call me at the station / the lines are open”
Today’s forecast is for a 30% chance of showers in the mid 50s, with the Fall foliage just a couple days past peak.
Actual conditions on October 5th, twenty-three years ago: ditto.
In 1991, October 5th was a Saturday and I was driving north in the rental, everything I owned—not nearly as much, way back then—rattling around in the back of the truck, nearly drowning out the radio.
I’d driven almost completely out of range of my long-term Saturday afternoon radiolove, Ruth Eddy, who’d always play whatever I called and asked her for and, while we waited for it to come up on the playlist, we’d chat. I’m not sure it was flirting, but it was something.
The last I heard from Ruth, the radio crackle had almost overtaken the broadcast altogether, but I could hear her saying something about how she hoped her friend Ron was still out there somewhere, still listening, and that she hoped to hear from him again sometime soon. Then she played Joni Mitchell’s You Turn Me On, I’m A Radio.
And then she was gone.
None of that mattered anymore, though. A couple hours later, I was parking the truck in My Beloved Sandra’s driveway.
I’ve been home, living happily ever after, since.