Four-Cylinder Eulogy

Never before have I run with such intensity, only to discover that I've just posted my slowest time yet. How does one achieve such a poor result after such fantastic enthusiasm and spirit? Let me tell you. All you need is a pair of oncoming headlights that seem uncomfortably close, the sound of shattering glass, and then blinking to find yourself facing the opposite direction of where you were last headed.

I've just been in a car accident. About 3hrs ago. I was sitting at an intersection with a green light, waiting for a gap in traffic before going ahead with my left-turn. But no such gap presented itself, and the light turned yellow. In two of the three opposing lanes (a turning and center lane) cars had already come to a stop, so I started to proceed when... A GMC Uncomfortably Large SUV plowed through the intersection in the right-hand opposing lane. Close lights. Breaking glass. Spinning 180 degrees. Firefighters, police, paperwork. It was amusing how seemingly insignificant the damage was to the front of the GMC Behemoth. It was leaking fluids, sure, but aside from a dented in and messed up from bumper, it seemed alright. My car, however, sat partly in the intersection a crushed-in rear half.

Passenger door doesn't open. Rear quarter window is in tiny pieces. Rear tire is deflated, and the wheel is pushed uncomfortably into the body. The body is... A mess. Pushed in like a cheap punching bag for a might fist. For some reason, the clip-on sunglasses that were sitting in a small hole under the e-brake are now on the passenger seat and bent at a 30 degree angle.

A accident scene is a lonely place to be. The other driver, an older gentleman, had some friends/relatives come and help him out. The firefighters cleaned up the mess. The police took down statements. I sat at the base of a lamp post and watched. Eventually, a firefighter got in and drove my car out of the intersection. You could hear how hard the front wheels were working to pull the crippled rear behind it. Paper work finished. Names and numbers exchanged. Signatures signed on the hood of a police cruiser. A walk home at midnight.

I got home and went for a run. What else is there to do? The adrenaline is still flowing through my system, my hands are shaking. Worst of all, I need to cope with the fact that my car is most-likely dead. I'm fine, sure. Not so much as a scratch. But the image how the metal of my car resembles a crumpled piece of paper and how the paint has seemingly disappeared... That I can't shake. Because deep down, I fear that my car has come to the end of its road. It's not hard to understand why, after seeing that damage that was done and knowing the insignificant amount it's worth on paper.

So I run.

Chances are that if you've read through much of these posts, you'll know how I have a very... Love-hate relationship with my car. I will tell you that, without hesitation, it's probably the worst investment I could've ever made. I've spent more money on repairs than the vehicle is worth, and have wasted more time chasing various gremlins out of the contraption than I really should admit. There was that time that it died and refused to start, right at the end of the fall semester. Twice. We all know how fun waiting for a bus in -30c weather is.

But at the same time, for far too many nights in a row I have trudged from the studio at school and through the snow in that same -30c weather, and arrived at my parked car. And without fail, it started. Every single time. At the end of the day, for the last three years, when I've felt tired and broken and overwhelmed, it patiently waited for me to return before carrying me home. And no joke - that was often the best part of the day.

I know, I know. It's a machine. A contraption. A thing. But it's embarrassing how attached I've become to it. Because, let's face it, it's been a really close friend while I pushed through school. It's unbelievable how I've abused it and it has abused me back. A few times. Just a couple months ago, there was a weird knocking sound coming from my wheel. What's with that? So I pulled over, and lo and behold, after changing over to summer tires a few days prior, one of the lug nuts had loosened itself and had long since made a break from the vehicle. I should've checked them to make sure they were still tight. It was even that particular act of seasonal maintenance when my younger cousin, was "helping" me when he lowered the jack while the tire was off, leaving a quarter of the car to rest on the weight of the now-exposed brake pad. Even earlier today I crouched to look at how I had rust developing in my rear passenger-side quarter panel, and how the bumper was starting to sag there because the anchor point had long since decayed away. The rust is still there, but now it's tied up in twisted metal.

But how sweet was the satisfaction when I managed to replace the starter motor all on my own, after a few weeks of not being able to coax the engine into turning over. And how it hummed right after having the fuel system flushed and the oil changed.

Sigh. I got that car right as I embarked into my post-secondary degree. And at the end of each summer I've taken it out for a waltz in the country-side, to be my companion while I do some photography and try to calm my nerves for the upcoming semester. So, yeah. A friend or a member of the family. One of the two. The best part about the big basement windows in my room is that I could look out and see my car parked at the curb, waiting for me.



So thank you. For carrying me back and forth and to and fro with all my school supplies in ungodly temperatures. And for the spontaneous drives to nowhere and back. For the sound you made in second gear at 6000RPM while I accelerated onto the highway. And the thrum of the pavement racing away underneath, and the wind billowing through the open windows. For being a binding agent between me and my music. For that spectacular shade of green and the those gorgeous bug-eyed headlamps. For handling the snow and rain and sleet like a champ. Taking me to the park at stupid-o'clock in the morning to watch the sun rise. Those late nights of comfort. For being there for me and my first kiss. For whisking me away to nowhere when I just couldn't handle it anymore. For giving me wings and freedom. I wish I could've done better by you, and that we didn't have to part ways like this.

