6:22. I, with my white cup and flickerish lavender candle, am sitting by the window. The sun has not yet hit the grass, and everything outside has that magical, pre-dawn pinky glow. The coffee pot is making its gurgling and clicking sounds, like one of those African dialects where they don't use words but instead use guttural noises to communicate. What are you trying to tell me, little percolator? I awoke with strains of The Hallelujah Chorus running through my head. Where does this stuff come from? Of course it could have come from the NPR late night classical I went to bed with, but that was something more like those resinous, twangy, forlorn Chinese stringed instruments which I thought might induce nightmares of the terrible, strange sort. So I turned it off. No, I like to think that the greater universe (and God too) is telling me that this might be a day in which I need to keep the word "hallelujah" in mind.
Last week was a big one in Evieland. Lots of ups and downs, and it ended waaaaaay up after seeming waaaaay down. The biggest up was accompanied by a down, though. I received ample affirmation from folks whom I trust implicitly that it was time to say goodbye to dear Ol' Black. (let us pause for a moment of silence....carry on.) For those of you who don't know what that is, she's my 1971 GMC pick up of five years. She had a new heart and an old soul. She was something fine. Due to a t-bone incident on Highway 70 whereby a realtor was too busy telling her clients of the virtues of Nashville living, she neglected to look with her keenest eye before turning. Wham. Spin. Spill. Crash. Stop. Tremble. Sigh. So what is the up, you ask?
The up in question is that the boy at the insurance claims department went after a truly decent amount for my troubles, and now I am in a quick race to find something else awesome to drive. I've got a couple of leads, neither of which are as young as I am. I just can't bring myself to buy anything that doesn't ooze chrome and awesomeness. Call me irresponsible....
I'll miss Ol' Black. I'll grow misty when I remember her wondrous old grease-and-progress scent, her faithful cranking on winter mornings, her loving, low rumble, the head-turning she caused, the heart transplant we went through together, that magical moment when she turned over for the first time and we did dances of joy and offered prayers of thanks, the way her running lights on top of the cab always tipped me off in the parking lot. In a sea of normal, there she sat, glistening, gorgeous and confident in her simple beauty.
She served me faithfully. Hallelujah.
