~ Gypsy Life ~
I've been thinking about this gypsy life. A day without patterns...
Tuesday. I drove out to my folks today. The surrounding corn fields have grown too high to see over. Time, I thought. I helped my father clean out the garage so we could get the Model A out. It hasn't seen black top in two decades. I have a music video in mind - old world style, scratchy record playing on the victrola, small town life, dust kicking up behind those thin Model A tires and a classy lady in the passenger's seat.
Then I grabbed all the loose metal around their garage, as well as my old engine. I had learned enough, and figured I'd make a little extra cash by scrapping it. Then the day took a twist. I punctured a tire while driving through the scrap yard. No worries. I had a spare. I parked and started to jack it up. I grabbed the spare and bounced it as I rounded around the bus. SWOOSH, with every bounce. I chuckled, those hippie Mormons got me again. First the rebuilt engine that was kinda junked together with shoddy repairs, the slashed spare and...
...I smiled. I wasn't affected one bit. I don't live by clocks or routine. This was an opportunity. I was meaning to test the jack and spare anyhow. At least I was close to friends and family to get some help. I wished I had my camera to film. I decided to work on a new song. It came to me as I drove yesterday on route 80 just past the Akron exit. As I worked out the chorus, a handful of scrappers trickled in to ask about my travels and offer a hand to help. Human nature is kind. The tow truck was late. The scrap yard finally closed up after my two hours waiting there. I was forced to drive, the rim grinding and marched it's snail path below. They locked the gate behind me. I parked and waited some more. I thought about a Europe tour late this fall, a motorcycle trip from LA to Ohio at the end of the summer. I thought about the next novel that's halfway finished, the next album, the VW Bus Tour and the documentary.
I have time to grow old. I needn't be rushed. One step at a time, I thought. That's why I bought the bus, anyway. To take a slower pace and see all this beauty. To make this life magical.
Dreams are not chased, they are built.
Tuesday. I drove out to my folks today. The surrounding corn fields have grown too high to see over. Time, I thought. I helped my father clean out the garage so we could get the Model A out. It hasn't seen black top in two decades. I have a music video in mind - old world style, scratchy record playing on the victrola, small town life, dust kicking up behind those thin Model A tires and a classy lady in the passenger's seat.
Then I grabbed all the loose metal around their garage, as well as my old engine. I had learned enough, and figured I'd make a little extra cash by scrapping it. Then the day took a twist. I punctured a tire while driving through the scrap yard. No worries. I had a spare. I parked and started to jack it up. I grabbed the spare and bounced it as I rounded around the bus. SWOOSH, with every bounce. I chuckled, those hippie Mormons got me again. First the rebuilt engine that was kinda junked together with shoddy repairs, the slashed spare and...
...I smiled. I wasn't affected one bit. I don't live by clocks or routine. This was an opportunity. I was meaning to test the jack and spare anyhow. At least I was close to friends and family to get some help. I wished I had my camera to film. I decided to work on a new song. It came to me as I drove yesterday on route 80 just past the Akron exit. As I worked out the chorus, a handful of scrappers trickled in to ask about my travels and offer a hand to help. Human nature is kind. The tow truck was late. The scrap yard finally closed up after my two hours waiting there. I was forced to drive, the rim grinding and marched it's snail path below. They locked the gate behind me. I parked and waited some more. I thought about a Europe tour late this fall, a motorcycle trip from LA to Ohio at the end of the summer. I thought about the next novel that's halfway finished, the next album, the VW Bus Tour and the documentary.
I have time to grow old. I needn't be rushed. One step at a time, I thought. That's why I bought the bus, anyway. To take a slower pace and see all this beauty. To make this life magical.
Dreams are not chased, they are built.
posted by Matt Palka @ 7:52 PM
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