The Drive (Sunday Morning Coming Down)

Although the sky was robin egg blue, it was more a Miles Davis “Kind of Blue” day. It was too beautiful to be driving to a hospital, but that was my destination. It was a Sunday morning, with lite Sunday morning traffic. I was making my way from the Northern Neck to the outskirts of Richmond, Virginia

It was a pretty drive on back roads. Little towns with little white houses. There were mostly empty sidewalks in those little towns. Curvy roads. Cornfields, although smaller than we have back in Illinois. Most of these were probably sweet corn. Bridges over rivers. Churches with half empty parking lots. Speed limits that rose and fell without apparent rhyme or reason. There were a couple of cars pulled over by the boys in blue, the drivers apparently trying to rush somewhere on this Sunday morning that demanded speed from no one. 

 The music from my iPhone provided a strange soundtrack for the drive, but it somehow matched the day and my mood. A backwards list propelled me along. Winton, Willie, the Who, Waylon and Willie, the Waterboys, Warren … the werewolves were still wandering the streets of London.

 On the drive, I wasn’t thinking about politics. I wasn’t thinking about baseball. I wasn’t really even thinking about my friend at the hospital just yet. Or at least not at first. My mind drifted along with the roads, the music, and the passing scenery. I was trying to appreciate the beauty of the day, but looking back now, I can see that in addition to the humidity, there was a touch of melancholy in the air.

 I thought about our 3 good friends and the 3 separate health issues they are dealing with. And then I thought about the superstition that “bad luck happens in 3s”. I was hoping my small prayers to God and to the gods would receive an answer that I’d met my quota for now. 

 My mind drifted again, this time to Kris Kristofferson and the refrain from his song, “Sunday Morning Coming Down”:

On this Sunday morning sidewalk,

wishing, lord, that I was stoned.

‘Cause there’s something in a Sunday,

makes a body feel alone.

And there’s nothing short of dying,

half as lonesome as the sound,

on the sleeping city sidewalks,

Sunday morning coming down.

I eventually arrived at the hospital and parked. Leaving my car, I took a deep breath and walked thru the entrance to see my friend. 

Addendum:

• If you have never heard Kristofferson’s “Sunday Morning Coming Down”, do yourself a favor and give it a listen now.
• If you have never listened to the jazz album “Kind of Blue” by Miles Davis, do not pass go, do not collect $200. Immediately download it or put it in your playlist. You can thank me later. 
• Our hearts and and our love are with our three friends as they confront and deal with their individual health issues.