Chasing the Elusive— Now at West End Gallery
Don’t swallow bleach
Out on Sandymount beach,
I’m not sure I’d reach you in time my boy.
Please don’t bungee jump
Or ignore a strange lump
And a gasoline pump’s not a toy.
— Lisa Hannigan, Safe Travels, (Don’t Die)
Wasn’t sure what I wanted to write this morning. Actually, I seldom know what I am going to write when I head across to the studio in the early morning dark. But since it was Sunday, I felt compelled to at least share a song, as I normally do. While browsing some tunes, most of which I already knew and had probably shared here in the past, I came across one that I hadn’t heard before. It was from a favorite of mine, Irish singer/songwriter Lisa Hannigan, and had an intriguing title, Safe Travels, (Don’t Die).
I began listening to it as I read along with the lyrics. I liked the song’s sound immediately and the lyrics about the things to avoid in one’s travels made me chuckle. But one line sealed the deal for me: And a gasoline pump’s not a toy.
It immediately took me back to my trip home two weeks ago after my Principle Gallery show in Alexandria. I was traveling with my neighbor and good friend, Bob, who had taken it upon himself to make sure I made it there and back safely. He had seen firsthand how fatigued I was in the weeks before the show and how my mind and judgement were not operating at full speed, possibly making me a danger to myself or anyone else on the road.
The day after the opening we headed home, up route 15 along the Susquehanna River. Stopping for fuel, Bob trusted me to gas up the van at a Sheetz convenience store and went in to use the restroom. I was absolutely beat at that time when I began pumping the gas. After a bit, the gas pump handle clicked, letting me know that it was full. I tried to squeeze in a bit more and as I did so, I zoned out. I found myself staring out into the distance. It was kind of nice until the smell of gas broke my peaceful interlude in another dimension. I looked down and realized my left foot was resting in a huge puddle of gas, well over a half inch deep. There was probably about a half-gallon of gas on the ground.
I quickly finished up and headed into the Sheetz to let them know they needed to do whatever they did for spills and to try to wash the gas off my shoes. As I stood at the sink in the Men’s Room frantically washing and rinsing the bottom and side of my shoe, a couple of guys in trucker caps stood looking quizzically at me from the urinals. I didn’t even try to explain.
I thought I had done a pretty decent job, and we headed up the road. But it didn’t take long to realize that the smell of gas from my shoes was filling the cab. Bob said he couldn’t take this for another three hours, that we would have to stop somewhere and try to clean them better. We were along the river at that point and there aren’t a lot of rest stops or even great places to pull off so it took a while. We finally came across a small rest stop tucked in a small space between the busy road the Susquehanna. It had a great view of some rapids and there were a number of local Amish folks there, some fishing, some eating at the picnic tables, and some doing whatever it is that Amish or any other folks, for that matter, do at a Rest Area.
Bob, for some unknown reason, fortuitously had both Method cleanser and lacquer thinner in his van. He told me to hand him my shoe and set to cleaning it as I zoned out once more watching the river water tumble by. I noticed some of the Amish giving Bob the same quizzical look that I received in the Sheetz men’s room and I began to see the absurdity of my very large friend cleaning my shoe as I sat there shoeless, staring at the river. I wondered what those folks were thinking then began to laugh.
The cleaning did work and we safely made our way home, odor free.
Okay, it’s not a great story. But nobody got hurt or died and, for today’s song with that line a gasoline pump’s not a toy, that’s enough for me.
Now get out of here and, for Pete’s sake, travel safe and don’t die.