We picked up a few vinyl records at the secondhand shop.
This is Queen.
Memories were revived and much discussion about the evolution of music ensued. Our children think we are ancient.
For us, though, it was not so long ago we were singing these songs, and it brings us back.
I love music.
I cannot play it, but I love to listen to it. So I consider myself lucky that my husband plays it very well.
When he gets up early, he takes out his guitar, and I get to wake up to the sound of music in our house. In the afternoon while we get ready to go out, he plays and I get to listen while I move about. In the evening, before the quiet of bedtime, he plays.
He never tires of playing, and I never tire of listening.
It is a moment I will not soon forget.
My favourite song, sung by my husband, played on keyboard by my son, and danced by my daughter: Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah.
It was an unplanned gift.
The wind makes music.
I love the song made by the gentle movement of my wind chimes. It is a soothing lullaby, a peaceful melody.
When the breeze is soft, their sound is like a whisper. Yet, even when the wind blows strong, it is still a mellow music.
Through my open window, they lull me to sleep.
There is so much to see while driving: the road a crevice in the landscape of trees, the expanse of blue sky above, snaking rivers below.
I enjoy the ride as much as the arrival.
Music and conversation fill the car. Scenes slip by on either side of the road.
The moment I loved the best on this ride was the music coming from the back seat: Our children singing a duet from “Teen Beach Movie”. My husband and I sat grinning in the front seat while they sang song after song, word for word.
This is the moment I will remember.
There is music in this house.
My husband plays guitar. And I listen.
I listen with my ears. But I also listen with my mind and my heart and my whole self.
I cannot play, but I can appreciate.