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Sunday, August 28, 2005

Three entries in one. Or, Do re mi.

The word Fa almost gave me the victory. Two letters cruising horizontal combined with the six letters falling vertical added up to mega Scrabble points for me. He was pissed.

“Fa’s not a word!”

“Yes it is! I swear it is.”

“Look it up.”

“The fourth tone of the diatonic scale.”

“Damn it!”

But in the end, even after adding a couple Ti’s — the seventh tone in the diatonic scale — he still beat me by 14. I’m OK with that, though. Sorta.

——

This morning I went to church for the first time in months. Here’s my summary of Plymouth Congregational Church:

Do re mi fa so la ti do. That sounds pretty echoing off the high ceilings.

Why is everyone so old and dressed up?

What exactly does “breathe the questions” mean? Just because something sounds good and deep doesn’t make it sensical.

I wish a meteor would fly through that stained glass window so I could catch it a millisecond before it crushes that old lady and quicklike throw it right back through the hole it made in the Apostle Paul’s forehead. Then I would be a hero and everyone would love me and good lord am I bored. How did I do this every Sunday?

Wonderful building and nice cello. But I’d rather be clipping my toenails.

——

Summer is fading. The nights are cool and the sun is pleasant. Fall is coming soon, and I’m waiting eagerly at the door. The scarves and sweaters are ready. Today, after a hard-fought game of Scrabble, Matt and I drove south with the sunroof and windows open, the wind blowing our words behind us as we — OK, I — sang along with Jason Mraz. I am the wizard of ooh’s and ah’s and fa-la-la’s.

There is a strange feeling when it becomes apparent that summer is on its way out, a show that has climaxed and is now just wrapping up a few loose plot lines before the cast bows out and the curtain draws to a close. I felt it keenly today. Through church and Scrabble and the melodic drive. It’s a feeling of appreciation of what you’re about to lose, of hurry hurry let’s enjoy this now while we can, while our butts are still warmed by the stones we sit on and sandals are still the first instinct.

Next weekend will be summer’s grand finale. Labor Day weekend. The last softball tournament of the year, a few hundred miles away in Milwaukee. A boat trip over to Michigan and a week with the family culminating in my sister’s wedding. I am very much looking forward to it. After the wedding is complete and brunch has been had, I’ll be driving 12 hours from Charlevoix through Michigan’s upper peninsula and back down to Minneapolis.

I have an unrealistic hope that the colors will be changing up there as I’m flying through and that the forests of the UP will greet me with hues of angelic glory. I’m going solo, which makes me happy. Strangely happy, even. I feel independent, capable of stopping and starting and driving and singing and taking potty breaks whenever I want. The roads and sights are only for me — no sharing or talking necessary. Summer is fading and the diatonic scale is coming to an end and it will be mine alone to catch on its way by and to throw back and shout, “You may be leaving but it’s only with my permission that you go. You … You are mine.”

Posted by Aaron on August 28, 2005 9:32 PM