Reading: Legends of the Fall by Jim Harrison
Listening to: "16 Horses" by Soul Coughing
Outside: Bluebells slice in earnest through the flowerbed mulch - certainly we must fashion them some hats and scarves?
As we wander through this still new-ish year, approaching February and still huddled in coats and mittens, we're beginning to notice we're strolling past the season's first green hints of spring. Aren't we? Oh yes.
Like these tiny buds, insistent in their reach skyward, I'm filled with anticipation that the sun will warm our bones again.
It's like looking forward to a good meal, or the knowledge you will see a good friend in a short time. Or like sitting down next to the living room radiator with a book you've read before, turning to the first page (oh, that luscious first page, and the sound it makes as it turns!). Or, if you're a geek like me, it's like knowing that Chris Carter may be bringing back the X-Files.
Wow. Wow. Wowowowowowowowowowowow.
If you're a geek like me, you will have rooted around in your DVD collection and dusted off the box sets you have of every single series, 1 through 9. You will have perhaps already resurrected the pilot episode, and *experienced a little chill* upon seeing *this*:
and then chuckled quietly at the really poor screen quality of the following episode, but immediately forgave it, as well as the lack of any kind of digital technology, even in what you'd imagine to be a cutting-edge FBI office, except occasionally for a fax machine (certainly, have we moved along that fast as to pretty much dismiss the fax machine as a clunky form of defunct technology?).
And you will have noticed for perhaps the first time that when Scully consults her case files, in a forest or in Mulder's cluttered basement office, she's actually reading from pieces of paper taped to sheets of a legal pad. And that's okay, because it's the 90s again, and you're a kid again, staying up late on a Thursday night by the very magnanimous grace of your mom and dad, and you're hugging a pillow and watching these totally awesome FBI agents officially exhume a grave.
Maybe you will even be listening to the X-Files soundtrack (as I am now) and you will transport yourself back, faster than 900 feet per second, way faster than that, as fast as your synapses can connect, back to that delicious tension between two people, a kind of electricity that, as a kid, you're only beginning to understand.
Maybe you remember the gloss of that brand-new poster you got from Wal-Mart, back when you were just a tween, and the pride that bloomed in your chest when you taped it (with much effort, balancing on your bed) slightly askew on your wall. It was the first thing you saw in the morning, and that last thing you saw at night.
Because all of your dreams are coming true. Or at least one. The X-Files is out there. And the TRUTH is out there.
So yes, let those buds gasp for air, and let them get it.
Let's be hopeful now - maybe we'll get to welcome Mulder and Scully into the 21st century, complete with Smartphones and Ipads and all.
But for now, I'm happy to cuddle up with my husband - gosh, where did I get that absolute love of the name David? - and smile at these two twenty-somethings on screen, Scully's frizzy hair and Mulder's mutterings about conspiracy - and wonder what the future may bring.
Happy Saturday, everybody!