At a garage sale (I love them, but usually I resist the impulse to buy) I picked up a two cd set of Fleetwood Mac. I have all the albums at home, but for some reason I’ve not dusted them off in ages.

So I take this disk on a little road trip, intending to listen as I drive. THe good stuff is all there; Sara. Rhiannon. Gypsy. Landslide. Even an instrumental, slowed down version of “Go insane”. The disks set on the seat on the way down, I listened to the saturday morning financial shows and dreamed of actually having cash to invest in something.

I spent yesterday morning working, talking with a customer about some vision systems etc., and in the afternoon we went to the range, for several hundred rounds of explodey goodness. The day finished with a lakeside picnic with good friends.

Getting lost and wandering through central Indiana in search of an open gas station was a little frustrating, but I got’er done, and pulled out to do the last 60 miles home. I remembered the disk, and alone with my thoughts on dark indiana backroads, I remembered why I hadn’t dusted off those albums in ages.

Fleetwood Mac- or its’ various members- had been there through a lot of my personal transitions, acting as a sort of lyrical midwife between one portion of my life and another, and the Mac music that was popular at each transition was imprinted with those emotions. So whe I hear Rhiannon, it dredges up a memory of relationship gone horribly sour, and the violent effort required to extricate myself from it. Sara is another that calls to mind a situation in which I found myself unemployed and alone, without two pennies to rub together. Landslide- well, if I need to moisturize my contact lenses I can always dial THAT one up.

So I put the disks back in the case and drove the rest of the way home in silence.