Music To My Ears

It was a pretty ordinary day.  Linda was gone, putting in some training hours to acquaint herself with her new business up in Pleasant Valley.  The rain-delayed NASCAR race was over and I was giving more than a passing thought to taking a nap.  And then I heard the sound of music.  A Harley-Davidson motorcycle makes a sound like no other, a deep, throaty rumble that is unmistakable, and when I hear one coming up my driveway it can mean only one thing, either Clay or Dave is here.  Yesterday it was Dave.  He had been on a ride with the Freed Spirits and was "in the neighborhood" and decided to stop by.  ("In the neighborhood" up here can be 10-20 miles away.  It's all relative.)  Not only was I so happy to see him, I wanted to hear about his trip to Portland, Oregon, to see his son and daughter over the weekend.  He'd had a good time, but unfortunately had lost his cellphone in the airport coming home.  How quickly we've become dependent on what used to be only a convenience.  On three weekends in succession, I've had visits from Clay, then Larry and Taylor, Deb and Craig the day before, and then Dave.  My cup is full, and if Pete should show up, it would overflow.

Linda got back in time for a short visit with Dave (they haven't seen each other in probably 20 years) before he had to roar off into the sunset.  I knew better than to ask him to stay for dinner last night since eggplant was on the menu.  He would have politely refused anyhow.  As for me, and Linda, too, I think, double-dredged in egg and flour spiced up with cayenne and fried crispy, the eggplant was the next best thing to gourmet fare.

It was a good day.