Thursday, April 20, 2006

33,000 Feet

So many things have happened on this trip and I think, I wish somebody from home were here to see this so they could corroborate that it actually happened. And 20 years from now we could talk about how surprised and happy we were.
Today was a pretty nice day before the show too. We walked around and had pizza on the square close to downtown--close to our hotel. We had to buy some new pedals for Ivan since some of his got taken from the stage in Vienna (really, who would do this and, by the way, I feel so bad for what will happen to this person's karma).
By the time we got to the venue just past noon, there had already been a number of pre-sold tickets so we were happy that people were committed. But we were not prepared for what actually happened. After sound we had some light dinner and by the time we got back to the venue, it was totally packed--in America it probably would have sold out far earlier. Very special. And now we sleep.
That reminds me of a story I thought of on the plane to Madrid. I was so afraid on this particular flight that I had imagined that the wing might fall off and it would mean a certain crash. So here is a rough outline for a story I am working on and which I am sure Ivan should write a melody for so we can make it into a song.
A couple seated side by side is sucked out of the plane, in tact, when the wing tears off. The wind is so strong and cold that it is impossible to speak, even though they do not think to speak. They are strapped into adjoining seats, in open air, at 33,000 feet. They look at one another with their eyes and then, with their hands--they clasp one another's throats and tighten their grips. They hold their breaths in, even though they would not be able to breathe by this time, tightening their hands with all their strength at 22,000 feet. Her eyes well up, which is normal, and his eyes close so that he does not have to watch. They are no longer conscious of the fall at 16,000 feet--only the wind. They think of nothing, for a while, and then, at 12,000 feet, they think of their first little house. They think of how nice it was to live there, together. Then, they think of the day they moved out of the house and how happy they were to be going to a new place, but how sad they were to leave behind the place where so many memories were made. That day, after all the rooms had been inspected, after all the lights except one had been put out, they stood at the front door thinking. The first time they brought furniture in here, they thought: "How much larger a room seems when it is empty!" And that spot--the spot by the window--was the best place to lay during a rainstorm. The water would run off that particular corner of the house in a torrent, causing a great and comforting noise. And over there--that fireplace mantle was never really repaired properly was it? It is interesting the way broken things become one's own and flaws begin to blend, becoming invisible with everyday use. Now, empty, they can see the room again the way they saw it in the first place. And then, at 2,000 feet, they close the door and walk out.

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