Just Another Manic Sunday

I have decided to take Wicked Thistle's lead and pay greater respect to Sundays.

When I was single and lived in town and my commute was exactly five minutes long and the world didn't know from iPods, I would reserve a couple hours each Sunday morning to listening to music. Nothing that was already featured on the AM or FM dials, but music I knew little to nothing about. Like Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. Mahalia Jackson's early recordings, when gospel was just a voice and a single church organ.

I still had a turn table then, too, and many of my parent's old records, so I rediscovered some of the lost souls of American folk music, like the Brothers Four, New Christy Minstrels, and Nancy Ames. I rediscovered my love for Johnny Cash. And for Herb Alpert, the Ventures, and Trini Lopez.

So I think I'm going to devote part of my Sundays to music again. Turn off the television for a couple hours and put the CD player on "random" and see what turns up. Cruise iTunes and sample stuff while I contemplate the view out my office window. Who knows, I may even follow another one of Wicked Thistle's leads and learn to appreciate gangsta rap. I kinda doubt it, but for one second there, I was more optimistic than usual.

Yup, I'm definitely going to do that. Starting, uh, next week. Because right now, I've got a list a mile long that I have to get to today. But next week. Most definitely.