Poetry

I have to say that this long weekend has been incredibly short. So much has been done, yet I feel like so little has really been accomplished. I’m ready for Spring Break… In fact, who’s idea was it to tease us with staff development days on Thursday and Friday the week before Spring Break begins anyway? It sounds like a fantastic idea upon first pondering of the possibilities, yet as I find myself bidding farewell to the weekend, I can no longer feel the love.

I owe this distaste to nothing more than the fact that this upcoming week will be quite simply, the week from hell. If it wasn’t for the fact that school will be out for a whole week (gasp) starting on Friday, it wouldn’t be so bad. As it stands now, all of my classes have at least one BIG project due before break. Trust me, I would not be moaning about these extra days off if they weren’t spent writing 7 page research papers, studying for a Calculus test, a Chemistry test, typing two Chemistry labs, and polishing up an essay or two. I suppose that I should look on the bright side of things though… At least when Spring Break finally gets here, (if it ever does), I will have much more free time, because I’m so overwhelmed at the moment with this giant load of crap, ahem, school work.

I can’t say that my entire weekend was awful though, in fact, much to my delight, John had the weekend off and we spent a good portion of the time that I wasn’t studying, together. We took a drive about an hour or so away at lunch time on Friday and picked up a sandwich at a little Deli in Moultrie. From there, we headed home, sandwiches in hand, keeping a keen eye on the side of the road for a good place to pull over to have us a “hillbilly picnic.”

We found us a spot, down a dirt road, bordered by a field to the right and a little pond to the left. Backing the truck off the road, we were able to frame our view of the pond, and sit on the tail gate to enjoy our lunch in the sun. It was so peaceful, that it made me wonder why I ever eat a meal inside when we have a perfectly good pickup truck in the driveway.

Conversation that gorgeous afternoon touched many a topic, but for the most part, it stayed firmly grounded on how important moments like these were in our lives together. We’re coming up on our first wedding anniversary, and I swear we’re more in love today than we have ever been before. I never thought that I could be this lucky. He told me he was a hopeless romantic—but really, what guy doesn’t when he’s trying to win a date or two? I know now, that he’s an honest man, for his romantic streak has not faded in the slightest.

We’ve been craving a drive lately… It’s kind of a ritual for the two of us. I guess you could say that we’re boring, but the bulk of our free time together in California was spent driving down Kanan Dume, with its view of the ocean, and taking a left at PCH. Keeping the ocean to the right, we’d head South until we’d get to Topanga Canyon and then take the twisty Canyon, the long way back home. Music would always be playing in the car, evoking cherished memories, some new, and some much older.

One gorgeous day when we decided it was time for a Malibu drive, we loaded up in John’s trusty pickup (may she rest in peace) and after a couple tunes on the ipod played through, Jimmy Buffet’s Cheeseburger in Paradise made its way to our ears. I was taken back to when I was maybe 12 or 13…

You see, my father and I did not share all the same tastes in music, (he threw my brand new Beastie Boys Licensed to Ill CD right out the window one sunny afternoon, claiming that he “wasn’t sure what that was, but it certainly wasn’t music.”). Upon this declaration, my dad turned the volume up on the stereo in an effort to school me on what REAL MUSIC was.

Fast forwarding over Jimmy Buffet’s Let’s Get Drunk and Screw (apparently too inappropriate for my young ears), we came upon my father’s favorite song, you guessed it, Cheeseburger in Paradise. This song prompted stories to come pouring from his grinning lips of his days as a Merchant Marine, back when he couldn’t wait to get to port to have himself a gigantic cheeseburger, for wherever port was, was certainly paradise if there was a good cheeseburger to be had.

Ejecting the Jimmy Buffet Cassette (remember those?), in went “one of the greatest poets of all time” Mr. Bob Dylan. He told me to “listen carefully, because even though his voice sounds a little odd, he tells such a good story.” He showed me just how unnecessary paper is for poetry. We’d turn the Volvo station wagon into a makeshift convertible—rolling down all the windows and opening the sun roof, so that we too, could enjoy our drive down PCH headed back home to our house on a hill, with the ocean to our left, the sun to our right, and poetry blaring on the stereo. Amazing how good music, gorgeous scenery and perfect company can create a memory which only grows stronger with time.

When I get homesick now, which happens occasionally, or when I simply need to remember some good times, my iPod has provided me with ultimate comfort, for it carries quite a stockpile of Bob Dylan and Jimmy Buffet tunes, all ready and waiting, for me to catch up on my poetry.