Slow-Cooked Sentences

What happens in the backseat …

Rachael Conlin Levy

Editor’s note: The Slow-Cooked Sentence is devoting itself to song this week as part of its Joy+Ride, a month-long quest that involves planting, polishing and singing.

… stays there. Photo courtesy of Larsz.

So today’s my anniversary and I forgot.

“I’m happy,” my husband said as he reminded me. “I’m happy with you. The kids. The house.”

“I think Ivan’s in the toilet,” I replied.

As he pulled out the toddler, I raised my glass in a silent, solo toast to fourteen years, four kids, but not one of them conceived in a backseat. I shrug. Sex, schmex, and then hum a little of that song from “Fiddler on the Roof.”

(Tevye) …
Do you love me?

(Golde)
I’m your wife.

(Tevye)
“I know…”
But do you love me?

(Golde)
Do I love him?
For twenty-five years I’ve lived with him
Fought with him, starved with him
Twenty-five years my bed is his
If that’s not love, what is?

(Tevye)
Then you love me?

(Golde)
I suppose I do.

(Tevye)
And I suppose I love you too.

Want to know where some great backseat action is taking place? Check out Black Cab Sessions Chapter 60 featuring Calexico. I’m digging the song “Not even Stevie Nicks,” particularly this line:

With a head like a vulture and heart full of hornets, he drives off the cliff into the blue.

Ain’t it a beaut of a sentence? And there’s enough in that song for me to pull my husband into the backseat for our own little session.

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3 responses to “What happens in the backseat …”

  1. mamapease says:

    happy anniversary! Maybe forgetting things is in the air this week?

  2. Kyna says:

    Woo-eee! Happy belated anniversary R&M;.

  3. Linda says:

    Happy Anniversary to both of you! I’ll watch the kids if you want to fool around in the backseat of your car. Just let me know when.
    Love, Mom

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