What You Hold Onto
May 19, 2005
Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. A repeat show from last June in Gilford, New Hampshire. It was one of my favorites from last year with the Old Crow Medicine Show and Leon Redbone and Butch Thompson's "Clothesline Ballet" which makes me think I'm right about domestic chores being a kind of dance we do. There's not much around the house I don't enjoy doing. The laundry is always there and sure, you can gripe about it all you want but see what happens when your dryer starts making a clunking noise and the belt snaps and you don't have it for a few days. Then you go downstairs to do laundry at the usual time and you can't and you just might MISS it, which is a trip in itself.
Though nothing like the trip I'm on now. Turns out Mr. Sundberg did some overtime on a Mother's Day surprise and wasn't sure he'd be able to pull it off but things worked out and to make a long story short he took a week off from work and made flight and hotel arrangements for me for five days in Ontario, Canada.
So that's where I've been all week and I'm on my way home tomorrow. There's so much to tell but James will be by shortly to take me out to dinner. I do have to say the people here are lovely. James has been at work some of the week so I've spent some time alone wandering around. I bought a blue swimsuit that could do with a bit more fabric but what the heck, I thought. I sent home some jams and chocolate for the kids and a coffee table book filled with maps for Mr. Sundberg.
Funny. When James took me on a driving tour of town I kept humming "America the Beautiful" and he asked whether I was homesick yet and kind of elbowed me. I told him no. I don't get homesick much. Turns out that was the last song on Saturday's show and somehow it lodged itself in my head and I've been humming it all week. That's how it works, you know. The last thing you hear before you go is what you hold onto until you come back 'round again. I remember when Arvid Johnson died his last words were, "Well I sure hope this works." Thelma, his wife, laughs about it every time it comes up and says she's kind of looking forward to her own passing so she can finally find out what Arvid was talking about. Whenever Mr. Sundberg goes away I tell him I love him, of course, and then I whisper, "I'll save a spot for you."