jank, one of those
creeps friends that i’ve met through the internet, posted something that resonated with me. read what he wrote; read what he linked. it’s brilliant stuff. and, to follow his lead, here’s what’s in my keyboard:
with my grandfather’s death last week, i was reminded of all the trips we used to make up to june lake for holidays and vacations. mom and dad would pack us kids into the car at zero dark thirty in the morning. i remember the zombie walk from my bedroom to the fully packed car in the driveway, always clutching my red, white and blue hand crocheted blanket [with overuse holes]. hard case luggage would be piled and tied to the roof rack on the dusty yellow ford station wagon; complete with faux wood paneling. the center and rear seats would be folded flat to accommodate our groggy bodies and allow us to sleep for a few more hours as we avoided the la traffic in the wee hours of the morning. dawn would break and we would slowly be rocked awake by the topography of the 395 as it traversed the california desert. nearly every trip would see us rubbing the sleep out of our eyes as the sun crested the mountains and lit up the eastern side of the sierras, painting whitney, russell, williamson, et al with alpenglow.
|soundtrack for this post|
|Only a Lad
Farewell: Live from the Universal Amphitheatre Disc 2