Tag Archives: Self

If music be the food of love

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“If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.”
 William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

 

The old bard nailed it.  There was a time in life when I could hold a tune, passably well.  Well there was a time in life when I could stand on my head and my waist was 20 inches, but those times are long since gone.  So has love … when I do encounter that creature, I am tempted to get out my ancient dissection set and cut it open – just for the heck of it.

 

No wonder I can’t sing any more.

 

This coming from a woman whose name featured largely on the DU campus radio.  I had songs dedicated to me, yes sirreee!  I had SONGS dedicated to me.  John Denver’s Annie’s Song was dedicated to me by ex.

 

Kind of prophetic, considering his marriage to Annie Martel Denver was rocky and did not last.  The guy saw the future I tell ya.  And John Denver… well, wasn’t he who predicted that he’d be leaving on a jet plane?

 

So music to me meant, until now, listening to old country and classic rock on the drive to work and back home.  That hasn’t lasted.  Junior has a job in the same area as my work place.  That means that he travels with me  …. rather he drives, dumps me at my office, takes the car away and picks me up on the way back.  Yayy for mother and son bonding!  But the generation gap shows.  My choice of music is not his cup of tea, and his choice of music is my cup of poison.

 

Compromise has been achieved.  We listen to this new-fangled stuff called Podcasts.  Bill Mahr and other wonderful guys entertain us and educate us.  Over the month of so we’ve listened to why religion is totally redundant,  and how stupid the Boston bombers were and now the son has graduated to history lessons.   I know more of the history of Anabaptists and Ghenghis Khan than I ever did.  And guess what?  I don’t even have to write an exam on them!

 

But then music, I miss the music …

 

I listen to 9XM and stuff like that when I work out.  It never disappoints.  The beats are so much exercise and pump up the adrenaline kind of stuff.

 

Until now …

 

Now we have Babaji Ki Booti and another one called

 

Raat hai ik whore

Ye maange more

To lut ja slowly slowly

 

I am willing to experiment … ya think stretches can be done to these tunes?

Gratitude for my Blessings

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I normally do an end of the year post, I am a huge fan of gratitude.  I like to count my blessings and drive others who like to see the glass half full nuts.  Its just my thing you know.

Unfortunately, my end-of-the-year was in the Cardiac Care Unit of Asian Hospital, enjoying the hospital’s hospitality – :D

(I love that term. Have to use that in one of my books.)

Since I missed the chance to dance, party, count my achievements and rain on other’s parade – not that they aren’t doing well -, but they don’t see life just the same way … I’ll spare them.

1. All I will say is HILAWI is a best seller!

2. I have a brand new car! Squeeeeeeeee!

Thank you Godji for everything.

Now that I have done showing off, let me get serious.

A question that has always plagued me … why is it so hard to be happy?  Infants find it so easy.  Burp and laugh.  Poop and kick your podgy feet up in the air, just for the relief of it all and laugh.  See Mom and wave all limbs in the air for the sheer joy of seeing her!

Why do we lose it as we grow older?

One of the first lessons one learns is to hide your joy and achievements, dig a hole so deep and bury them.  Nazar lag jayegi.  The second one we learn is  - you’ll put people off if you talk about your achievements.  It’s showing off.

Is it?

Or is it just a way to thank the heavens for the blessings bestowed on you and taking joy in them?

I believe very strongly in the latter.  I would rather hide my pain and tears than show them.  I would dig a hole so deep in the ground and bury them so that they don’t affect me ever.  If that makes me a Polyanna so be it!  Tears make me headachy and I look a sight when I cry.  I’d rather not inflict that on me and the people around me.

It is my job to keep me happy, no one else’s.  It is my responsibility to keep me positive.  If I don’t do it, no one else will do it for me.

Being miserable, grumbling or harping over something that went wrong is such a downer.

So will put on my dancing shoes, sip my Diet Pepsi (since booze is off the menu for now) smoke an E Cigarette (no smoking either) and dance.

Thank you Godji for giving me life and the zest to enjoy it

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