The Kindness of Strangers

When the bus pulled into the station in Edinburgh, I thought it was an easy matter to find the local youth hostel. The guide book made it seem very straightforward. Trouble was, I exited the station from the back and so when I turned 'right', as it directed, I was actually turning the wrong 'right'. I strode off in the completely wrong direction.

Um...where am I?

Dusk descended as I schlepped down the street, never seeming to reach my destination. It grew full dark. I became very aware of being twenty-one, female and on my own.

Worse, suddenly the sidewalk seemed full of strange people.  They were dressed in outlandish outfits, buzzing in knits of threes and fours.

I came upon an old theatre showing The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Oh. So that explained the oddness in the air. But where the heck was I?

I approached a woman. Or perhaps she approached me, drawn by my perplexed and agitated air. I had a huge back pack on my back with a Canada flag on it. I didn't quite fit with the Rocky Horror Crowd.

In spite of my I-know-what-the-hell-I-am-doing traveler's bravado, I imagine I looked a little lost.

I asked her about the youth hostel address, which I couldn't seemed to find, though I had followed the directions in the guide book faithfully. She pointed out my error: I had exited the bus station out the back. In fact, it turned out I had walked a very long way in the opposite direction. She said it was better that I take the bus. Unfortunately, I didn't have the requisite coins.  She leant me the fare, counting it out for me into the palm of my hand, the coins shiny in the streetlight.

I remember that quite clearly, twenty years on: those shiny coins.

I got on the bus. I  think she even spoke with the driver: make sure this girl gets where she needs to go. Or maybe I told him my plight. In any case, he made sure I got off at the right stop.

I entered the Edinburgh youth hostel, relieved.

Months later, I landed at Cairo International Airport. It was early morning. Dawn had just broke.

I was at Tahrir Square in the early 90's

Guided by my Lonely Planet book, I left the airport via city bus. To start, I was the only person on board. But it quickly filled up as we navigated Cairo. It became morning rush hour, actually. People dressed for work in neatly pressed shirts, skirts and pants were crowding on.

I knew I needed to get off at Tahrir Square--but I couldn't even see out the windows. A man in a button down shirt (I remember the shirt most distinctly) noticed my neck-craning and asked where I was going. A short while later, he tapped my shoulder and indicated: this is your stop. Thinking oh-what-the-hell, I took the plunge.  I pressed my way through the crush and landed on the pavement, knowing I could be landing anywhere. Looking around, I orientated myself. This was, indeed, Tahrir Square. He'd spoken true.

I'd made it.

Sometimes I wonder at the path not taken. Without the kindness of strangers, what might have been? I'd gone back-packing looking for adventure, not danger.  I hit four continents all on my own and nothing untoward happened to me. I considered myself street smart; savvy. But it's clear I also had guardians-in-disguise along the way.

They had no obligation to assist me but they did. They redirected me to safety, for which I am eternally grateful. And I recall their acts of kindness, decades on.

I hope I've engendered moments like that. I hope there is someone, somewhere to whom I have done a nonchalant kindness, thinking nothing of it, but years later they recall it. I've no idea of the magnitude of my small act, the ripples it caused, but somehow, someway, it meant something.

The 5 Best Holiday Songs

Tis the season, and thanks to Songza I've got enough Christmas music to last me until Christmas 2020.

These are the best, IMHO. (Click on the links to the hear the songs).

Last Christmas by Wham

This video clip is about 1/3 full of hair.

Certainly, this a charming reminder of my tween/teen years, when my my basic understanding of 'romantic relationships' came from movies, tv, romance novels...and song lyrics.

This year I'll give it someone special. What a hopeful aspiration!

The video is fun to watch twenty years on--and cringe over...oh my god, the big 80's hair! That paisley shirt! I swear I had a brooch like that (not real diamonds, of course).

Once, this was all cutting edge fashion. Sigh. *nostalgia*


Happy Christmas (War is Over) by John Lennon

Reminder-to-self.

