If there is are lines of people waiting for something I’m going to pick the slowest one no matter what. It doesn’t matter if it’s waiting to check out at the grocery store or waiting to go through security at the airport, if there is a line I’m going to be in the slow one. Case in point I just got through security at Newark Liberty Airport. It’s really early here and they just opened up a security station so there were only a couple of people waiting to go through. I headed over to the short line thinking that fewer people in the line would translate to a shorter wait. Silly me. As soon as I got in line the guy at the head of the line started stirring up shit with the TSA people staffing the gate. I don’t think the guy spoke English and he evidently hadn’t been to an airport before so he didn’t think his luggage would be searched or something I don’t know but he was really upset which of course caused the TSA people get upset and the whole thing was a huge CF. Needless to say what I thought would be the fastest line became the slowest line so it took forever to get through. If this was an isolated incident it wouldn’t be a big deal but this sort of thing happens to me all the time. I’m like the Odysseus of lines. I’ve pissed off the line god and he’s not letting me through. Anyway, it’s time to wait in line to get on the plane so I’d better be going.
I’ve been spending some time in Iowa the state where I grew up. I was driving to the airport in Des Moines taking back roads feeling nostalgic. All of the corn is dry and ready to harvest the ditches and gullies of gray dead grass hiding deer and pheasants. This used to be my favorite time of year. The time of hunting dogs, shotguns and early mornings in the field. My eyes are still programmed to see certain motion patterns that indicate a duck, a deer, a rabbit. I think of passing on the unspoken things that my father passed on to me. Quiet masculine companionship, hunting, breath fogging the cold air, love of nature, life and death.
I got a new guitar as a gift, a very nice Fender DG-24. A long time ago before I got married I used to play quite a bit and I’d been thinking about picking up the habit again. It’s kind of funny my fingers remember what to do but my hands aren’t strong enough to pull it off and no callouses. I played, or tried to play until I got little bloody lines on the end of the fingers of my left hand. It was kind of weird playing because it seemed like it sort of shook loose a bunch of old memories. It’s like I suddenly had access to all of these old sensations smells and feelings that I associated with playing years ago. I have to travel to New Jersey next week so my fingers will have a chance to heal up. If I keep traveling I’ll have to get a travel guitar. Or else stop traveling.
