Sunday, October 16, 2016

Accounting Under the Full Moon

Trevor and I were driving home from the big city of Saratoga, having just watched The Accountant. It was a gorgeous NY night. Under the full moon we made our way on the winding roads between civilization and the farmland towns we call home. We both loved the movie. As we headed towards Greenwich we talked over twists in the plot and silly trivia about Airstream trailers and cantaloupe target practice. I was in a great mood because that is what movies do to me. (It's also what caffeine does to me, and I just swilled a coffee.) Movies get my hackles up and teeth sharp. After a good movie I'm like a puppy who just discovered a mirror. I'm high on that deeply-personal thrill I just got in public. At all the emotional exhibitionism. At my humanity reflected with all the bells and whistles of professional storytellers on a big screen with a bunch of strangers sitting around me just as rapt and nervous. 

I want to connect with people after a shared movie, especially if I went with someone and not by myself (which I never mind doing). Going to a movie is sharing something big. It's a modern version of listening to tales around a campfire under the stars - primal and necessary. Which isn't to say you can't get the same kicks sharing stories around a campfire in 2016 - Gods know I do - but I want that movie magic. I want to pay money for a ticket the same way I want to pay for a book to support a writer. Going to see The Accountant Opening Weekend was important to me. I'm so glad I roped Trevor into coming along. The man is not a movie fan, but surely he can appreciate a thriller after a long weekend of traveling to friend's weddings and constant social activity. I had somewhat of the same - having just said goodbye to my parents who stayed all weekend. They were wonderful and we had a great time (also going to the movies together last night - movies are important to Woginrichs of all ages). It was the best visit I have had with them in years. Maybe that was part of my great mood. Stories, family, friends, connection... I wanted to hear my jam and sing along.

Alas, there were no jams to be had. Trevor had taken over the job of DJ, and in an 1989 F150 that means scrolling through his phone's library connected to the truck's speakers via an adapter. Not some Bluetooth gadget, but a tape in the cassette player physically connected to a headphone jack via a wire. He kept playing sordid, sad, music. Stuff by The Tallest Man on Earth and Father John Misty. (Two bands I enjoy, but not after an action movie when I happened to feel immortal and really appreciate that black belt I spent a few years earning. Also, coffee.) I listened along for about ten minutes of dodging deer with weak headlights and then demanded he stopped playing break-up music and put on something with a beat. Finally, he switched to The Gaslight Anthem's Mile Davis and The Cool. In the first few drum rolls my bloodstream went neon. It's the kind of music made for driving in an old pickup under a full moon. I turned it up, he sang along, and I got that double-hit of a new movie and new music in the same night. Those two potion ingredients let us clumsy primates feel immortal for 90 minutes at a time. Nothing connects us, seeps into us, IS us as much as songs and stories. I get to feel 23 again when white-knuckling a movie theater seat or singing at the top of my lungs alone in my car. Because as long as you can get lost in stories or song you're still capable of a scrappy inspiration from your fellow man. The Accountant was fantastic. Gaslight Anthem was perfect. They are both proof positive that people will always be my favorite animals.

I'll update on the farm in the morning. Right now I am back at my little house. This cove tucked into the side of a mountain with a pair of border collies inside and a couple dozen animals outside to feed, ride, hunt, and live beside when the sun comes back. I have stories to share with you guys about the slaughter and fleece-tanning of four lambs. Of a neighboring farm coming to collect Monday the ram to service their flock. Of getting Aya Cash to stop shoving her talons into my palm and a killer homemade pizza in a cast-iron skillet. But for tonight I just want to write a love letter to the two things that keep me writing, keep me going - movies and music. It may seem miles away from a single woman on a farm in the middle of nowhere but nothing is closer to home than chords, end credits, and my heroes behind screenplays and Gibson J-45s.

Sing under that moon and tell some stories. The rest of Humanity is counting on you.


Blogger Cindy said...

You, ma'am, are a writer.

October 17, 2016 at 7:34 AM  
Blogger A.L. M. said...

Excellent writing, loved this, thank you

October 17, 2016 at 10:21 AM  
Blogger Sharon said...

I enjoyed your story of the full moon.

October 17, 2016 at 6:39 PM  

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