Several entertainments I enjoyed after a difficult day of brain therapy:
• I heard the last snatch of an incredible traditional gospel tune that I MUST learn to play (heard it on KBYU-FM).
• I spotted a group of about eight teens on the walking path that parallels a main drag—they were waving at cars like aliens trying desperately to make contact. No one on that trafficky road seemed interested, so I honk-honked and flapped my arm. The bunch came alive, all grins and arms. A girl the shape and color of a prize-winning pumpkin completely defied the pull of both gravity and good taste as she lea-ea-eaped into the air in excruciatingly adolescent nerd joy, screamed, and did a few juicy rounds of "YESSSSS!" arms. Beautiful!
• I noticed a car parked in front of a large apartment complex, next to a very tall, very naked tree. The car was wearing a swath of leaves at least six inches deep from front to back, but there was not one leaf anywhere on the ground around it. Or anywhere else in the parking lot. Or on any other car. The tree leaned over it slightly, like it was inspecting its very funny practical joke. I suspect tomfoolery, but I blame one of the kids in the complex, not that wintry tree.
• While waiting to turn right at a busy intersection I suddenly saw all these microcosms whizz past me—people having quiet moments alone or with others, arguments, laughter, distraction, even a non-traffic-friendly romantic encounter—half a hundred little worlds being hauled around, whipping through the air on four wheels each, a great rush of situations. Everyone in a private universe.
• A fresh headful of songs written and performed by friends. The Great Salt Lake Guitar Company is a super little venue for an intimate concert. Congratulations to Brian and Steve and . . . what was the opening band's name? . . . Raccoon Colons? Anyway, thanks for the fun evening. You made me want to strum my guitar and get better acquainted with my accordion. And your P712 song made me hungry.
Lovely, funny life.