"My Favorites" Channel

       As you know, I have never been very good with gadgets.  I've never figured out how to use half the features on my cell phone.  I always need to have help in even setting the time on my digital watch: and so I’m now embarked upon another exercise in futility I am sure.  But I am doing my best to program my new XM radio satellite receiver - which you gave me for Christmas - trying to figure out how I can program one unique "my favorites" channel.  I realize that I am asking the impossible of my new toy, but I want to program a station that would only play the most special and magical of songs.
      It would only play for instance; John Mellencamp on Mondays - mixed with a smattering of Los Lonely Boys  -  so I could recall  the countless times we sang along together; and my mind would wander back to that Saturday night in Freedom Hall; jamming with them Indiana boys and dancing in place with you until my knee throbbed. 
       It would be programmed to not play any worn out Billy Joel piano songs, but would regularly render "Just the Way You Are" our adopted song, and I could think to myself how you liked the melody line, while for me it was all about the lyrics, wishing they could have come to pass for us both.
      Every evening at happy hour, it would play Fleetwood Mac, "Rumors" and our minds eye would transport us away on a "big ole jet air liner" to Cancun, where I would fantasize of a certain Skinny Minnie gringo all wide- eyed and wonderful, snorkeling the Isla de Mujers  -  her bubble- butt bikini pointing the way to heaven.  Tequila-giddily asking a Chihuahua’s owner in which language his dog barks. 
      In the cool of the afternoon we would float off in dream sequence to the relaxing underground river of sound and we would rewind that magic duet in Musica Romantica - and we could re-experience the power of the emotion shared by two exotic songbirds.  And marvel about  how a canto we couldn't comprehend would haunt us long after the time we would inevitably forget the tune.
      In the autumn, we would take a drive together - sun roof open - up to Big South Fork; and the tuner would know to only feature Keith Urban and Tim McGraw radio hits; and you would be all luminosity and giggles in blowing hair.  And the feelings you have for the music could be a catharsis for what you are so seldom able to feel with me -  but it would help you forget about your deprivations - and you would allow a small glimmer of the glow to flow toward me.
       Then again on Fridays it would play "O Brother Where Art Thou" and we would re-live the great depression together; ignorantly blissful and barefoot among the Mississippi pines.   John Prine would escort us down back roads in automobiles and pants to our knees, and Leonard Cohen could drone endlessly into the wee hours of the morning and we could re-visit honeymoon sentiments.
       Of course, it would be the All Al Green Channel on Saturday nights. You would be teasing me and flirting with me, when suddenly it would jump up and play us some Van Morrison, and we would hop in the car and drive the horny mile and a half to Friends Lounge, dancing unrestricted together until we were lathered in a summer sweat.  I’d perfectly hit the high harmony on "Brown Eyed Girl" - sticking my "sha na na" into your ear at just the right moment.  And then, I’d be doing my best Johnny Cougar strut and I would once again excite your body and you would want to touch me underneath the table in the  darkened corner.
       On holidays it would always remember to serve up  -with a side order of fireworks - Tchaikovsky’s "Overturn of 1812";  complete with deafening cannon fire and simultaneous orgasm.  I would be lying back on the blanket, along the banks of the Mississippi River  - with you carefree at my side.  And if I didn’t drink too much, and if I listened patiently enough, we would get to hear James Hyter sing six choruses of "Ole Man River" and then - as the tears would begin to well up inside my bosom - the magical evening would downshift into "You’ll Never Walk Alone" and I could then foolishly carry on  - mistakenly believing the world to be right again - and so to fall asleep sans struggle.