A SEQUENCE OF NOTES

I've felt inspired by Joy's latest to expound a little on how the working psychology of connotations affects me.

Ethan's car is perhaps one of the most poignant. Until I had my own wheels the maroon mustang served as the perfect escape from the doldrums of campus life. It shuttled us, newly discovered music, and collections of tools anywhere necessary. In a more ephemeral sense it carried memories of trips to his house, across towns, up mountains, and nowhere in particular. It served us well while it could — even if it had only four cylinders. Recently the stallion started overheating and is now out to pasture somewhere in Greer. [Insert moment of silence]

The Kammermobile, with screaming CD player, reminds me of my parent’s 1980-something Chevy caprice that they had when we had first come back to the states. It chimerically carries memories of the entire family waking up at too early in the morning to take dad to the base. Ben’s version has countless nights of clay working, Huddle-House visits, summer shenanigans, sunrise viewings, theological discussions, jokes, and nonsense.

And then, of course, there is the white sun roofed Volvo that somehow survived my driving (which includes getting lost) and the giddiness of three girls back from a friend’s wedding in North Carolina. I’m not sure how much detail is sacred ground here so you’ll have to ask Hill about that one.

Coupled with this car thing is music; it almost becomes a two way street. Whenever I hear an album that was rarely found outside the mustang’s CD player I can’t help but remember what we were doing or where we were going in amazing technicolor detail. Even if the music is the most non-nostalgic composition it still somehow makes me reminisce. It is nothing more than a sequence of notes. Just assembled blocks of sound that carry so much meaning for me simply because I assigned meaning to those blocks of sound.