Good morning. This is Your Morning Briefing, February, 3, 2012.
Suzanne sits at the opposite end of the butcher block table, Brandy on her lap. The golden light from the lone candle seemed dimmer compared to the aura that surrounds her. The pin points of candlelight shone back at me from emerald green eyes, and I am once again captivated as if under a spell she seems able to cast at will.
“Bobby,” she says softly, “do you think we are going to fast in the work we have to do?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, “there is a lot to think about, and so far it is a lot to digest.” She had told me it wasn’t going to be easy, but I’m finding it more difficult than I thought.
“Okay, let’s take a step back,” as smiling she said, “we’ll just try and approach it from a different way. Let me make this observation, and we’ll go from there. Today, you listened to a lot of music, as you do every day, and today you were listening to songs without words.”
She was absolutely right. There are times when I like to listen to songs with words, and other times when songs without words are enough. The one constant in my life has been music ever since I was young. My brother and sisters and I have been surrounded by music all of our lives, even though our parents never played musical instruments. It was like they knew the value of it and wanted us to appreciate that value. Music, my whole life, I’ve found, nourishes my heart and soul.
“That would be jazz I was listening to today. My taste in music is eclectic, but my first love is jazz and has been so since my teens.” I replied.
“I know that Bobby, but I want you to tell me why.” (How does she know that?)
“I’m not sure,” I said, “I only know that it resonates somewhere inside me, and I speaks to me in a way that is almost magical, not unlike when you do. There are times I feel I can see the notes they’re playing floating on air just as there are times I feel I can see the words you say the same way.” I also was quick to tell her that was without the aid of herbal cigarettes…though, at one time….maybe…
“You are such an imp, “she said,” I know all of that, I just wanted you to hear you say it to someone. It’s what you will need to do as you get closer to the dance.”
Again, back to the dance, always with the dance.
I asked her what songs without words, like jazz have to do with where we’re going. She looked at me with that look she gets when she seems to think she’s dealing with a late-bloomer like me, and said, “Jazz can mean many different things to many different people, just like words can mean many things to many different people. As jazz artists play with notes, chords, harmony and tempo, you can learn to play with words. I know you have enjoyed reading the work of those who do.”
“So give me a for instance,” I said.
Now, she had an impish look about her, and said, “Do you know what a fuzzlewump is, and how it can infuselate your braineatrics? You must always be wary of fuzzlewumps.” I had to admit, I had no idea what she had just said, but I told her, “There is a certain charming amboozelama to what you just said.”
She laughed, and said, “There is hope for you. I think you will turn out to be one of my best assignments ever.” All I could think of was champagne and strawberries.
God, I hope she never leaves. I think Brandy or Bailey hope not either. They seem to like her as much as I do.
Take care, be well and keep in touch.
And, in case you have forgotten. Please feel free go about your day. Smell the roses, have a laugh, kiss a cheek, give someone a hug and tell them you
love them. And watch out for fuzzlewumps.