When my kids are riding in the car with me the radio station has to be set to screamo, rap, or rock that rocks. And we have to listen to it loud. While I can only handle about three rap songs before I begin to rip out my hair by the roots, I am actually growing to enjoy the screamo. I sometimes even play it while the age appropriate people aren't with me.
But, sometimes, when the rulers of the radio dial exit the vehicle, I push that dial to the classical station. Violin concertos and piano sonatas fill my mind. They fill my mind and leave no room for such mundane thought as, "I'm going to the grocery store." I just drive. I don't mean to. I mean to do my errands in a timely fashion and return home to accomplish housework. But, instead, I just drive. I have ended up downtown when I was headed to the jr. high school. I have chased a long forgotten gravel road, wondering where it ended, when I intended to show up for my haircut.Violins are my favorite. They make my soul smile.
I get wrapped up in the story of the music. I want to lie in the grass and watch the clouds decorate the sky. I do not want to shop for bread and milk and boy's underwear. And I usually don't. Which is why the classical music station has cost me a thousand gallons of gas. And my boys wear old underwear full of holes.
"It's okay kids," I want to say. "You might not have breakfast or underwear, but my soul is smiling."
Worth it.
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