Smooth Jazz

smooth jazz

One petite woman, bundled up in a white parka with fur trim walks precariously through the frozen suburban street, listening to her headset. Smooth Jazz 88, Minnesota’s finest. Always smooth jazz, always holding out for Miles.

It’s a gustier-than-possible winter morning and the snow drifts are doing that circling dervish dance behind and in front of her. Up in the air with all that white wind, blinding. Deafening if one has the ears for it. She is on her way to the bustop to catch a ride to work, with no ears for it.

Another woman leaves the warmth of her home and makes her way over mounds of hard packed white snow to an icy parked car situated in her home’s driveway. Sifty, outsized boulders unplowed by hubby, yet still, the man cleared enough of a path. She gets in, turns on the car and with it the heat. Automatically, the radio goes on: Smooth jazz.  

The first woman loses her footing by the curb of the second woman’s house. An unexpected slick patch takes her down hard on the oil and ice covered driveway. She tries to identify what hurts, for surely there is a fracture involved with this kind of unidentified pain. Headset still intact, the woman hears less music and more of her own wincing. Blustery wind wins with a competitive edge. Music takes the silver, and the bronze goes to the tickled ivory bones.

The other woman looks over her shoulder, sees nothing but the dervish dance of typical Minnesota snow, and shifts into reverse. Music, like warmth, makes it easier to maneuver through a morning as brutal as this one. Hubby never plows well enough. Lumps and bumps. Good thing there’s snow tires. Seatbelt, lady. Click it or ticket. One more minute until the commercial free hour of Miles in the Morning.

The injured woman is no longer concerned with the scorching pain that seems to have claimed her lower back. She now entertains giddier thoughts, things she’d always wondered about, once in another life. That back wheel, the one that’s going to run over my thigh — is it going to hurt? Is this car black, or is it red? Was it red in the driveway? Ear buds not budging, smooth jazz capping off at the end of this hour… wondering if her head will actually bust open when the oncoming right front tire runs it over, do those things happen? Do brains spill like runny eggs, all that comical stuff, etcetera et al?

Head over her shoulder, the driver feels the bump, the secondary bumps and the accompanying mini-bumps. Need more salt for this, she thinks. More salt. A quick hawk eye to watch for pedestrians should anyone be out on this way too miserably chilly morning — a clear vista indeed. Hopefully the commute will be as smooth as brass.

Coming soon, we have a treat for you right here on 88, Minnesota’s finest all Jazz station…Miles in the Morning. From the Love Songs collection, here’s “I Fall in Love Too Easily.” Miles Davis on this chilly Monday morning, ladies and gentlemen.

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