. A bike.
"From the White Sands To the Canyonlands To the redwood stands To the Barren Lands
Sunrise on the road behind Sunset on the road ahead"
I'm nearly finished reading Joan Didion's collection of essays, Slouching Towards Bethlehem. The book was discovered through another book I was reading, Jon Krakauer's Eiger Dreams . If Jon felt this book was good enough to pack along on a mountain climbing expedition, then I'm interested. Took me three tries, but I finally found my copy on Amazon. One of the best book buys I've made. Joan selected the title of this book from William Butler Yeats' classic poem, Second Coming . The book title is shared with one of her larger essays, a record of encounters with people in the 1960's drug culture. Didion's book is divided into three distinct parts: "Life Styles In The Golden Land," a collection of articles capturing the California experience of the 1960's; "Personals," a few of essays of the first-hand nature; and "Seven Places Of The Mind", some thoughts about those parts of California that are now long gone. One essay...
“VANITY, saith the preacher, vanity! Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back? Nephews—sons mine … ah God, I know not! Well— She, men would have to be your mother once, Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was! What’s done is done, and she is dead beside, Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since, And as she died so must we die ourselves, And thence ye may perceive the world’s a dream. Life, how and what is it? As here I lie In this state-chamber, dying by degrees, Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask “Do I live, am I dead?” Peace, peace seems all. Saint Praxed’s ever was the church for peace; And so, about this tomb of mine. I fought With tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know: —Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care; Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner South He graced his carrion with, God curse the same! Yet still my niche is not so cramped...