Friday, June 27, 2008
This is the first in a number of former, nearly-completed-but-never-posted stories that have been piling up in my dead-blog box for as much as two-and-a-half years running. This particular one was originally intended to be posted in September of 2007, soon after we moved into an apartment following the sale of our home.
Hitting ‘The Wall’…
I’ve experienced more than my share of creeping malaise these past few weeks since moving into this one-bedroom apartment. Seems the more I unpack the less moved-in I feel. For Michelle and me the disconcertion of suddenly becoming vagabonds after nearly a decade-and-a-half of blissful geographic stability has been tough to take, and even tougher to shake. Despite the payoff that no doubt lies at the end of our journey — in January 2008 — it’s been pretty hard for us to focus on anything beyond than this ‘moving experience’ in the interim.
However last weekend, while in the process of getting settled, a wonderful memory came streaming back to me, reintroducing me to some feelings I hadn’t felt in quite awhile; it was just the recharge I needed.
Run, rabbit, run…
2007 has likely been Michelle’s and my busiest year ever since beginning this long, strange trip together. What with the kids graduating from college, then directly on the heels of that, our deciding to buy a new house and everything that has entailed; selling our existing abode quickly and then facing the reality of calling an apartment our home-in-between-homes for six long months.
It’s all been more than exhausting, physically, and dealing with the melancholy sentimentalities of leaving our ‘first love,’ every bit as taxing, emotionally.
But now, with the advent of having to cool our heels here in our temporary digs while awaiting our new home’s completion, I was determined to take advantage of the situation in at least one regard.
For all the obvious hassle of having to moving back into an apartment again, it did supply a sort of perverse nostalgia that Michelle and I both felt right away; it kind of made us feel like we were back in college again. And with that in mind, to go along with the experience it only seemed right to me to have a jammin’ stereo system in place to announce our arrival.
Nah…just kidding; I’d never be so inconsiderate as to indiscriminately play my stereo loud enough to annoy the paint, let alone the neighbors. Nonetheless, it is the law that an apartment just isn’t an apartment without tunes — well at least in my book, anyway.
So last Saturday I went to Wal-Mart, bought a cheap-o audio cart and celebrated the reinstallation of my stereo system here in our new temporary home. I even set up my old turntable, anxiously anticipating hours of listening to my old LPs — something I’ve done precious little of the past several years. However, it wouldn’t exactly be records I’d listen to initially, but rather CD bootlegs of LPs.
Turns out that my son, Shawn, had gone through an ‘old-school Rock’ phase a few years prior and had acquired CD copies of some of my favorite oId favorite Rock ‘n Roll classics. Fortunately for me he’d made ol’ Dad a copy of them although I had all but forgotten I even had them since they weren’t in commercial jewel cases like most of my ‘legit’ CD collection.
I pulled out a few I hadn’t listened to in what seemed like a lifetime; moldy-oldie albums that I once owned (and subsequently wore out) as 8-track tapes and/or LPs back in the 70s.
In addition to the obligatory Led Zeppelin Four and Houses of the Holy, which I had always enjoyed a great deal, but never counted among my favorite favorites, a select few of those little silver platters really sent my head spinning that afternoon, immediately returning me to that time in my life when anything was possible; a time when David Gilmour’s wailing guitar was my muse, and Roger Waters’ lyrics were my personal Devil’s Advocate.
I returned to my Animal(s) past and visited The Dark Side (of the Moon), once again.
For a single Saturday afternoon, Pink Floyd was back together and playing in my living room.
It’s not as though I’d forgotten how much I loved Pink Floyd. But for some reason, listening to those classic offerings that afternoon carried me back to the particular remembrance of why.
It was a memory I knew right then and there I had to explore; to write about, and pay tribute to someone I rarely speak of in this space, but whom I deeply respect; a person as different from me as night is from day, but to whom I will always be grateful, for challenging me to be whom I have in many ways become.
Next: Us…and Them