Kenny Rogers

Today was the third time in as many days that I've heard a van driving
by with loudspeakers on top (a la Jake and Elwood) playing Kenny
Rogers. And not "The Gambler," either. The first time, it was Kenny
Rogers doing "Me and Bobb[ie] McGee," and this last time, it was "Coward
of the County."

I can see why the Guatemalans would like that stuff--they obviously love
Ranchero music (it plays pretty much constantly on the Chicken Buses),
and that's also all about story telling as well. But even so, it was
unexpected.

But I have to admit that half the time, when I'm bouncing around on a
bus out here, I've got Waylon Jennings running through my head...

"...someday, the mountain might get 'em, but the law never will..."

To be perfectly honest, though, I could go for a little Jerry Reed.

I've been thinking about Alaska a lot the last couple of days, and
missing it. Not sure why that's going through my head now--there sure
are much more immediate things that I'm missing (like a good cup to tea,
for one thing), but hearing Kenny Rogers makes me think of Fairbanks (on
account of my favorite radio station--the Fbks. classic country station,
which forever seemed to be playing Jerry Reed and Roger Miller).

I used to get done with work or school up at the U. and drive out to the
cabin, listening to that station, singing along with Jerry or Roger, or
if it was really late, listening to Art Bell talk to nut jobs about
UFOs. I would pull off Gold Hill road onto the packed snow of the
unpaved roads around my cabin, and the moon would often be so bright
that I would turn off the headlights for the last half mile or so, just
to appreciate how beautiful it was, with the moonlight reflecting off
the road, and the snow piled on the black spruce trees all around.
Didn't matter that the light were off--you could see as well as in the
daytime...

Down in Southeast, Emily and I would go for a walk in about any
weather--if you waited for it to stop raining, you'd grow moss while you
waited--and I remember walking in the snow down lake street, or more
likely, walking through the rain. In the winter, when the ice on the
lake next to lake street froze, the whole community would turn out to
skate, and you could get your skates sharpened by the guy in the S.O.B.
truck (stands for "sharpens old blades," as he would tell you as soon as
you walked up), then go out skating with the kids in the high school,
all their parents and everyone you knew from around town. It felt like
you were living a Norman Rockwell painting, with prettier mountains in
the background.

Rain was often so heavy there that if there was a pinhole in your rain
jacket, you'd be soaked through in the twenty minutes it took you to
walk to the bookstore and back.

The most beautiful sunset of my life was there--the most incredible
purples, reds, and oranges reflecting off the clouds on the horizon.
Saw it right out Emily's window, looking out over the fishing boats in
the harbor and looking out over the perfect volcanic cone of Mt.
Edgecomb. Damned it I know if I'm spelling that right anymore, though.
It's been a long time.

Wouldn't mind getting back there, though. First think I'd do is finish
up the kayak that's half built in my folks' basement in CT, and the
second thing I'd do is buy a boat for Emily. Then we'd go paddling...