Tunes

Sunday I slept in.

I didn't mean to or want to, but I slept in far past my alarm or any hope of making it to church.  I felt silly but I also knew nothing could be done about it, so I rolled over, finished the last 10 pages of The Narrative of Frederick Douglass and quietly slipped out of bed.  B. can sleep in like it's an Olympic sport, but I have too restless a spirit.  Church was nearly over; I saw no sense in waking her up simply because I needed to stretch my legs.

I got up, tidied, and did some left over dishes.  Then I pulled down a box of what have become a traditional Sunday staple for us: Lehi Roller Mills Blueberry Muffins.  They're delicious, and we get a kick out of the logo on the box: the Mill in Lehi, UT where Kevin Bacon gymnastically punch-danced out his rage in the 1984 classic Footloose.

I baked the muffins, poured fresh-cut strawberries and blueberries into a bowl, placed said bowl and muffins on a plate and brought them in to my sweet B.  Her head rolled over on her pillow.  She smiled blearily, snatched a muffin and swallowed the whole thing in two bites.  There are few better ways to wake up than to a plate of fresh fruit and fresher muffins.

I tell you this not just to prove that I am getting the hang of this husband thing, but also because breakfast is not the point of this story.  While muffins baked, I did more than dishes to pass the time.  I put in a new CD that my wife spoiled me with the night previously.  Yes, a CD!  I'm old fashioned and I like the cover art, sue me.  The first track faded in, and the rest of my morning was bliss.

I'm no Kevin Bacon.

Certainly less angry (and agile) but just as enthused, I rocked out to my tunes as muffins baked.  I ambled around, pumping my fist and dancing like a fool in the empty living room, fingers slapping clumsily against the low ceiling as the song swelled around me.  No punch-dancing for me, thanks.

B. tolerates this group.  I love them.  I've loved their music since high school.  I would plug into my headphones and just chill for hours.  In my painting classes, theirs is always the music that focuses my creativity.  When they come on during my runs, I reach a higher mental plane, I am more than I usually am.  I'm centered, stoic, infallible.  I can listen to the lyrics of a ballad and wonder and puzzle over their ambiguities.  Or I can tune out the words and just let the notes wash over me like waves of ambient sound.  And when their faster songs play, I dance like a fool.  I find my true, undisturbed self when I listen to their music.

I think everyone has a group like that.  Everyone has a favorite band, favorite song, ballad, symphony, drum riff, guitar solo, something that makes your goosebumps get goosebumps; a musical moment that rocks you to your core and strikes a chord deep within you that you may not have known was there.  I've found mine.  And now, thanks to my loving B., I have another album to paint, run, and live to.

Thank you sweetie for putting up with my tunes.
What are yours? 


S