Whenever I hear this, I want to have a conversation with John Lennon:

John, what would the world look like if you were still around?  Would you still be politically active? What kinds of advocacy would you inspire?

John Lennon is like some Ghost of Christmas Past, peering at me over his oval glasses, asking: what have you done? He literally sings that: WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

This song is an indictment. The world needs fixing, he says, so fix it! (Whatcha waiting for, lass? Better get busy saving humanity from itself!)

Singing along is like repeating an affirmation on the possibility of peace. It makes you think: it can be accomplished.

Do They Know It's Christmas? by Band Aid

My gal pals and I would wait for certain cameos to scream at.

For my generation, Band Aid/Live Aid felt phenomenal. There was nothing quite like it. It was activism and music and, like, everyone united for a common cause, you know. For sure.

I realize since then there's been criticism of it, and maybe it was a bit naive and misguided to think music could change the world like that, but the emotions of the time, for myself and my peers, were pure and intense.

And--I mean, Sting, Bono and Simon LeBon are all in a line singing together! Who set that poetry in motion? Thank you, Bob Geldof!

(And I love that Phil Collins is wearing a sweater vest in the video. Everyone looks so real. Like real people, not celebrities. Gosh.)


Baby it's Cold Outside by Margaret Whiting and Johnny Mercer

One of the best duets ever, telling the tale of this super-cute holiday romance.

I love the little bit of suspense: will she or won't she? Her conflict is between what she should do--versus what she wants to do.

What does she want? Oh, we know what she wants! But should she?

I mean, what would the neighbours think!

(Nothing beats the original. Not even the Elf version, sorry).


You're A Mean One, Mr. Grinch by Thurl Ravenscroft

You're as cuddly as a cactus, Mr. G.

The Grinch is just the most loveable miserable character in fiction.

This is a Charles Dickens' Christmas tale set to green fur and Who-ville. The Grinch's redemption is like Ebenezer's, but infinitely more fun.

It feels so universal. Everyone gets Grinch-y--and like the Grinch, everyone has the potential to grow their heart three sizes.

The word play in this song is hilarious. The kid in me can't get enough of them.

"Your heart is full of unwashed socks..." has got to one of the best lines ever written.

Or how about:

"You're a three decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce!"

(Go on--you know you want to make up your own lines now!)

Trying to Write A Novel

They say you should write about what you know so maybe I should write a novel about trying to write a novel.

I can see it already.

Sometimes, writing will attack my main character. Like the sudden onset of diarrhea, an idea will come to her--but she'll be stuck in the car, driving, with nothing to write with or on!

Butt clenched, she'll strain to hold onto the idea, repeat it over and over, until somehow, somewhere, she finally gets relief. A pen! A stubby pencil! A tube of lip gloss! Out it comes, onto hand, napkin, receipt, envelope, thank god.

Yeah, baby!

Other times, its a love affair. She's up in the night! They must meet! She is drawn to the computer. The words flow like silk. The click of the keyboard is a murmur of adoration. Blue light brightens her amorousness. Oh how I love you. Kiss kiss kiss.

Their attraction becomes a distraction. It's a wonder she can walk straight, follow a recipe, have a conversation, for her mind is elsewhere, or rather, half here and there, in some nebulous place where people that don't exist, exist and what they say, do, wear, eat, think is the ultimate fascination.

Then the drought rolls in: dry, blistering cracks. What's been written so far becomes a repeating pattern of the psyche that digs in the dirt, over and over and over again--it's so dry she can't breathe, everything is blocked, all still, suffocating--

Until suddenly an idea comes to her, usually while she's driving... a sweet little rain drop that precedes the downpour that stimulates the inevitable trysts and mutual confessions of unyielding devotion all over again.

Exhilarating! Exhausting!

Maybe I'll have her go mad at the end. Or is it...'victory'? (Top of the bestsellers list and a movie deal!)

