Song for You Far Away

Now and again I mourn for dear ones who are no longer near, whom I can no longer see, and the ache is deep and keen. When loved ones die, we mourn as well, but differently, usually with some kind of resolution. Those who still live, but at remove, leave a longing that's more difficult to resolve. For me, it's not a pining, but more like an open ticket: I wonder where they live. If they have love. I hope for their happiness. I miss them, and miss them, and miss them. This grief for the living lies below the ground of my day-to-day, and over time I've integrated it. When it springs to stream, I look up and draw comfort from the encompassing sky. If I'm in public, I hum; if I'm at home, I sing aloud the songs that remind me of the ones who've come to mind. Sometimes it's Joni Mitchell's "Black Crow." Sometimes it's Ella's "Blue Room." Often it's James Taylor: This is a song for you, far away, far away. This is a song for you, far away from me. 

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We sold my blue Subaru yesterday and bask in the warmth of Mr. Gore's smile. I tend to attach memories to things, and so I was wistful to see it go. It was the first car I bought on my own. I drove my sweet dog around in it--in fact, I got that model because I had a dog. The Forester moved me to Los Angeles and back, and carried me on long road trips to see and care for my mom. But I gathered those memories to me as I vacuumed the gray upholstery, fished flotsam from under the seats, and wiped down every surface so the new owner could have a clean car to drive. Then I closed the door and turned over the keys. 

I've never shared a single vehicle. I'll drive it the most during work days, since I have meetings to get to at so many different facilities. But there'll also be days when I work from home and THS takes the car, and weekend days when we have different plans. But I'm sure we'll be just fine. We live in a metropolitan area that has a rapid-transit system, an electric bus system, the famous trolleys, and a commuter rail. Plus, in a pinch, there's Zip Car. It's a compact city, and I love walking to do my errands. The final benefit: our bank account will be $400 richer every month. Ka-ching!