Gotta Run...

So, I have never been the type to listen to classical music. I've heard all the "Latest info" on how listening to classical makes you smart, grow a sixth sense and sends your kids to an Ivy League school later on down the road. What I always thought was: unless I'm sitting at a live orchestral presentation or show: it's just music without lyrics... BOR-ING!

Well, I clicked on my many classical music pieces stored in my iTunes. What I found out was that I really enjoyed it, and it's often cheap to buy on iTunes. The mix of classical music to Ocean sounds, however is very enjoyable. The best times of my life have been spent in ocean-side communities called Prince Rupert, Comox and Victoria. These times have been a mix of emotions, but the thing that strings them all together? Although there are times of sorrow, loneliness and even fear, I look back at my time there as joyful and worthwhile.

A new age friend of mine told me that since my star sign is Leo, a fire sign, living near water naturally balances me. The jury is still out on whether I believe in astrology, or any other new or old-age philosophies, but it rang true. The ocean does balance me out. It keeps me sane and reminds me of something I believe with all my heart.

It visually demonstrates that I am a small part of this earth, something I tend to forget when I am up in the north or in the middle of BC. I need to be reminded that I am small, sometimes on a daily basis to truly understand that. Sure- I could be great, but is it comparable to the greatness of God? Or if you lean this way, the gods? What about the ocean gives me this understanding that the forest does not? I've felt small in the forest, but it's not the same. I feel small physically because of the trees, and terrified at the animals who go bump in the night. But, it doesn't remind me of God, it reminds me instead of this life force that keeps beating back human advances, not God.

Sure Global warming is around and Humans are ruining nature... but if anything, it's just trying to kill us off. Because the earth and nature survived that period of danger and atmospheric distress around the time of the Dinos. So, when we're gone-it'll regenerate and start the long-winded evolutionary process all over again... I think.

But, recovering from that aside... the ocean is like a promise when I look at it. A promise that something large is out there, tempting me forward. Like a seaman or a Fisherman, the ocean tempts and seduces me in a way nothing else ever has-or will.

So while I bask in the sounds of the ocean, rivers and Mozart's Piano Sonata in F, K.332, 2nd movement... Just remember, if you listen to music with the sound of the Ocean for too long- you'll have to run to the bathroom a little more often than usual...



How to read a book

Something has to be done.

I've read a lot of books and collected considerably more. The thing is, I don't keep them in pristine condition, I don't even treat them well.

I watch some people who read books like they're trying to keep them in mint condition like they'll be worth more someday... they won't. A used book is a used book unless it was in a limited print or in a certain age category. Besides, a book is only worth as much as someone felt when they read the book.

I will tell you what I mean.

My edition of the Memoirs of Cleopatra by Margaret Lawrence is in absolute tatters. The binding fell completely apart because I lugged that thing to and from Timbuktu. It's literally being held together with an elastic wrapped around the entire text, a chunk of the cover cut out where the library bar-code used to be, the title page has 'discard' stamped across it in garish red: and I wouldn't have it any other way. My Dead until Dark by Charlaine Harris has A Grande Non-fat Salted Caramel Mocha spilled all over the cover and side pages because I put a half-full to-go mug in the same bag. Voyager by Dianna Gabaldon? Well, that was a Decaf Single Venti Cinnamon Dulce Cappuccinno. You get the point that way... but let me be super clear. I don't just spill stuff on them, I wear them thin. They get notes scribbled on them and accidentally dumped into bathtubs, re-dried by hand with a hair dryer and then used to prop up the restaurant table on a date with my husband. After all, if you were a writer how would you want your books to look like when someone was done with them?

Here's what my stained and dog-eared books say: I enjoyed your book so much that I couldn't live without it for a single moment of my day, just in case I was stuck waiting in someone's office, my kid fell to sleep or I found myself randomly bored out of my skull. I loved it so much It stayed with me through my morning coffee, my afternoon melt down and when I ran into that old friend at the store and needed paper for her new number.

Those who keep their books supremely clean don't love their books, they cage them. If you truly love your book- it should go everywhere with you.

What's that funky smell? Oh, nothing- just my copy of Anne Rice's Interview with a Vampire.