Valentine

This week wasn’t a banner week in the life of the Craven Hermit. While a few things transpired at work that were feathers in my cap, the side of the ledger dedicated to “personal pursuits” didn’t keep pace. After a miserable hockey game on Friday (my team got thumped), I retreated to one of the few places in town that keeps me balanced – the local record shop.

I came home with recent vinyl releases by Kasabian and TV on the Radio. And I will spin those records in good time, despite already owning them on CD (it’s a little like knowing exactly what you’re going to get for your birthday, yet still feeling a sense of anticipation). But tonight, while Cupid is firing his arrows indiscriminately all over town, I am in the man-cave listening to the new Father John Misty album, I Love You, Honeybear.

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To my ears, it sounds like a complicated, thoughtful, and maybe slightly jaded love letter by Josh Tillman to his wife. And despite all the attendant challenges and heartbreaks, I have to admit to a quantum of jealousy and envy. Yesterday, as I walked to my car from the record shop, I strolled by several couples walking hand-in-hand down Whyte Avenue. Meanwhile, I clutched and caressed my first (and, thus far, only) love in my hand – a few vinyl discs in a paper bag.

It wasn’t the same.

Tomorrow’s another day, and your faithful correspondent will carry on bravely. But tonight, I’m a little lost in thought. If you were lucky enough to spend this evening with someone who smells nice and is good to you, please don’t take your blessings for granted.

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