Looked at in a certain way, everything I do is an excuse to hear music. Sleeping – I turn on the Tibetan bowls to send me off to dreamland. Grocery shopping – Motown, as I cruise the aisles. Driving anywhere – the radio (often the oldies channel). Cleaning the house or the garage – maintaining my energy and focus (Muddy Waters, Earth Wind and Fire, Rockabilly). At the gym, I’ve got a workout mix (Prince, Howlin’ Wolf, Mitch Ryder). At each holiday, major, minor, and made up on the spot, I’m celebrating with Sousa. Or, Santana. Romantic dinners deserve something special. Each morning, I wake with a song in my head.
This blog is the best excuse, yet.
Sometimes, I say something about the tunes or about the composer or the performer, but whatever happens, the main thing is to single out a piece of music and have the opportunity to focus on just that one. In the process of getting things right, I hear it three or four times and get to look at a bunch of pictures that might go with it. That’s a wonderful thing. I’m trying to do that in everything I do. That is, I try to arrange things so that I am doing something that has meaning to me. Why push a shovel, when I can swing a broom? Why worry about my hair, when I can look into my heart. Why just do anything, when I can try to do something?
I can’t help it. It’s like a heat wave! Burning in my heart! The drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain!