But there's a wiggle in me belly now, the wiggle that comes with the change from summer to fall. The internal clock preparing oneself to accept the change in temperature, and the glorious transformation of the foliage from green to breathtaking reds and oranges and browns, and the cold breezes that will now start to strike with increasing regularity, a nagging reminder of the frost to come.
How fitting also that I should get the wiggle this week, of all weeks. It's a curious feeling, and this time around, a strangely uplifting one, one that got my blood pumping as I set out for my nightly walk with my faithful mutt Prince, turning my walkman up high and singing along to my tunes, quite possibly a bit too loudly for ten o'clock in the night.
Tonight I chose Elton John's Tumbleweed Connection. Call me crazy, but I agree with Axl Rose--those first Elton albums rank among the best music ever produced. In my humble opinion, Elton didn't start to decline until after Captain Fantastic, and Tumbleweed Connection especially has a homegrown feeling to it that fits this autumnal feeling perfectly.
"Now the old fat goose is flying cross the sticks
The hedgehog's done in clay between the bricks
And the rocking chair's creaking on the porch
Across the valley moves the herdsman with his torch
And it's good old country comfort in my bones
Just the sweetest sound my ears have ever known
Just an old - fashioned feeling fully - grown
Country comfort's in a truck that's going home."
I sang that a bit too loudly, for sure, as well as "The Son of Your Father" and "My Father's Gun." Prince could take all the time he wanted sniffing the ground and telephone poles, lifting his leg up high, finding just the perfect spot to deposit his choco-logs, or poke through grass...it didn't matter a whit to me.
Moving on to other nuggets of wisdom (besides choco-logs), tonight I managed to decide what kind of bed I want. I want a Kensington headboard with a full mattress. Not too firm a mattress, either. For my work area, I'll need a darker wood, possibly cherry.
Oh, and according to the news, a giant asteroid is heading for Earth and could hit in 2014. I've decided that I'd like to live on this asteroid. I'll take along my Kensington headboard, and my faithful mutt, and of course my music collection, where no one will ever be able to complain about me singing music too loudly. In space no one can hear you scream out lyrics.
Now see, here's one of the reasons I was pining away for my missing copies of Vanity Fair. The Music Issue has a marvelous picture of that tacky little dance band from Georgia, the B-52s, manning a kewl spaceship, and Keith Strickland looks just as adorable as ever. The Killer Bs are required listening when I move into my little asteroid, particularly when I'm 53 Miles West of Venus.
But no changes in season. No wiggles in me belly.
Well, perhaps I'll just have to keep my feet on the ground.