Donnie Mac is singing And I Love You So on Sirius and it spurs an old memory of a girl who loved the guy.
Somewhere in the depths I hear us talking about five minutes in the closet because boys aren’t allowed in her room and her mom might catch us.
All these years later I imagine if she has girls of her own she’ll have a similar rule and maybe even explain she knows from experience the need for it.
Just a short while before I heard it an old friend from camp reached out to ask me some questions about my father’s diagnosis and treatment because her dad just found out he has the same illness.
So the old moments and memories are stirred up and the ashes that I have been poking through show they have some warmth to them still.
Don’t have to close my eyes to see the end to Whiskey Lullaby or to roll through some other tape and think about what was, what is and wonder what could be.
Signed and extension on a piece of property today and had to ask what day it was because it had slipped my mind.
Laughed when I realized today I am 50 and one month because it sounded so damn silly to me. “Who says/thinks that?”
I answered my own question with a muttered “me” and asked myself if this is going to be the week I find my Mojo again because it has been missing.
Cue Ella and Satchmo
I am one call, one email and or one text away from blowing the doors wide open.
One chance is all I need, one strike of the match and I will light a fire you can see from Dallas to Scotland.
I never wonder if I am capable of doing so but I ask myself what has been holding me up and I come back to that place of missing mojo over and over.
And whenever I do I make like a good boy scout and pull out a map to try and locate the fastest route to it except it is not on any map you can buy in a store.
One of the boys asked how I lost it and I offered a brief description of what I think caused it and how I think I can bring it back home.
What caused it to go on a self imposed walkabout and get lost is something I won’t share here because it crosses the boundaries of blogging but I’ll say part of it started in October 2013.
It gradually drifted further and further out to see until it reached a place where it could no longer be seen with the naked eye nor easily identified with anything short of military technology and we didn’t have access to that.
The cool thing about it is the connection never broke. It got fainter and harder to read sometimes, but it never faltered.
I wrote the damn thing a letter saying “Mojo, come home, I need my air and you are a part of it.”
For a brief time I thought it heard me and I swore I could almost feel it resume its rightful place and then something happened and it moved farther away again.
It almost made me say ‘screw it’ because I can live without my mojo. I can find another way and then just as I was ready to cut that cord something happened.
Sometimes people make life far more complex than it needs to or ought to be. Sometimes they find a way to take something small and make it unnecessarily large.
This song reminds me of how sometimes the simple can be profound and filled with depth.
All you need to do is take the right hand in yours and you lose track of whether you are walking or flying.
Five minutes in the closet can feel like forever in the most positive sense of the expression.
I am staring at a picture so very hard I am surprised it hasn’t burst into flames. Something tells me that if I stick with it mojo and I will find our way back.
I just need that one call, email or text.
Crack the door open a hair and I’ll throw my shoulder into it and push that sucker open.
Remember the tortoise.
