The Power of Sound

I ran across a listing for an old George Winston album the other night while perusing my mp3 store of choice. It's an older title of his, the aptly named 1982 album December, which includes his variations on several traditional winter melodies as well as his own original compositions.

I thought, wow - George Winston - I haven't heard December in ages... let me just preview the first track...

And when the first strains of "Thanksgiving" hit my ears, I was immediately reduced to a pile of sobbing human rubble. It was almost as if I'd been hit by a car or shot - the reaction was that quick.

You see, December had always been one of Sam's "go-to" albums. She owned it on cassette and it was always in her car or, later, on our CD deck (until it went missing in one of our many moves). We listened to it at Christmas time, sure. But we also listened to it on any blustery autumn day, or snuggled listening to it after making love. It sounds like softness, and beauty, and, well... love. It sounds like safeness. And for a moment I found myself staring into the face of grief, utterly, painfully missing Sam. But just as suddenly, I also felt her arms around me. I rode out the wave with her holding onto me, and then it was over.

Weird. I haven't had a wave like that since... oh, probably back in November? I guess they get fewer and father between, but when they do hit, they hit just as hard.

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I was happy to see a bunch of big, burly pirate dudes destroying my home today. The demolition is finally underway!