Country Roads

On Friday, I drove the lanes of highway to visit my hometown of Selma, IN. An aria of Handel’s played on the radio (it was the anniversary of the composer’s death). The evening sun streamed slanted, golden rays from the west and set ablaze the tasseled walls of green corn. Roadside vegetable stands, small country diners and quaint signs advertising vacation bible schools were bathed in golden orange and hints of red.

It was a perfect "filmmaker’s magic lantern hour" that ushered in a flood of childhood memories with eddies of new understanding, a mixture of my old and new self.

• OLD: I once felt that trees had been planted with a premeditative purpose of breaking the monotony of endless cornfields.
• NEW: I recognize them to be the vast remnant of a forested Midwest denuded by a great scooping out of rectangles for use as fields and yards. Houses stand as exposed to the elements as do those in New Mexico. Only here, cacti are substituted by a few remaining oaks near the house, and corn or soy bean fields replace the desert sand. The great quiet and peacefulness that engulfs the surroundings is an effect of the carpet-like presence of grass everywhere.
  
• OLD: BurmaShave signs along the way preached: Gun Tyrants. Love Gun Control. Unarmed Victims. Are Their Goal.
• NEW: I regretted not having a shotgun with me to blast away of couple of the signs.

As is typical when you go with the flow of things, my sudden decision for a home visit, timed with various gas stops and a dinner break along the way, synchronized an unexpected reunion. Driving through a neighboring town, I decided on the spur of the moment to drop by a local civic theatre. The flashing marquee proclaimed opening night of "Into the Woods." It was two minutes before curtain and I couldn’t resist peaking inside this establishment now run by Darrin, an old high school friend of mine. He and I had once set our personal record of attending and watching over 50 plays, musicals and movies in one week.

As I entered the theatre, Darrin himself walked into the lobby to shut the theatre doors. "I haven’t seen you in two and a half years! Hey, want to see a show?" Ticket price saved: $18. Memories rekindled: priceless.

At home, my family packed our one day together full with four hours of golf (my third time attempting this sport), an afternoon climbing six-story trees and sawing out the ill effects of a vicious winter ice storm, cruising in Dad’s camaro, loads of laughter and our customary night of playing cards.

Now is the point at which I must resist editing this post. My spidey-writer’s senses are tingling with the possibilities of weaving together the Handel music, allusions to my former and present self, more reflection on current beliefs encountering the old self and some kind of modern music on my return to Illinois to represent the transformation. I’ll just stop writing, strip down to my saree and mix a cool negroni for myself. (Thanks to the Hecklinger brothers for the recipe.)