same time and place

WBCN FM radio got it starts in Boston in 1968. I remember listening in my bedroom in my parents house in Wareham, home for the summer between and before I began wildly dropping out of college. One of the initial disc jockeys was named Charles Laquidara, and something he said, everyday, was, if memory still fires up more than 26 brain cells – “If the creek don’t rise and there ain’t no meltdown” – like, those events take place and I’ll catch you again tomorrow. Same time, same place.

In the shower this morning I was wondering about next Saturday, which will arrive if the creek don’t rise, and it’s funny because I’m more and more in the right here and right now these days, not wandering too far down that sweeping second-hand of the sacred and forever speeding along road. I’ll be in Bend, Oregon, with my sweetie and a couple of her siblings, a sister-in-law, and who knows what creatures and varmints in the vacinity. Lolling by the Deschutes River, reading the same Zen Koans I read here. Mountains for sidekicks. Every single moment there a first for me.

Just like they always are. Like listening to ‘BCN in Wareham and West Yarmouth and Salem and Marblehead, like sitting on a Thursday afternoon bench, by myself except for red-winged blackbirds, in Portland’s Rhododendren Gardens. Not all that far from Bend, though, like they say, it’s a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll.

This Blog’s gonna head north and east with me. But, it seems like a good bet – if the creek don’t rise – we’ll be back really, really early September 27. Slightly changed. Different in the same time and place.