Eventually, is there closure? Does she ride off into the sunset, clutching her paperback and/or e-reader download?

Or does the big wheel keep on turning?

Even when the book 'ends', I suspect it doesn't really end.

Creativity (Inside and Outside the Classroom)

I read an article recently that really pushed my buttons. Even the title gets me all riled up.

"Inside the Box: People Don't Actually Like Creativity"

Er...no. 

This article contends that while "we celebrate the famously imaginative" studies confirm that "people are biased against creative thinking". Most people, it seems, are '"risk averse", "satisfiers" and "conformers".

The article says that bosses, even in "creative environments" will outright reject, "ignore or ridicule" creative ideas "in favour of those who repeat an established solution"...

....while teachers "overwhelmingly discriminate against creative students, favouring their satisfier classmates who more readily follow directions and do what they're told".

Well.

I'm a teacher, and a Creative and a Creative-Teacher and my responses are all boiling up.

Woo-hee. Where to start?

Ok. Let's start with the personal. 

Doh! Evidence of creativity is all around us.

Go back ten years. I'm doing my teacher practicum in a Gr. 7/8 spec ed class at an inner city school in Toronto. I decide to bring The Simpsons TV show in as content into our literacy block. (Back then I had to bring it via VCR! ha ha!)

One teacher rolled their eyes when she heard this and voiced her disapproval. Apparently, this was unacceptable content to her mind. I had stepped 'outside the box'.

But my practicum teacher loved it. She got what I was doing with it. I was tying the curriculum to the interests of a class dominated by 12/13 year old boys.

Throughout my teaching career, I have wanted to mix pop culture with tech and with the curriculum.

Better...

My interest especially exploded when I joined Twitter and heard about all the exciting things other educators were doing 'outside the box' with both media and tech.

This was back when Twitter was fairly new, not a lot of my colleagues were on Twitter, youtube was blocked by the school board and the height of Ed Tech was a powerpoint presentation. Glogster and Animoto were 'cutting edge'.

Anyway, around that time, I started up some of my favourite projects: SERT support via mp3 player (which seems so quaint to me now--this was pre-iPad days), my websites poplit and poplit lyrics, and Mario Kart in the Classroom.

I had support for these projects. Admin gave me the green light.  Colleagues encouraged me. I was not 'rejected', 'ignored' or 'ridiculed'.

I did, of course, feel like a fish out of water, very unorthodox. These projects were not the norm and I was definitely acting 'outside the box'.

But no one said I couldn't do it.

Ha! I just proved the article wrong! 

Then I had this Gr. 7/8 class.

Most of these were boys. They were boisterous, dramatic, dynamic, argumentative and had, by the age of 12/13, decided they disliked school. But they were savvy with media and tech. And they were quite witty.

They also knew their pop culture. They knew it inside out and upside down. They could riff on it. They were heavily into movies,TV, websites, vids, music, games. All the latest. They would come into class asking me if I'd seen/heard such and such and showing me the latest.

The slogan should be: Create Yourself

So of course I went the youtube route (by now, unblocked for teachers). I mean: I used it daily.

Youtube offered a way to demonstrate the value and accessibility of creativity. Look at all these ordinary folks creating works on their own time, just because its fun to do so! "Work" can be play! Isn't it inspiring? What are your responses? (This is an aspect Daniel Pink has pointed out in Wired interview, sorry don't remember which one. His contention was that we interact/create more now than we benignly consume. Creativity has become a national past time!) Ahem, that doesn't sound like a bunch of conformers to me. Score another point against the article. 

During the year, some students started making their own vids and posting it on youtube all on their own time. Just because its fun to be creative, you know.

I did a bunch of other stuff too to try to facilitate creativity. (And the degree to which I was successful--or not--is another blog post altogether). I won't get into it all here.

Because I want to get to the crux of the matter, which is, whilst I was doing this...

