the fog and ghosts

We are encased in a pocket of fog that courts us from somewhere in the middle of Nebraska to Chicago. The only sight we can capture is at the peak of an Iowa hill where our cars can poke out of the fog just long enough to confirm that it is indeed night time. The rest of our ride consists of staring ahead into the lights of the second caravan vehicle. New Years day at midnight: no one is driving on route 80 and as we search for an open gas station near Dixon we find the little towns sleeping and shut down. Ghost towns, the image of Chris wearing headphones, and radio voices are all that really come to mind when I think of those few hours.

My truck's tape player broke a few days before we departed for our 2,500 mile escapade. I had carefully chosen some excellent books on tape in anticipation and preparation of a long car ride: Life of Pi, Sherlock Holmes mysteries, and Kafka. This preparation was thwarted by my truck's refusal to comply with my need for any mental stimulation. Ben's faith in WD40 (bought desperately somewhere near DesMoines on the way out to Colorado) did not cure the tape player but with some grease and medical dressings Ben did fix the stereo so that it could play compact discs. Music was beginning to get old by the time we were in the fog. 2,000 miles of music. I desperately pleaded for This American Life to transit over the radio waves. Please, Ben and I begged, let the four hour opera be over and give us some stories, voices, and something to listen to!

You can imagine my pure excitement when Prairie Home Companion comes on the radio. I honestly am not fond of the radio show but there is some comfort in the voice, the stories, and the fact that it is broadcasted from St Paul. Somewhere in the middle of the episode Garrison brings the Home down a notch and something he says sits with me for the rest of the ride home.

"The festive aspect of the holidays is what most of the songs are about that we sing around Christmas but there is that dark side of the holiday too. The power of the holiday- lights, music, smells to bring back so many memories of the past... And suddenly it feels as though there are ghosts present and out of nowhere comes an enormous truckload of memory. A friend of mine refers to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years as the Bermuda triangle of the heart into which a man can easily disappear if not careful. This is the reason why some of us are a bit quieter this time of the year and we sit and stare into the fire."

Moving forward in a fog is eventually calming. You cannot see too much ahead and you definitely cannot see too far behind. The rearview mirror contains complete darkness and up ahead you can almost make out the tail lights of the lead car. You are exactly where you are- not ahead and not behind. I can relax. New Years is over and ghosts seem to scatter as though they are my own Christmas decorations being boxed up and carried downstairs. They will wait for me come next Thanksgiving and I will unknowingly let them back out so we can sit together quietly and I can miss them all over again.

all songs considered 2004