I smile at the small joke. Just the corners of my mouth lift with the slightest tug heavenward. I am so damn predictable. What I like, I like. I will like it blindfolded.
I will like it after time. I will like it again, and again. How do I know?
About three weeks ago, I walked into one of my favorite stores on Martha’s Vineyard.
Called Rainy Day, it is divided into some rough categories: home goods, bath and body products, candles, cards, gifts , jewelry and children’s toys. There is a creative person
who moves displays and redesigns the floor space regularly. It never gets old. The freshness is not conveyed just through the products, but in how they are displayed. I know where to look for special finds or good prices which is always an incentive to buy. That Saturday was, indeed, a Rainy Day. When I went in the store, I heard a woman’s voice, accompanied by music, that was lyrical and beautiful. I had not heard her voice before. I moved around tables, finding myself
inadvertently trying to align myself with the speakers in the ceiling. When the song was over, I asked the owner of the store if she was playing a cd. If so, who was performing? She said it was Coffeehouse Radio. and she’d check who the last performer was. My iPhone page for Notes was open and I was prepared to scribe when she uttered Rosi Golan, “Come Around.” I thanked her. Life intervened and I completely forgot about the incident.
Fast forward to today, I heard a song I had not heard before -- Been a Long Day. I opened iTunes and found, flat palm striking forehead, that it was performed by.....Rosi Golan. I like what I like. Both songs are now safely stored in my music library.
In my recent state of denervation, I have tried to use the time to read, reflect, and listen to music. Some of my favorite diversions (needlepoint, word games and photoshop) are not engaging the way they usually do to calm and distract me from my annoying complaints. However....that being said, I am surely treasuring the chance to move through iTunes, sampling artists, listening to one minute snippets of their work, and expanding on my knowledge of singers/songwriters and the paths they have taken. I am unusually emotional. The piercing sweetness of a single note makes my eyes well-up. A guitar solo can evoke sorrow. A piano suite can transport me to a different time in my life. So music serves as medicine and also reminds me that, all too reliably, I know what I like.