I still had curriculum goals and assessment data and report cards to write based on said data/goals and the students still had to produce something for me within this structure. Some of it had to be written down, right guys? And sometimes they had to read stuff. It couldn't all be visual/auditory/oral, which was their strength.

So when I see in this article that 'teachers want satisfier students' (paraphrasing) I do understand that, because some days I just wanted a quiet room, no drama, no sparkles, just sit down and do the work I've assigned, please. I've got deadlines and I really, really need you to comply.

Panic, push, panic, push.

This push for teachers to get through certain specifics in a finite amount of time necessitates a very streamlined, goal-driven, output-focused approach...which can definitely be a challenge when you'd all rather take the scenic route, via individual interest and abilities, and explore for explorations sake.

And shaping raw creativity into something tangible takes time--especially amongst those who may have creative power, but not necessarily the discipline to work it. They need time to develop this discipline.

And the time is just not always there.

Trying to walk this fine line between time/production and creativity/exploration can honestly be exhausting.

So here's me, Miss Outside The Box teacher, admitting that having students who do what they are told and readily comply, as the article says, makes for an easier time. Way easier. It's a relief, actually. It means I can do the administrative aspects of my job, which are quite significant--without having to push, push, push all the time.

So...grudgingly, this article rings true. So called 'satisfier' students make the school system run smoother. Promoting creativity, thinking outside the box as both teacher and student is definitely 'harder' work.

But lets look at WHY it is harder. 

Here we come to the last bit of this article, which says:

While creativity at times is very rewarding, it is not about happiness. Staw says a successful creative person is someone “who can survive conformity pressures and be impervious to social pressure.”
To live creatively is a choice. You must make a commitment to your own mind and the possibility that you will not be accepted. You have to let go of satisfying people, often even yourself.

My initial reaction is to acknowledge that this speaks to my experience as a Creative (writer & teacher). Yeah! (fist pump) Resilience! Hardship! Toil on in spite of hell and other people! Take the hard road and stay true to your creative vision! Yeah!

But then I thought...this sounds like a societal belief system, one in which I keep getting sucked in.

It's the whole Creative-As-Rebel (even in our own minds) schtick. Isn't it getting old?

Is it possible to envision other paradigms? One in which creativity is actually 'easy'?

Creativity supported, not suppressed. 

Sir Ken Robinson has suggested that creativity is an untapped human resource, one that everyone has access to. We bask in this creativity as kids, but through systematic, standardized schooling we lose it (I'm paraphrasing).

Or--I'd add--we struggle so hard not to lose it, it must wear the sheen of rebellion.

While this article indicates that most people have negative attitudes towards creativity (in spite of claiming the contrary), it does not explore what is causing that negativity to happen. (Like, say, years of creativity-suppressing schooling).

Instead of examining what paradigms or values are in place that substantiate those attitudes, the article acts as if those attitudes are a given, and consequently creativity must always be on the outside, looking in. It presents this as if it were scientific fact...because, you know, 'studies say'...

But societal conceptions are not hard science. They change and shift, as history has proven.

They can shift still. So I am left wondering, what might a new system or paradigm look like?

That is where we need to direct our attention.


PS. As an antidote to the Slate article I suggest watching Sir Ken Robinson's TED Talks or reading his books which provide a much more uplifting approach to the paucity of creativity in education.

7 (or so) Quirky Book Recommendations

I read a lot of books from a lot of different genres and, while I usually enjoy what I read, it takes a lot to really surprise or impress me.

Here's a list of books that have resonated with me long after I've closed their covers. These are book I consider 'quirky' and 'brilliant'.

By the way, I discovered most of these books at my local library. Yay, libraries!

Fool by Christopher Moore

"Fool" is a retelling of Shakespeare's King Lear as seen from The Fool's point of view.

But it's more than a mere retelling.

It's a bawdy and outrageous interpretation. There's...er... lots of sex it in.

Shakespeare purists--and anyone with lily-white sensibilities--will probably find much to offend them in here. In fact, they're likely to faint.

