Laid up in the Summer

There was always one good thing about being sick in the Summer. I remembered this last night as I sought refuge out on the deck. When we took up permanent residence on the "farm" we had the option of fending off the chills under 100% Irish cotton sheets on Gramma Ada's chaise lounge. When you were stone bored of your own sweaty bed and the siblings persistent assurances that 3 hours of game shows at full volume were the cure for your migraine and stuffy head, Dad swooped in for the rescue.

He'd wheel the chaise out into the grassy swale by the plum-grafted-to-pear tree near the old chicken coop, bring out the sick sheets, a mason jar full of fresh, crisp well-water and your stack of library books. If there were nary a cloud in the sky he'd bring out the boom box and plug into the chicken coop's juice. I'd feebly trudge out my healing music: Michael Jackson's Off the Wall, Thriller, something something Mozart with Eine Kleine Nachtmusic and a mixed tape with the favorites from Kasey's American top 40, mostly the Police and a couple extra King of Pain for good measure. And of course the requisite grumbling from mom about using the electricity running off the chicken coop. I don't know what the deal was. Maybe playing Thriller over the grave of a 100 savage chicken corpses reminded her that she watched way to much Hitchcock as an impressionable youth. I don't know.

But it was such a treat to sit in the sun-splashed shade with music set low, cool refreshing water and the comfort of Gramma's chaise. So tonight, as whatever malaise is affecting me has now developed a sore throat and reduced my already childish sounding voice to that of squeaky Disney rodent, I am on a less comfy chaise on a deck. There is nothing dulcet in the tones I can hear at present. An old oil rig is cricketty-cricketty cricketting its owner to a modest retirement less than 1/10th a mile away while some insect's scissor step is whining much closer.

But I do have a great book in my hands. This book helped me remember the chaise as I associate it with the music that healed me and comforted me as a kid. "Love is a Mixed Tape" is the light Summer read that my friend Michelle said it would be. It seems such a shame to devour it so quickly. It is just so full of greatness that I can't put it down. everything that I love about what music does for my memory is in here. Rob Sheffield is way cooler about keeping off the overwrought fence than I am when it comes to those memories. I promise you that you will love this book.

But...
If I say it will LeVar Burton sue me?
You're right. He is too nice a guy. See ya next time.