When I run, I do a circuit within the neighbourhood. And each time, on my final stretch and poking out just over the slow crest of the hill, I can see my parked car. My goal. It lures me with a sense of excitement and wonder. It acts like magnet and always seems to pull me closer, even when my legs hurt and my lungs are on fire and my stomach wants to implode. Tonight my car wasn't there.

No wonder my time was so poor.
-Cril

Wait
How can it be too late?
'Cause I don't want to play
With such a price to pay
It's too late to look back
Too late to
Ain't okay, I've got no way to switchback


Celldweller - Switchback

Mandolin Wind

Generally speaking, when you think of Rod Stewart... He's probably That Guy your mom used to listen to twenty years ago. He's this incredibly cheesy sex-icon, with roll-your-eyes-worth overly-animated live performance, and an appropriate catalogue of passable sex-icon songs that are so obviously products of their era. It makes you stop and wonder... How can a relic like this, so far past its prime, still exist and perform and be in demand? For a crowd of 40-50 year-old women, that's how.

And a lot of his music reflects that. But then... A lot of his music doesn't. Maggie May, for instance. It's such a fantastic cocktail of regret, wonder, nativity, hurt, and being in love. Gasoline Alley is a soulful pining to go home. Listen to the version from his Unplugged and Seated album, and tell me that there isn't something authentic behind his vocals.

I'm not really chalking myself up as a fan of the guy... But he certainly has produced a handful of gems. And I can't quite remember how I stumbled on it, but it wasn't too long ago that I discovered one of those gems - Mandolin Wind.

It's basically about a man who brought his wife with him to the frontier, away from luxuries and the comfort of an established town. He goes on to talk about the trials, particularly the "coldest winter in almost fourteen years", and how his companion stayed with him, and their love never faltered. It's a sort of ballad, I suppose. But it's very... Poignant. But it's still a love song - it's a man's testament to the woman he loves, that followed him into the unknown. Away from the refinement and romance of a mandolin, and into the arms of a simple man with a steel guitar. And, like Maggie Mae, all of this is hidden behind a series of major chords and upbeat rhythm. Rod, you sneaky bastard.






One of the latter verses goes:

I recall the night we knelt and prayed
Noticing your face was thin and pale
I found it hard to hide my tears
I felt ashamed I felt I'd let you down

This is where I started to look deeper into the story as a whole, and came on my interpretation. The whole song takes place at the wife's grave, where the husband is spilling out his heart to the woman that he let down. You see, the coldest winter in almost fourteen years claimed the life of who loved. And even in her last moments, nothing could change her mind or make her regret leaving the comforts that might have not lead to her end. And now the narrator is full of regret, and doing the best he can to manage on his own, knowing that his desire to make a go of things on their own resulted in losing the other half of himself. If you keep this in mind when you read through (or listen to) the lyrics, a lot of those lines really sting.

Now, if you'd like, you can tear my theory apart. I'll even tell you where to look - he says that he can rest assured that they had seen the worst, and later that he'll teach her to play his steel guitar. Those point to a pretty clear past-tense and a present tense where they are still together. So I'm most likely wrong. In fact, I'm pretty sure I am.

But.

This is the nature of art, no? Interpretation. Internalizing. And I'm a sucker for depressing tales and sad endings. So I like to think that this poor man, now out in the middle of nowhere on his own and deprived of the companion that had been with him for many years and many winters, is heart-broken. He's well aware that she has left him, but maintaining some sort of denial is the only way he has to cope with being alone, knowing that he killed her. So he talks to her regularly. He works all day in the field and then visits her grave at the end of the day, and stays there until it's far too late. In the scorching sun, and snow, and rain and sleet. I guess that sometimes there's a high price to be paid for being so completely in love.
-Cril

When the rain came
I thought you'd leave
Cause I knew how much
You loved the sun
But you chose to stay,
Stay and keep me warm
Through the darkest nights
I've ever known
 
If the mandolin wind
Couldn't change a thing
 
Then I know I love ya

Oh the snow fell
Without a break
Buffalo died
In the frozen fields, you know
Through the coldest winter
In almost fourteen years
I couldn't believe
You kept a smile
 
Now I can rest assured
Knowing that we've seen the worst
 
And I know I love ya

Oh I never was good
With romantic words
So the next few lines
Come really hard
Don't have much
But what I've got is yours
Except of course
My steel guitar
Ha, 'cause I know you don't play
But I'll teach you one day
 
Because I love ya

I recall
The night we knelt and prayed
Noticing
Your face was thin and pale
I found it hard
To hide my tears
I felt ashamed
I felt I'd let you down
No mandolin wind
Couldn't change a thing
Couldn't change a thing
No, no

Coldest winter
In almost fourteen years
Could never,
Never change your mind

And I love ya
Yes indeed and I love ya
And I love ya
Lordy I love ya

Rod Stewart - Mandolin Wind