But if you think Shakespeare was meant to be joyfully and creatively explored, then this is a real treasure.

PS. I am convinced this book was written with a fair amount of chortling and mad glee. Writerly effervescence just leaps off the page. Someone had a very good time playing with genre.



Jennifer Johnson Is Sick of Being Single by Heather McElhatton

This looks like Chick Lit and it sounds like Chick Lit but it ain't Chick Lit.

That's all I can say without giving too much away.

PS I see now a sequel has come out. I wonder how it works the Chick Lit genre. I haven't read. Must do so!

PPS Don't read anything about the sequel until you've read the first one or you'll give it all away!





Total Oblivion More or Less by Alan Deniro

This is one of the strangest books I have ever read and I mean that in the best possible way. Hats off to the writer's creative power!

So much of the post-apocalyptic world he creates in this novel is bizarre--I mean, really bizarre-- and yet it manages to be grounded in reality, as if such surreal things could indeed take place.

Its also a coming of age story. It's quite brilliant that way. The 16 year old has to deal with a changing world--and her changing relationship to her family. She does so with a wicked sense of humour.

It is at turns funny, sad and horrific. And very impressively far out!



The Flashman Series by George MacDonald Fraser

Flashman is one of those difficult characters that brings forth complicated emotions. I love and hate him. I'll sympathize with him and laugh with him and then suddenly he'll be a real cruel @$%&# to somebody and I'll hate him again.

Flashman (aka Sir Harry Paget Flashman) is a Victorian Male, and as such his views and actions don't always jibe with modern sensibilities.

He is also a bit of a James Bond type (a Victorian 'womanizer' and 'hero') but he's James Bond minus the patriotism, bravery, and suavity.

Actually, he subverts a lot of those 'James Bond' hero expectations. His shameful secret is that he is a 'heroic' fraud. Flashman admits he is a coward, he hates war, has no desire for 'the glory of battle' and yet some how he always ends up on the front lines, having to play the part.

A good portion of the fun of this series is watching Flashman unintentionally get into scrapes, and also into dire, terrible war-political-based scenarios--and then having to find a way to get out of them.

However, his path to saving his own skin is rarely a noble one.

The books pretend to be 'real' accounts, as though Flashman were an old man, writing down his remembrances--and his papers have been 'discovered' by the author. The author thus uses footnotes throughout to explain certain historical points or compare Flashman's version to other (true) versions but also offering proof for Flashman's account based on these real resources. (It has obviously been meticulously researched).

It's a brilliant amalgamation of Truth/Fiction littered with a cast of Victorian Greats while covering some of the Big Events of the Victorian Era. Somehow Flashman is at the centre of it all. He is, in fact, a key player 'behind the scenes'. Often in a very humorous fashion.

Like most books in a series, some are better than others. My favourite is definitely 'Flashman At The Charge'.



The Discworld Series by Terry Pratchett

I've now reached the point where anything by Terry Pratchett is going to be snatched up by me but that wasn't always the case. In my younger years, I tried to read him and couldn't.

I think I found words like 'Ankh-Mopork' too much to wrap my brain around.

But now I'm older (wiser?) and I really get his books.

They are technically fantasy--I mean, every fantasy bit is in there (werewolves, vampires, zombies, dwarfs, trolls, witches, wizards--and more!)--but the books are so much more than that.

These are fantasy-comedy-adventure-mystery-political/social-satire...they are chock o' block with good fun and wry observation and underneath, deeper issues swirl. He sends up our world by using the Discworld to play it all out.

The Discworld is mind-bogglingly real. It's brilliance can't really be explained, just experienced.

I'm reduced to shouting:

"Dibbler the Sausage Seller! Corporal Nobby Nobbs! Unseen University! Hex! The Librarian! The History Monks! Nanny Ogg! Granny Weatherwax! DEATH! DEATH's granddaughter (Susan)! Commander Vimes! The Clacks!"

