Miracle and Wonder

I'd play it for you if I could.

Been listening to it all day.

Graceland.

Paul Simon.

Ah hell, let's do it.

Hear that needle?

Yes. Vinyl.

...

No. Sorry.

Can't do it.

Not like this.

Some of you are humming already.

Stop that.

Another dispatch from Scott Evers. Read for you by Geezer III.

Lisa's birthday.

She would've approved.

Hold on.

Clouds are comin'.

Don't need forty-year-old records getting rained on.

Portable turntable. Extension cord. Entire operation hanging by a thread.

There.

Funny thing.

Every time that record comes on I forget how old it is.

Then I remember it came out forty years ago and suddenly I feel old too.

Phone.

Might as well check on my sister.

She's liable to be listening to the same record.

— Lauren.

— it barely rang.

—

— patootie.

— that's right.

— miracle and wonder.

— she said that for years.

—

— no.

— i still think Graceland's a better title.

—

— what?

—

— i don't know much about music.

— never have.

—

— but those accordions come rolling in and the whole thing feels alive.

— like somebody opened the front door.

...

Next thing you know ya got boots off standing on your porch listening to musicians from the other side of the planet.

That's a neat trick.

...

My word.

I just pulled the rest of that tooth out.

Been bothering me all week.

Feel much better.

—

— yes.

— that's what she used to do.

—

— close their eyes.

— every one of them.

—

— no.

— i thought she'd lost her mind too.

Lisa taught art.

Every now and then she'd have the whole class close their eyes before they started.

Twenty-five children sitting there doing absolutely nothing.

Ridiculous.

...

Principal walked in once and thought she'd lost control of the room.

Lisa said she was asking them what they wanted the world to see.

Then they'd make something.

Always seemed a little dangerous to me.

Giving children ideas.

—

— yes.

— the feather chickens.

— i'd forgotten about those.

Lisa worked with a tribal woman making chickens out of feathers.

Not real chickens.

Although some of them looked more convincing than the real thing.

She could identify every feather.

Chlappen.

Coque.

Hackle.

Lady Amherst Pheasant.

I probably got one of those wrong.

She'd be annoyed with me.

...

Next thing you know people are putting feather chickens on executive desks.

Porches.

Mantels.

Rich folks driving across three counties looking for feather chickens.

Which sounds ridiculous until you saw one.

—

— yes.

— that's right.

— she never cared much about the money.

—

— i know.

— i never understood that either.

She liked the making.

Let the profits go to the tribe.

Another thing I never quite figured out.

...

The song talks about long-distance calls.

Back then that meant something.

Expensive.

You'd think about it before you made one.

Today I've got a machine in my pocket that'll show me a photograph of a cat in Singapore before I can remember why I picked the thing up.

—

— yes.

— i know.

— strange time for art.

—

— everybody says it's important.

—

— then they cut the budget.

—

— exactly.

— bit like saying water's important and then taking the well.

...

Sorry.

Lost my train of thought.

...

Ah.

There it is.

Half the things he was singing about sounded futuristic back then.

Now they're just Tuesday.

Hold on.

Satellite.

There it goes.

You miss it, you miss it.

Funny how quickly miracles become ordinary.

Machine flying over our heads.

Talking to people on the other side of the planet.

Medicine doing things that would've sounded impossible when I was a kid.

And most days we don't even bother looking up.

Is that a distant constellation.

Dying in the corner of the sky.

Sorry.

Ants.

Again.

When do they sleep.

...

Lisa would've said that's because I'm looking at the wrong thing.

She usually said it nicer than that.

...

Who knows who's listening.

Truck driver.

Professor.

Night watchman.

If it's you, Paul, don't sue me.

I didn't play the record.

Moon's up.

Full moon.

Bright one too.

Funny thing.

At least a dozen times her birthday landed on a full moon.

Never seemed planned.

There she is.

Walking down the road.

— hey Bernice.

— why you out so late.

—

— sorry.

— couldn't hear ya.

She can't hear me.

— never mind.

— goodnight Bernice.

There she goes.

Just a shadow now.

Come here, girl.

Go for a walk?

...

Alright.

Let's go.

...

I wish I could show them the feather chicken.

...

Hard to explain.