I’ve just started using my iPod for music instead of audio books, and I am completely hooked. And since I was in a particularly good frame of mind when I made my first purchases, the music is in major keys, relentless in its rhythm, easy to sing. It is also impossible for me to sit still, or not to view my surroundings in relationship to the music. So here are some of the juxtapositions:
“Bibo no Aozora”
I’ve written about this as best I can a few days ago. It’s how I start my walk to the bus stop. A open, contemplative moment, feeling my way, eyes and heart first, to where I need to go, who needs attention and compassion, what needs to get done. And of course, the dreams of where I have been, what I’m grateful for.
I shared the song with someone in the pool who arrived toting an Ann Coulter book, and he softened, talking about his children. Anything is possible.
It’s a formidable challenge – listen to this, try not to dance on the bus. Perhaps if I had some sense of personal dignity it would be easier, but my feet and shoulders will have none of that. They feel free to move around, tap and figure 8 on the downbeat, and shake everything inbetween. It’s possible I will get the award for kookiest potential juror if any court officials bear witness to my battle with self-restraint and Boogie Wonderland.
“I’m Every Woman”
Armed with encouragement from Chaka, I make my way, in time, from the bus to the stone steps of the King County Administration Building. I manage a pivot ball-change in the entry, without missing a beat. Maybe I’m not everywoman, but it feels like it could be a good thing to be.
“It’s Raining Men”
I enter the dark elevator in the King County Admin building, filled with 50+ men in Eddie Bauer shirts, implicitly saying “Yer starin’ at my gut, aren’t you?” And that’s when the thunder starts, and Martha Wash tells me the humidity is rising, and the barometer is getting low. God help me, yes, I need to get into the street – it’s clearly the place to go – or at the very least, out of this elevator.
“Try a Little Tenderness”
I’m fifteen minutes from home, on foot. The driver asks me if I need a transfer, and I say no thank you, I’m good.
The way home involves ever darkening pathways – inky at 4:45pm – and a pedestrian overpass. I remember I’m not going home by foot so much as I am going home by boot. Low heeled, high-calfed, genuine naugahyde boot. A boot made for big haired, big piped back-up singers in a R&B band. They’re singing a song that I’m trying to rewrite in my head as “Try a Little Post and Get” in tribute to HTTP, and how to make a young geek happy. The pedestrian overpass becomes a suspended runway, suitable only for strutting over traffic. Wish you were there to join me.
“You Are In My System”
Before Robert Palmer started “performing” with mannequins, he was pretty soulful and understood the beat. In the slick, leafy dark of the walking path home, I comply, moving in sync, snapping, swaying with purpose, grapevining on the wet asphalt. It’s probably not congruous with the studied reserve of the moneyed northwest, but it is entirely consistent with the world inside me. In my system – you bet, and I have no intention of repaving it out… it’s not a bug, it’s a feature.