But only those who've read the books are going to get the joke. If you've enjoyed his books, then you should be smiling in remembrance right about now.

As I said about Flashman, as with any series, some are better than others. My favourite is probably 'Going Postal' (any book with a main character by the name of 'Moist Von Lipwig' simply must be read).

Oh, and I loved 'Thud!' And also 'Feet of Clay'.

And I'd better stop now or I'm just going to start listing too many of them.



The Cheese Monkeys and The Learners by Chip Kidd

These books go together, with The Learners being the sequel

In The Cheese Monkey, the main character goes to college in the late 1950's and experiences a rather...ahem...eccentric art teacher.

In The Learners, the main character graduates and enters the 'real world', getting a job as an art assistant in advertising (circa 1961).

You can just imagine the comic potential in both scenarios.

Both books are funny--and tragic. The main character is a sensitive soul, a bit ahead of his time. Very moving, poignant. Lots to chew over in these books.

The ending of The Learners is also the most perfect, most original ending ever IMHO.

Chip Kidd is best known for being a graphic designer. He did the famed Jurassic Park cover, among others. (Check out his witty TED talk on the subject--But be warned: he drops the F-bomb once).





Passage by Connie Willis

What happens when we die?

Connie Willis decides to find out in this novel.

It's riveting--and unexpected.

This is another book where I can't say too much or I'll ruin it (and also I'll caution you: don't read any reviews!).

Lets just say...I am still haunted.

The cover art makes a lot of sense once you read the book.


This is also a book, like all of those listed here, where after you read it you want to call everyone you know and talk about it.


Honourable Mentions: The Delegate's Choice by Ian Sansom and The Last Queen of Heaven by Gregory Maguire

Being a "Hippie Chick"

A decade or so ago I was a self described 'Hippy Chick'.

Yeah, something like this. 

This was the nineties, not the sixties, but I was in my twenties. It seemed important to Change The World.

I wore colourful sweaters from Ecuador and birkenstock sandals (with and without socks). I believed in International Development and signing petitions. I attended Take Back the Night rallies and took Women's Studies courses. I went to Gay Pride Parades and volunteered at a GLBT library.

I got my astrological chart done. I got my tarot cards read.

I bought Utne Reader and Adbusters and Out Magazine. I wrote essays exploring feminist interpretations of Gothic/Romantic literature. I ate at vegetarian restaurants and went to 'alternative' bookstores.  I explored world music.

A source of epiphany and discovery. 

For a time, I joined the International Socialists (and I have the button-pin to prove it). I also tried to get a job at Greenpeace because I couldn't stand the idea of 'having to go corporate with my English degree' (but I just didn't have enough fire in the belly to sell GP memberships door to door).

I started meditating, doing yoga and reading up on paganism/Buddhism. I delved deeper into other -ism's, too: like capitalism, feminism, socialism, racism, classism, environmentalism, activism.

I realized far too many things that I took for granted as hard truth and essential reality (like economics, poverty, the news, and American hegemony) were actually human constructs. They were the result of human choices; choices that could be 'un made'. My mind boggled at the possibility of alternate choices, shifted constructs, shifted consciousness.

Imagine there's no countries! It's easy, if you try!

Things could change.

Couldn't they?

Have they?

I'm not entirely sure what happened to me once the nineties came to a close.

Worker Bee

I left university. I had to get a full time job. I ended up in a series of office positions--the exact kind I didn't want, real soul-suckers. You'd think that would have gotten me all riled up, eager to take on the stultifying Conformity of Corporate Culture. But all I got was tired.

Once away from the campus and the city centres, I eased the pedal off the metal. I even wore business suits! A sort of masquerade, right? I was a sheep in wolf's clothing, right? Or was I transforming? Was I becoming one of them?

No no no, I assured myself. That couldn't be. So maybe I gave up the itchy Central American sweaters. But I still made conscious choices. I had my own kind of micro-activism. Teaching career! Organic produce! Hybrid car! Pro-Breastfeeding!

