Transformation can happen when a few key elements come into play at the right time and in the right setting. Walking on a windy day, the threat of rain ( even a few drops make it better), rays of sun pushing their way earthward between moving clouds, AND...just the right music. Before you know it I'm transformed into an ageless sprite freed from reality, restrictions and despair, where possibilities abound and my body beats with the rhythm of music and nature, where unadulterated joy rushes along my nerves and suddenly, in the middle of the street, I've been known to dance. I've been known to reach my arms skyward, palms up, back arched, and twiiiiiiirl. A slow, all encompassing twirl, drinking in the elements. I've also been known to strut with a cocky sort of attitude, if the music has a strong beat and attitude.
An ode could be dedicated to the wind, or the sun rays or the moving clouds, but it's the "right" music that I'm thinking of now. A swelling of violins, or a syncopated piano rising from bass to a sentimental treble cleft.
Example - swelling starts -If could fall into the sky, do you think time would pass me by...
cause I'd walk a million miles...violins crescendo - if I could just see you.....tonight. violins madly stringing... tada da da da duh.
Or something terribly drippy and sentimental -
Don't dream too far, Don't lose sight of who you are, Don't remember that rush of joy,
He could be that boy....I'm not that girl.
Or, something with drawn out vowels
Pretty lady on my mind got me gone (gauhn) again
Or, an unusual male voice
John Mayer, Ben Harper....
Or, a strong beat with personality
(STRONG DOWN BEAT/ REST) Come on over, Come on over baby
The next thing you know - I start strutting and life is goooood.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Today I swerved to avoid hitting a rat in the street. It was sitting on it's hind haunches and eating smashed leftovers and I slowed, recognized it was a rat, and swerved. Here in Northern California, as in other areas, rats are disgusting, carriers of disease, and I swerved. What has happened to the little girl who used to put a stone on the body of a daddy long legs and proceed to pick off, one by one, the spiders legs, or the girl that used to burn to toast any handy bug that I could put under my magnifying glass? Do you know that I now go out of my way to carefully trap bugs in my house so I can release them in the backyard? President Spencer Kimball told of a song called, "Don't kill the little birdies," that changed how he forever saw any living species. We once had a mole in our front yard that was destroying the many dollars worth of landscaping that we had invested in. We tried everything, and finally Roy plugged up all the holes but one, then flooded the routes out, all the while waiting with a shovel to crack his skull. He finished the job, came in the house, took a shower and came out still shivering. It was a horrible experience that he even teared up over. And.....I'm glad he did. Cliched as it is, life becomes precious the older you get, and in animal years I'm ancient. I'm glad, I think, that I "brake for rats," although I don't think I'll put that on my bumper sticker.