True

I haven't written a blog in three months. Three. Months. I've had things to write about. I just didn't. I stopped myself. I kept all that stuff locked inside my noggin and now it is lost, crammed, rattling about with all my other ideas, plans and fears that lay the ground for anything I might write. Or not.

Still, something got me pondering as I was driving yesterday (and it was a scrumptious day) windows down, new fave radio station 103.1 The Wave playing excellent 80's songs one after the other. I was taking the scenic route home, getting as much leaf peeping in as possible when Spandau Ballet "True" https://youtu.be/AR8D2yqgQ1U comes on. 

The line "This is the sound of my soul" hit me.  It never really weighed that much when I first heard it all those lifetimes ago. The song was more about Molly Ringwald and Sixteen Candles to me. That moment in time.  All those pop culture references.  A good baseline for everything 80's. But right then, with the breeze and the leaves and that line "this is the sound of my soul" I wanted to know what the sound of my soul was.

I knew immediately what Todd and Dad would say, they would say the sound of my soul was a fart. Then I wanted to know what my friend's souls sounded like.  Was it the ocean? Their children's laughter? The Main Street Electrical Parade?  Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D Major? Rain?

Then I needed to decide why this even mattered to me and what in the world my soul would sound like and if I even had one. Or wanted one.

Then I walked in my door and I saw my Bunny Boys.  Then I heard them chomping their hay.  And I knew. The sound of a soul, any soul, is what gives you peace. Listening to my guys chew on fresh hay is that sound.

I had a ten pound box of hay delivered today.  All is right with the world.

Half Baked

I talk to the television.  Not like my Dad does, he gets riled up at the news and commercials.  Okay, I would scream profanities at the Arby's ads if I allowed them to play, but DVRs are a wonderful thing.  No, my talking to the television is more along the lines with plot and character development.

I hold my hands up in mock despair when a character does something that has either nothing to do with their beliefs and original story line or there is an action that completely contradicts their core. I end up saying "well that was stupid" a lot.  Or, "why was that even necessary?" 

This talking to myself (or muttering) continued into daily actual for realsies out-of-doors life while I was shopping last week.  I was trying to pick out the best hot dog buns.  I don't buy hot dog buns on the regular.  I splurged and bought some fancy vegan kielbasa (bring it on Jeff) so I needed some buns.  As I stood there, weighing the cons of this brand and reading the ingredients of this other, I heard myself, chittering away.  Then I noticed the bread-man stocking shelves.

Me - "So, lucky you.  You got to hear my one way conversation with my crazy self."

Bread-Man - "You should hear me.  We drive ourselves crazy in order to stop ourselves from going crazy."

*Side note.  With the heat being so overbearing I have been opining about changing the expression of "The Best Thing Since Sliced Bread" to "The Best Thing Since Air-Conditioning" because I mean in the history of things I would think we as a human race could survive with having to slice our own bread.  I'm team Air-Conditioner.  Except for my Bread-Man.  He's the best thing to happen to sliced bread and rationalizations.

I Have An App For That

I have run out of space for more CDs and DVDs/BluRays and in trying to imagine moving things around on my bookshelves, maybe packing away some books, my Mom made a comparison; not buying anymore appliances for her kitchen due to her limited space.  Solution: don't bring anymore CDs and DVDs into my home.

My mother equated movies and music with kitchen appliances.

Before anyone brings up the cloud and Itunes let me stop you right there. I don't play that. I am a child of the 70's and 80's. I have LPs, 45s, cassettes and CDs. I need to see, smell and touch my music as well as listen to it. Pandora is a great little plaything before I get it for realsies. When I was amongst the land of the working I was an assistant manager at Pegasus Music and Video. Music and Video. I basically worked for trade. Of course I was young, living with my parents, time and money was different. Money does of course keep me from amassing the collection I desire now, but isn't that the same for everyone?

What is really stiffing the growth is lack of space. Is this age? The soundtrack of my life is stacking up, up and up. Would I need a mansion to house every song that pinpointed each landmark? Every note, every quiver.

Music can be seen as frivolous and possibly unnecessary to existence. That thinking would be wrong. It is a life source, much like food.

My Mother didn't realize what she said, but I heard this; Music and Film bring joy to life, joy increases sense of purpose which is a main function of being alive.

Solution: I'll be making more space for the appliance of joy. 

 

 

 

 

And Many More

I always loved how on the calendar it goes Pot Day, My Day, Earth Day.  My being born day is sammiched in between two pretty hippie dippie movements.  Of course I don't hold complete stake on one day, neither does any one movement, thing or person.  I have friends born on Christmas Day and a cousin that dared to be born on my Grandma Hollister's birthday.  My uncle Cliff was born on Earth day.  Aforementioned cousin's husband plus the Queen of England and I share a birthday.  Friends have had loved ones die on their birthday.  My Aunt's Mom was born on 9/11 and on and on it goes.


We moan about aging, wrinkles and not looking twenty anymore.  I do it.  I feel age settling into me.  Birthdays are precious commodities.  Having one is the best gift.

How Tube

I've fallen into a YouTube hole today. Tutorials and How To's galore. One after the other. It does not end. How to braid; waterfalls and dutch and lace and holy crap my arms ache watching them all. Medium length and LOBs vs long with extensions for volume. But I found the best hair tutorial ever. 3 Hairstyles for Dirty Hair. Dorkiest derpiest girl ever. Love her till the end of cyber time.

Spoils

Today has to be double blog day because last night I opted to go out to dinner with Siss and then have a Voice marathon instead of write anything. It's all good. No worries. (For those of you pacing the floor over my DVR habits) I'm caught up, ready for the Live shows. Pretty sure Team XTina has it covered. I won't have to worry about having anything spoiled with major spoilers like I did with Star Wars and Adam Driver on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. I waited far too long to see Star Wars in the theatre (rush of the holidays, broke after holiday, want of a companion, Sundance and on and on) and knowing that it is out to rent soon I figured I could enjoy it at home. Then, as I carelessly chose to watch this interview, all of a sudden Stephen asks Adam how it feels when little kids come up to him and say "You killed blah blah blah." I'm not a total jerkface so I won't say it here. Not that Colbert is a total jerkface. But, assuming EVERYONE has seen the film wasn't the smartest move ever. Neither was my choice to watch an Adam Driver interview before I saw the film. So, my jerkface percentage to the sum total of the Star Wars Spoiler Equation is pretty high.

Speaking of spoiled I encountered a child having a full on rolling on the ground kicking his feet screaming so hard until he was coughing tantrum. Not quite sure if this a true definition of spoiled, but it happened because his brother got the mail and he didn't. I was on my way to the mailbox and I see him. No, I hear him first. He is on his knees and wailing while another boy is trying to comfort him. The comfort boy comes running to me and says "The mail man came." I answer in the affirmative and see that another young boy (presumably the brother) is getting the mail and just as I see him close the mailbox little wailing boy jumps up and sprints over to the brother with the mail and tries to tackle him. Of course all wailing boy ends up with is another wailing session, this time only closer to the mailbox.

Suppose, I could have given him my mail before he ran off. It was a ShopKo add and the coupon flyer that I use for under the bunnies' cages. It wasn't what he wanted but it was something.