Rain on a Xylophone

Winter in Southern California doesn’t bring snow, it doesn’t bring extreme cold. It’s not frigidly cold like the East Coast is, and for most of my life I thought California didn’t really have different seasons. One thing Winter does bring, though, is rain.

As I try to sleep on my sister’s couch in San Diego, the night occasionally brings with it condensation temperatures, and thus bouts of rain. I wake up when this happens because the rain smacks against the exterior of a white air conditioner not-so-subtly stuck in a window. In the relative quiet of the night, it sounds like a deafening drum, one that I must will myself to ignore in order to get decent quality shut-eye.

I think about ways to shut the noise up: maybe put a towel on the outside of it where the rain hits? Maybe bubble wrap? Where would I get bubble wrap? And I realize: if the rain can smack against an air conditioner that loudly, what would it do to a xylophone? Wouldn’t it be incredible if you could hear a true symphony of rain? Maybe a set of xylophones?

Unfortunately I do not own a xylophone, but perhaps one day…

Random Christmas Memory

I’ve decided to randomly jot down memories as good writing practice.

I was maybe seven or eight at the time, and Christmas was still the most joyous time of year. The television set, center of my lackadaisical youth life and constant object of strife amongst me and my siblings, was suddenly an object of wonder, as it was filled with portrayals of snow white winters, candy canes, christmas stockings, and wholesome family joy. We even had a Christmas tree, the same one we’d been using for a few years in a row by then, but my mom would always bring out decorations and we’d stick them on: sparkling red balls, candy canes, the colorful lights, I think we even had a star. It wasn’t the greatest thing ever, but it was ours, and the way it dominated our living room in its corner would never cease to remind me that this indeed was a special time of year. It was Christmas!

One night, I had some trouble sleeping. Perhaps I’d had too much sugar, perhaps I had been bouncing off the walls, but regardless I crawl out of bed at perhaps the late hour of 11 o’clock in the evening. The hallway is dark, but still glows with flickering luminescence. I trot out to the living room with my small feet and maybe 4 foot stature, and I see my dad sitting in the corner where our computer is. He’s playing solitaire, and because he is the coolest dad in the world he always wins! I was always proud of him; maybe one day I’d be that good at cards too! Alas, it’s been years and years, and that skill constantly eludes me.

My dad sees me and tells me to go back to bed, and as an obedient child I know I should, but my eyes set sights on the Christmas tree. The lights draped on its plastic branches, white and red and green, illuminate the whole room in a dim mix of yellow, and the tree itself dazzles as the light flickers off the glittering ornaments and reflective wrapping of the presents underneath. And as I stand there, my entire being transfixed on this glimmering beacon of holiday spirit, I hear the tune, a simple yet unforgettable tune: “Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree, how are they leaves so verdant?” There were no words, but the tune, in all its primitive low-quality electric glory, would forever be etched into my memory, and from that day forward I would always hear that tune whenever I thought of Christmas trees.

I went back to bed, of course. Eventually the tree was gone. Eventually my dad was gone. But though I’m older now, that scene has never eluded me. It’s why Christmas still has meaning to me, even though I know how commercial it all really is, even though I don’t indulge in Christmas movie marathons or eat candy canes for breakfast anymore. Although Christmas has lost some of its sparkle, its magic, when I think about that time, I still remember why Christmas is my favorite holiday.

Top of a Tower & Motorcycles

I’m apparently a student at some sort of school. The texture of the buildings and the overall theme of brick seems reminiscent of UCLA, along with the somewhat complicated hallway layout. The time of day is evening, and I’m walking with a friend outside of a building.Nearby, on campus, is some sort of parking structure, with a tall tower extension in the center with what can only be described as an observation platform, similar to what you’d find on a pirate ship.

There’s supposed to be some sort of ceremony (graduation?) going on, and all students are supposed to be witness. Instead, I decide to climb the top of the parking structure and tower. I do so alone, and from the top of the observation platform I have a majestic view of the world around. The scenery resembles orange county, with low rise buildings and a low population density. I can also see the graduation ceremony occurring. The thing is, they can also see me.

When I finally get down, an authority figure hands me a ticket of some sort, which is basically some sort of penalty similar to expulsion. I’m worried about this until I wake up and realize it was a dream. It was a pleasant dream though.

Several days later, when I’m sick, I dream about owning a motorcycle. I’m not sure what the specifics are, but after I woke up I was sad because I no longer owned a motorcycle. Therefore, I’ve declared that one day I shall own one. I’ll drive it safely, however, and avoid Bolsa Ave. at all costs.