Simple Minds, Simple Pleasure

For Ashley, wherever I may find her...

So, my grandmother. Elle est tres malade. Oui. Elle est presque mort. Je suis tres desolee. Yes, you see, my grandmother-- very sick and very near death.

Last night I went through my voicemails in a fit trying to find one last voice mail from her. Please GOD! I am so lazy. I rarely check and often delete my voicemails without listening to them. I'm good like that. I was terribly concerned that I had unknowingly deleted all messages from her. That's just the kind of thing I'd do. Delete the message I want to keep but hold on to every single message from my doctor's office confirming my appointment on Feb 22, 2005. But, I digress.

I had 45 messages sitting on that thing. I listened to every single one. I found my grandmother-- one from last summer inviting me to dinner. Her old voice, deep and throaty. Upper Montclair's very own Lauren Bacall. Sigh of relief. And tears, of course. For, although I have made my peace with this whole, you know circle of life type thing, it still sucks.

I stopped crying and listened to the rest of the messages. And there, amongst 27 messages from my mother, several from Phil, one from my dad, and, like, 14 from Harry, there was yours.

And the opening,
"Ryan, my love, where have you been all my life?!"

Well, I felt loved. I must say. I must say.
So, Smashley, where have I been all your life? Apparently I've been sitting on my bed surrounded by the Sunday Times going through old voicemails to hear my grandmother's voice. Which sounds just as depressing as it was. Until I found yours.

Love you, too.