eek!

I have this map inside my head and it’s riddled with stick pins, the kind tipped with colored plastic knobs. Every pin marks a town, and in that town lives someone I love. Louisville’s a starburst cluster of pins, a bright sagging bloom with shoots radiating out all across Kentucky, from Paducah to Williamsburg. There’s a pin in Three Oaks and two and a half in Boston, a couple in New Jersey and three in St. Louis. The Left Coast is lined by pins in Seattle, Oregon, Berkeley and Los Angeles. One pin travels back and forth between Cincinnati and Louisville, depending on the day and the time. There’s a pin in Columbus and two in Lincoln, two in Denver and a sparkler’s worth in New York. The map is dotted from Shreveport to Toledo to Valencia, from West Frankfort to Texas to D.C., from New England to the Deep South, and those pins might move around, but they’re counted every day.

Yesterday, I’m sitting at my desk and an email comes through from Matt. He’s written a new song, a small amusement for himself and his friends, recorded it on his laptop and sent it out for a laugh or two. As I listened, I remembered every past night we spent listening to Matt play his guitar and sing for us, drinking bourbon, sitting close to one another on those overstuffed hotel lobby couches and trying to pretend like we don’t have to say goodbye to one another for another six months or so come the end of the week. And I thought about how fortunate I am to have so many good people in my life who provide continuous inspiration and love, how many circles of friendship close tight around me just when I need them, and how much love we radiate out across the country — across oceans, in some cases.

I was born lucky. Umbilical cord wrapped tight around my neck, I shouldn’t have survived my traumatic delivery. Months later, our apartment on fire, Daddy scooped me up and out of danger seconds before the nursery ceiling crashed down on my crib. I used to win things easily — a Cabbage Patch doll for their first frenzied Christmas, a scooter from Sears, scholarships and awards. I’m getting older and the stakes are higher, but so far, my luck hasn’t run out, though I know now to appreciate it, to count my blessings and know that the most important ones have heartbeats and cheeks to kiss and hands to squeeze. I have an insane family and they love me and are so proud of me it’s embarrassing. I have the most brilliant, loving, creative, funny and inspiring friends a kid could wish for — even though many of you are far away today, know that I’m thinking about you. And I woke up this morning with an amazing gift: a clear head and warm arms around me.

Matt’s little song about hope, luck and simple pleasures reminded me just how much I have to be thankful for. Take a listen to “Can of Tuna,” keeping in mind it’s a rough cut and the production doesn’t do Matt’s beautiful voice justice. And because creation begets creation, Matt’s song inspired Zipp to perform a little illustration magic of his own (click to enlarge). Enjoy it, and have a happy and warm Thanksgiving, full of maaaayonaise (add some celery, some pickle relish, too!).

Bonus: the best song ever written about Thanksgiving by the belated and mourned Too Much Joy (”we-e-e got stoned / we-e-e had sex / I dreamt that I was Evel Knievel”) [removed, so go buy the record if you didn't listen last week]

This entry was posted on Wednesday, November 21st, 2007 at 11:36 am and is filed under Internal Monologue. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.