Emotional Rescue

I expect these to be two of the most difficult weeks in a long time. My sister and her four children are leaving for Texas, and I have no idea when I will see them again. These kids are so dear to me, and I moved here, in part, to be near them. Then, less than one week after they leave, I have to take Oldest Daughter to college. Too many good-byes for one person in so short a time. Where is Mick Jagger and my Emotional Rescue? Mick? Mick!

But a funny thing happened. Yesterday, I got a CD in the mail from an old friend. It was a compliation of ABBA's top hits. If you read this blog regularly, you may remember that ABBA is a plot point in Freudian Slip. ABBA acts like a "cone of silence." If their music is playing, God cannot hear the conversation in the room because the harmonies are just too darn distracting. Hence angels and demons hang out in a bar where only ABBA is on the jukebox. This way they can talk in private.

My friend sent me the CD because we used to listen to ABBA in high school--not because I liked ABBA, mind you--but she was fluent in a couple of languages and had all their ALBUMS (pre-CDs . . . the old vinyl things!) from her summers spent in Europe. Of course, after college, I had a number of gay male friends, and discovered there was a whole subculture of gayness enjoying the wonder of ABBA and drag, and so, for whatever reason, I smile when I hear them--memories of gay clubs with my friends, memories of my high school years, and infectious pop.

So yesterday, my kids and I all danced to ABBA. Demon Baby, in particular, seemed to like "Take a Chance on Me." I danced on the table. I believe Demon Baby mooned me at one point (he is a Demon, after all, and not even ABBA can tame him). We had our own club in the living room.

And when the album was over, I felt joy. Not just a little happy. I felt bubbling-up pure happiness.

AND then, I brought it back to the writing. You see, I got six fan emails this week, all from people expressing gratitude for one book or another. And I thought . . . you know, what a GIFT. What a glorious, wonderful gift. Because writers, like songwriters, like bands and musicians, like artists, like filmmakers, have the ability to take people outside themselves for a little bit. We offer some Emotional Rescue of our own.

So, I don't know where Mick is with my Emotional Rescue and his "fine arab charger." I'm not expecting a savior:

Don't you know promises were never made to keep?
Just like the night, dissolve in sleep
Ill be your savior, steadfast and true
Ill come to your emotional rescue
Ill come to your emotional rescue

Instead, I'll take dancing with my kids in all the craziness around here. And I will be grateful today that writers get to create something . . . and that for a little while, it can make someone's day.

Thoughts? And what is YOUR Emotional Rescue?