Yesterday was supposed to be a day of leisure for me. I mean, what’s better than taking off a Monday, sleeping late, watching The View while eating a big old bowl of cereal? Yesterday was supposed to be my day. Just kicking around the house, luxuriating in laziness.

So, imagine how I felt being awakened at seven in the morning by my doorbell. Following the shrillness of the bell were the hard, rapid knocks of someone’s fist on my front door. Is there anything more disconcerting than someone pounding on your front door at seven in the morning? I mean, whatever they want from you, it can’t be good. And in this particular case, it wasn’t.

I pulled on some jeans and my old North Carolina basketball tee with the hole in the armpit, lumbered downstairs and with sleep squinted eyes, opened the door. Standing in the parking lot in front of my house was my neighbor, a nice old lady from Luxemburg. She stood between her car and mine, and I would like to say that what she told me next didn’t sound so harsh as it was said with a slightly German accent. However, the accent did not at all mute the shock of what she told me. “Your car has been broken into.” Now, I am sure there are worse phrases out there: “You’re fired.”…”Mother has cancer”…”I’m pregnant.”… and my personal favorite, “I don’t love you anymore.” Still, “Your car has been broken into” has a nice, stingy ring of it’s own, don’t you think?

Sidling up to the passenger side of my trusty Honda, I found a big, gaping hole in my passenger side window. Shards of glass were sprinkled over the black asphalt and in an instant, my heart sank.

My car has been broken into before. Twice actually. My car is ten years old but my passenger side windows are ten years, five years, three years and a day old respectively. I loved them all. The first two times I was living in a different area. This is the first time this has happened at my current home. You gotta love the big city. People like to say Nashville is small, and maybe they are right since the criminals seem to love my vehicle. The first two times, the thieves bashed the window but came away with nothing as I was sure to empty out my car every evening, making sure especially to grab my cd case. There have been nights when I have awoken with a shock, realizing that I left my beloved cd case on the floor of the car. In the cold, December air I would scramble out to my car at 2 in the morning, dressed in nothing but pajama bottoms and a tee shirt just to grab that cd case — My Holy Grail of music.

What did the bastards take this time? They ripped my stereo out of the dash. Grabbed every loose item they could find. AND, they got my cd case. I had carelessly left it on the floor of my car and just my luck, they got it. They got one of my neighbors as well. He drove by as I was giving my report to the cop. My neighbor yelled out of his jeep, “They got me too!” Then with a smile mixed with an empathetic wince, he said, “Shit happens!” Yeah, shit happens. I mean, think about it. Is “Your car has been broken into.” worse than “You’re fired” or “I don’t love you anymore” or, god forbid, “Mother has cancer”? Probably not. Not unless you loathe your job, lover and mother. And I don’t. So, yes, having my car broken into sucks. I feel violated. My love of human beings as been doused a little, but I am sure it will be back. Insurance is fixing my dash, replacing my stereo and given me another passenger side window (#4). Still, the Holy Grail is gone. That is what hurts the most.

I had 100 cds in that thing. It wasn’t just music to me. There were memories there. The Leonard Cohen cd my friend gave me on my thirtieth birthday. I didn’t like it at first, then I fell in love with it. Gone. Bob Dylan Highway 61 Revisited. One of the greatest albums I’ve ever heard. Gone. Madeleine Peyroux Careless Love and Dreamland. Gone. Those thieves couldn’t have known that hers was the voice I wanted to marry. Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On? In my opinion, one of a few “perfect” albums. Gone. Aesop Rock’s Labor Days — the album that I listened to repeatedly on the airplane flight from Nashville to San Diego only two months after September 11th 2001. The album that calmed me, made me feel like everything was going to be cool. Gone. Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, Van Morrison, Elton John, Sam Cooke, Otis Redding. Dammit! Just thinking about it now pisses me off. And I haven’t even gotten to the jazz cds yet. Coltrane Newport ‘63. That incendiary version of “My Favorite Things”. Gone! Charlie Parker with Strings. The cd that got me through many a lonely night. That beautiful horn. Gone!! 100 memories gone just like that. My insurance company is giving me money for the stolen cds and that should placate me. Still, if you gave a man a car and let him drive it for ten years then took the car away and gave him a brand new one, same model and make, would it be the same? There were memories in those ten years. When my grandmother died, I didn’t cry. She had been dying of cancer and I knew her days were short. Maybe I prepared myself for it. I don’t know. Do you know when I cried? One night as I sat in my bedroom and listened to music, Ray Charles came on singing “That lucky old sun aint got nothing to do but roll around heaven all day.” Right then and there the floodgates opened. I shook and wept until there were no more tears to give. That song was always beautiful, but that night it took on a whole new meaning. Now, that cd is gone. And yes, I can replace it, but still, when those thieves took my music, they took a part of me with it.

Weird though, one cd was left untouched. As the thieves plundered my vehicle, they must have knocked this particular cd inbetween the seats, and in their haste, did not retrieve it. Which cd was it? Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks. My favorite cd of all time was spared from the ignorant hands of the wicked. Redemption. Bittersweet perhaps. But redemption just the same. Little by little I will rebuild my Grail. And you can bet this time that I will guard it with my life.