A musical interlude
We interrupt this (your) life for a musical interlude. Regular programming will resume all too soon.
This evening: Leslie Feist. From Nova Scotia, in surfeit. A rolling stone, who manages to scrunch up the moss along the way. Ignore the iPod song, temporarily, because there is so much more. Art, photography (yes, art too), music, dance. The whole apple pie (ignore the iPod influence). I like what she does, even if I can’t find direction. My bad.
I’m going to file her on the shelf with Björk Guðmundsdóttir. Another single name. Another side to the crystal otherwise called genius. Treasure them, for we know not when they may return to an alternate dimension. So not Rihanna, or Beyonce, or any number of other single name moments. I will also refuse to leave the complete discography as background sound.
Remember, a musical interlude. Taste in small amounts. Savour. So much music is meant to be forgotten immediately. Not theirs.
And with that, back to the start of another week. In liturgy, another year; another season. Advantageous Advent. I don’t have a chocolate-filled wall calendar, or a wreath with four attempts to burn the house down. Just a recognition that I’m getting older and the years are getting shorter. Mathematically, each year reflects a smaller percentage of my total life experience. No do-overs promised, or wanted.
Saved someone from their personal filing system today: subfolders within subfolders, down to the seventh circle. When their work suddenly disappeared, I knew exactly why, and I knew exactly how to fix the problem. I’ll pat my own shoulder, because the use had no idea about what had just transpired.
