New Smile

I spent a long weekend working, watching drum corps, meeting friends new and old, and being comfortable in Athens. Other than meeting Meghan's sister (who reminds me significantly of an old friend that many of us knew through marriage, adore to death, but don't get to see anymore) and brother-in-law, there weren't too many out-of-the-ordinary details that warrant publication.

That, for me, is the most enjoyable thing about all of this; that the otherwise seemingly mundane is anything but. Though there will be singular moments in the future, I suspect that the time I will continue to most appreciate is the clockwork moment on the walk through the parking lot into Target when the space between my fingers is slowly filled by those of someone who matters. The arms then sway, the pace advances into something dangerously close to a skip, and the boring task ahead becomes secondary to what "the pleasure of the company at hand" describes insufficiently.

As I was driving back to Nashville last night, I was singing along to one of the CD's that have been the staples of my travel listening since the begining of June. Somewhere around exit 300 on I-75 North, I noticed that I was singing full volume, which I tend not to do. Then I noticed that my voice seemed to match perfectly the timbre and intonation of the vocalists on the recording, which never happens. And then I noticed that I was smiling an unreserved, non-manufactured smile that I don't remember smiling before. That probably tells you all you need to know.

It is hokey, campy, and mushy, with puppy dogs, rainbows, green grass, and probably an effing leprechaun thrown in for good measure. And for once, that doesn't seem to bother me... except for the leprechaun, which is downright creepy.