Sunday Silence

This is the view out my window today.
Its Sunday, the tea pot is steeping, and the sound of the rain mixes with XM Hipster or whatever I put on. Its acoustic, and save one unplugged version of 'Billie Jean' by Jason Mraz that I didn't hate, its a respite from the Michael Jackson speculation and tribute.

Himself is visiting his parents and aunt and is staying over so I have the house to myself. Just me, a cup of PG Tips, some quiet offbeat music, and the cat. I tried and failed to snazz up my cellphone by installing a CD that came with it when I bought it months ago. He'll figure it out when he comes home.
Its a peaceful day. Tomorrow work begins again; so far I know another journey to Ithaca is forthcoming, hopefully not in the Dodge Dakota 4 X 4 I've been driving for work that I only recently discovered has no registration sticker and anyway is only legal for two more days. Though after going forth in a vehicle with a bad power steering pump and another with a master cylinder that failed while I was driving downhill, mere matters of paperwork are, by comparison, quite inconsequential. Their attempts to kill me/strand me 300 miles from home seem to be de-escalating, so that's a good thing.

Madeline Peyroux was chopping in and out. I had to go investigate. Apparently sattelite radio cannot penetrate the density of an orange cat's furry behind if its parked on the receiver.

Ahem.
I was driving way up into the knobby shoulder of New York the other day, the customer insisted on a 10am appointment, which necessitated my leaving at 3:45am. I minded this less than you might imagine; I zipped through all the usual traffic pinches with ease and by 'rush hour' I was well away from any areas where sincere 'rushing' was happening. Somewhere near Ogdensburg, while I was daydreaming,listening to Quebecois radio, and imagining myself in a thoughtful (and subtitled) romantic comedy, the cars in front of me began slowing down. White trucks were parked on both sides and as they flashed by I saw two words in large green block letters.

BORDER PATROL

Christmas in Killarney, did I CROSS THE BORDER????? Oh God, no. All I have is a Pennsylvania driver's license, no birth certificate, no 'enhanced' license, and when the smiling young man appeared in my window I was LISTENING TO FRENCH RADIO. I mashed the button, hoping for 95-point-whatever, the Big Pig, classic rock for the AMERICAN military base down yonder, but all I got is MORE FRENCH. Crap. Just as I was about to apologize, beg for mercy, explain I'd been on the road since 3:45, and stand back while the drug dogs went over the van, he did that two fingered pointing gesture thing cops do and said, "You can go ahead. You have a nice day, ma'am."
Oh. Ah. What? Okay.
And, oh. I'm still in New York. Apparently even though it flattened out and filled up with Frenchies and the odd Amish buggy, I was still in New York. Okay. I guess the border has, like, bigger signs anyway.

Not much else has been going on. I've been travelling a lot, thinking a lot, and feeling very much like something new is coming. Mostly I've been feeling peaceful, which is good, because I asked for that.

So enjoy your own Sunday. Here's a little music for ya. I like to imagine the You Tube comments on this are less idiotic, but I don't speak the language so I can't verify this. I don't see anything that looks like it was written by a French troll, though.