Music for airports

At the far end of the couch, where the dog waits for us when we’re gone, I laid my book and my head down and looked outside at the gray and the green. We were still on east coast time, it felt much later than it was. Dawn got up around 5 to make the coffee and I dreamed about a car flying up our road, with me trying to catch the license plate, yelling slow down there’s kids out here. I went for Bloody Mary mix and cocktail onions happy to be back home, my mom with us from Germany watching the pets while we were gone for spring break. We sat in the den sipping our drinks and mom handed me a piece of mail she brought back, something official from the German Stadt, a speeding ticket with my picture on it in black and white, looking fat. Lots of exclamation points and capital letters. The ice jammed up at the end of my drink and spilled on my chest, and I felt for it like a gun wound, where I’d been hit. Done with breakfast, all we had was time before dinner, a life spent in between meals. I’d trim my beard and put on something nice, take my mom the scenic way to the Italian restaurant, take the new car. I’d go back to the Alps in August for 10 days, then take time off around Christmas. Time off every four months or so. Sometimes it was hard to tell if I was really living or just watching myself go through the motions. I felt that way looking at pictures, disturbed by how bad I looked, like there has to be more depth to me than that, but maybe not.

Categories: Memoir, prose, writing

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

27 replies

  1. You are like a deep well…to the casual observer it’s all black and no light, but, it’s full of good water Bill. That’s the stuff!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This one struck me as very surreal, not sure what kind of mojo you have sprinkled here but it seemed to read in slow motion for me. Maybe it’s the jet lag seeping through from the first lines. I got a little jarred by the shift in verb tenses towards the end and lost you there for a second, and I loved the line “The ice jammed up at the end of my drink and spilled on my chest, and I felt for it like a gun wound, where I’d been hit.” Them’s good writin’. Like the pic, too. Good to be home I bet.

    Liked by 3 people

    • I have to look at that verb tense thing. I thought of you writing this because I was trying a very deliberate, slow editing thing. I don’t know if that makes sense, but I took a lot of time trying to get it to sound right, which is how I always imagined your process from what you’ve shared. Is that fair? But glad you liked the mojo and the ice log jam. That really happened 😀. Yes, good to be home. Bill


  3. Life between meals, between holidays. Between traffic infringements. As WW says, something slightly light-headed here in the time tense, like one too many G and Ts. Happy landings.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you Bruce! No G and Ts but the Bloody Mary really happened. I have one of those annually, it seems – and always when my mom visits, one of our favorite pastimes. Bill

      Liked by 1 person

  4. Good sharing i really appreciate now i’m waiting for the new post
    Have a nice day

    Liked by 1 person

  5. If you’re going to go through the motions, you found the best way to do it.

    What did the kids think of NYC? This place isn’t for everyone and if they found it a bit too much, that’s normal.


    • Thank you Mark…kids loved it. Of course we just saw the surface level they already imagined, “the big city.” Gosh when you get to Central Park it’s such a relief though, maybe that’s the tree hugger in us (Pacific Northwest, you know). But will have to go back, for longer. Bill


  6. Sounds like a rough transition back to ‘normal.’ Hopefully routine will help stabilize your sense of dimensionality. Welcome home.

    Liked by 1 person

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