Tomorrow Earl and I leave on our annual winter rendezvous with the sun, eleven days of glorious shorts and swimsuits and lightweight coveralls. Once we reach Ft. Lauderdale, there won’t be a flake of snow in sight.
As I pack, a song wanders through my mind. It’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane” originally sung by Peter, Paul, and Mary. This song and I have a history.
Long years ago, I temporarily left a man, then my husband, to the tune of this song. He was bringing our son and me to the airport so that we could have a “break” from each other. He had gotten involved with someone else; I had become unglued. So our solution was to separate and sort our feelings. Peter, Paul, and Mary sang to us through the car radio the night my son and I left.
Years later, after that man and I went our separate ways permanently, I still enjoyed John Denver’s version of “Leaving on an Jet Plane.” And, even more years later, I’ve enjoyed learning to play the tune on my piano. There is no remnant of previous emotional connection.
Peter, Paul, and Mary still sing this song in concert. John Denver died an untimely death. I continue to take piano lessons. And tomorrow, even though I detest flying, I will board another jet plane for points south.
Leave a Reply