The Day the Music Died

Nothing says Christmas like the communal sharing of a bass beat compliments of some driver who in the spirit of brotherly love just wants to reach out and touch me with some vintage Snoop Dog or Snoop's earthier friends. I've even been the recipient of some communal bass sharing outside of the Christmas season. I've always thought is just so darn generous of the 18 year old driver and his cadre that pull up to me at the stoplight to want to share that funky music. In fact, I've commented on that warm feeling to my passengers many times and expressed my warm fuzzy feelings for the folks who I rank just above those who throw lit cigarettes out the window to check the wind velocity.

So, it is with dismay that I must report that I inadvertently destroyed this fine musical experience for myself and my fellow parking lot patrons and for those lovers of Snoop Dog and his earthier friends, sorry about that.

The kids and I decided to go to Walmart to have a little pre-Christmas adventure. Sort of like when I was a kid and would be taken for a walk in downtown Cleveland to see the window displays at the big department stores except without the displays. Just like Cleveland would be if you put it in a big, corrugated metal box and took away all of it's character. Mia marveled at the Christmas trees, all lit up and ready to go. Aidan marveled at the 2008 Hot Wheel models and carefully explained to me how they would be happier in a good home. After having a pre Christmas meal from a McDonald's box, we stood in line for an hour or two to check out. Mia decided she just couldn't take anymore excitement and decided to nap. She announced her decision by loudly banging her forehead against the buggy handle. As she threatened to do it again, I decided it would be prudent for me to hold her which made emptying the buggy an yogic exercise.

We finally got everything back into the buggy and worked out the details of our home equity loan for payment. Off we went, me balancing Mia with one arm while pulling the buggy with the other one while Aidan provided navigation services from the rear. Other than that one collision with my ankles, it was teamwork at its dizzying best.

We got outside and began to venture into the Walmart cross walk. As a service to it's customers, Walmart has made their crosswalk large enough to handle the massive discharge of customers that would occur should all of the checkout lines be open which has only happened once in history. It was a cold day in 2002 and I was on electric cart restrictions while pregnant with Adian. It was a fine time right up until I crashed one of Walmart's electric buggies dead center and at full speed into the wall in front of the registers which were all historically open for this one day and this one day only. I amped up my performance with my best approximation of a rebel yell as I prepared for impact. Barely missed a father and his two teenage sons as I sped by them in my best approximation of Evel Keneviel on an electric buggy. After impact, I heard the father tell the sons that it just isn't appropriate to laugh at the disabled lady and began to laugh manically as, quite frankly, I thought it was. So, I tried to turn the thing around to the sounds of scattered applause and the somewhat panicked ministrations of the store's loss control expert. Oddly, I got personal package carry-out service that day from that very loss control expert. But, as usual, I digress.

We get half way into the cross walk before we realize that a thoughtful shopper was stopping to wait for us. In the true holiday spirit, he had his tinted windows down to even more generously share his Christmas philosophy which had something to do with "giving it to you". Aidan stops navigating and we use the time honored method of buggy stopping which is to have it impact the back of my ankle at maximum velocity. Aidan takes the one hand I have that isn't fully asleep from the weight of a child and asks me to dance. I consider saying no but remember the pledge I made to myself three years ago and have flawlessly upheld - when we get the chance, we dance. So I decide what the hell the driver would probably have his heart warmed by our apparent enjoyment of his gift and, if not, I would get to dance with my son who isn't old enough to recognize just how mortified he should be. So, I shift Mia to the other arm and Aidan and I begin to dance enthusiastically which, when we dance well, closely resembles people having some type of seizure, albeit on the down stroke as we both have some awesome rhythm. The frozen food begins to melt but we we don't care, we are dancing our blues away. We move enthusiastically around the wide, yellow expanse. Aidan spins and I do my best version of the head bob which closely resembles a chicken pecking at seed. A drugged out chicken, but a chicken nonetheless.

And then, it happened. Surprisingly, the music died. Just like that. Right smack in the middle of a composition. We stopped, turned and looked hopefully at the car. It was so quiet we could hear the sound of the windows as they were rolled up. We shrugged to show our disappointment and then Aidan and I gave him our thumbs up seal of approval while Mia clapped. As we all know, nothing is more appreciated by the young provider of public music than the endorsement of a middle aged, chicken dancing, white woman and her two twirling kids so we made sure that we made our thumbs up endorsement obvious to all. After all, nothing says "I'm cool" to a teenager than the public approval of old strangers and, in the spirit of the holiday, wanted to make sure we imparted that gift. We are looking forward to sharing the joy with other young bass connoisseurs if at all possible.