Be a Drop in the Bucket! I would console myself. Every Drop Counts! Don't you remember the starfish story? "It made a difference to that one."

"Be the change you want to see in the world."

No jaded eyerolls allowed! There's meaning behind these bumper sticker-like sayings. Profound meaning. And there is a need for that profundity. A desperate need.

It's not like the issues have all magically resolved. There is still disparity, cruelty, prejudice, devastation. Compassion is necessary. Action is necessary. Voice is necessary.

It seems messier to me now, though. Messy, overwhelming and complicated.

It was dark and the restaurant was brightly lit.
The patrons inside saw us and looked...defiant? chagrined?

Here's a wistful memory: pausing at the intersection of Robson and Bute in the middle of a Take Back the Night rally with a pack of other women, all of us giving the Hooters restaurant the finger.

How quaint was our impulse! As if our giving Hooters the finger was going to stop the sexual objectification of women.

But who knows? Maybe it did for someone there that night. Maybe that is how it happens. Maybe we can spark consciousness shifts through peaceful protest and giving voice.

Those shifts grow seismic... Equalling personal and individual and then societal progress...

My Hippie Chick eats her tabouli and nods vigorously in agreement.

As for me, I am more ambivalent about the impact of my convictions. I eat my gluten free, Thai chicken pasta in silence, offering her no argument.

I decide to let Hippie Chick win this one.

I think she needs it.

Music as Memory

I realized recently that my life has had an unintentional soundtrack. Songs correspond to events and stages, though I didn't mean them to. It just sorta happened that way.

In a very basic, very rudimentary way it might look like this... *click on the captions to hear the tunes*

Age 7. "Rubber duckie, you're the one."

"C is for Cookie, Disco Version" 

Age 9-11. Lip syncing and choreographing dance moves with my friends.

I was the brunette but I wanted to be the blonde.

Debbie Harry = the epitome of cool.

"I got chills..."

Legwarmers and beaded headbands obligatory.

Late Tween: "It's Duran Duran!" Cue girlish screaming.

Posters of these guys filled my room from floor to ceiling. 

Fourteen-ish: when I start to become all earnest and political. Save the world. Peace.

Still a brilliant album. 

Teens: this played at every high school dance I ever attended. The entire gym is full of sweaty, hormonal sixteen-year-olds rocking out...

We added our own naughty chant to this song. Shhh. Don't tell.

Another high school dance song. (Teenage prayer [er...one of them]: *please God make sure I slow-dance to this super-long song with someone I actually like*).

Quick, find a good slow dance partner! Or hide. 

1990. Friend dies in a drunk driving car crash.

This song will always be linked with tragedy. 

Entire 1990's = dance clubs.  I'm too sexy for this dance floor.

Early 90's grooving. 

Still grooving in the late 90's.

Backpacking in the early 90's. This song followed me all over the world. Sick of it!

Still sick of it!

Cramming at University in the 90's. Coffee shops and intense discussions about lit-er-a-ture.

I sing along but have no idea what I am saying!

Oh, Sarah! So many cups of tea
drunk in your honour on rainy
Vancouver days!

Thirties. Married.

Cue: Pachelbel's Canon in D.

With Children.

For years, this is the only type of music I have time for. 
(Plus I develop a mom-crush on Anthony)

Commuting anthem as we drive to work-daycare-school-errands...  (ongoing)

Even my youngest boy sings along from the backseat.

Yep, music has always been there, playing in the background, soulful, sad and sweet; lusty, rampant and rich.

Yet this list is only the tip of the iceberg.

I could've gone deeper and reached broader. I could have gotten more personal. There are many minutes from aged zero to forty two, moments of agony, angst, doubt, hope, joy, excitement, introspection--

Many have their own soundtrack--though some were sweet (or bittersweet) in their silence.

What an interesting graph that would be, our lives recorded and set to bursts of sound--and pauses.