marginalia

Music has and will always been a huge part of my life. It’s been with me from such an early age, helping me escape (like books) into another world, where I could be myself. Away from others and, at times, with others. From huge venues with tens of thousands to small hall concerts in intimate settings that made the music all the more powerful and moving.

I’ve enjoyed it all. From nobodies starting out, to big name groups like Pink Floyd and Abba, to Emerson, Lake and Palmer, to the Rolling Stones before they were mega rock stars. Through the 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s, I’ve transitioned, changed and grown, along with my choice of music. But have never lost the love for all music be it classical, opera, or middle of the road pop to heavy death metal. I’ve listened to it all and found something that has touched me at every level, whatever the source. Be it the actual melodies, or lack thereof, to lyrics that struck a chord with my then sensibilities.

Music is always there. Be it playing a vinyl record on an old box player I have, to shoving a CD into an antiquated boombox, to these days, digitally on my iPhone. I don’t even shower without singing and yes, still whistle when I think on one is listening.

I can’t imagine a day without music playing. It is so ingrained in our every day lives. I think the colour would drain from my life if music were to stop playing tomorrow. And, like books, no only do I not want to live without music, I don’t think I can. Can you?

Footnote: A big thank you to Lou Plummer for the inspiration to write this one.

In a recent post Pete Moore asks us, What’s In A Name, in which he talked about his struggles with his first name. Wondering if, at this stage in life, he could start (legally or otherwise) using his middle name. A name he’s always preferred because of the brutalisation of his given name, while growing up.

So many of us suffer due to our parent’s name choices.

I knew a fellow military colleague that suffered daily at work from an insensitive form of bullying by a handful of sad minded people. His name was Denis Petrie, a name he despised because these particular bullies always referred to him as Penis Detrie. Childishly transposing the capital letters of each name, and finding it funny. He always swore that, when he left the military, he was going to change his name.

After reading Pete’s post, I wondered if Denis ever did. I know that I was subject to similar bullying during my own military service due to my then name at the time. One I changed several years after I left the military, and not because of the bullying per se, more but because I fell out with my family.

My change of name was the ultimate form of protest.

And while it started as a protest, it also became apparent that I should have done it long ago, when I realised how liberating it was to chose not only my own name, and identity, but the fact it freed me from a set of mental chains I never knew were there.

People change their names for any number of reasons. From personal reasons, like Pete, where his given name has never felt his to begin with. To those getting married (for legal reasons) or divorced, to those transitioning to the people they were always meant to be.

Maybe society needs to change the way we are all named at birth. And that, on the age of majority (whatever that age might be), we should be allowed to chose our own names.

What say you, have you changed your name to reflect the person you feel you are?

It’s officially the day of the Total Eclipse for us here, in Quebec, where most will see either 100% to 98% of the eclipse … and?

The weather couldn’t be more cooperative. We have perfect clear blue skies with no cloud cover forecast. I mean, how often does that happen? Probably never given how a lot of places along today’s Path of Totality are facing mild to heavy cloud cover all the way up from Texas to Maine, but up here, in our quiet, quaint little corner of North America? Perfect weather.

What? I’m rubbing it in? Maybe, maybe not.

While we may have the perfect viewing weather (and yes, everyone south of the dotted line, there may be time—if you leave now—to get here in time) the rub is … we might not actually be viewing said phenomena.

Huh, I hear you say?

Yep. We spent a few days hunting for glasses, having left it a tad too long to source a pair each and … the OH is crazy that we not watch this afternoon as they are convinced I’m going to look directly into the sun. Or, more likely, they are. Either way, I was told over breakfast that I am not, repeat not to go out onto the balcony and attempt to watch, even through a pinhole device.

I was actually going to use a colander sieve and a piece of stiff card, keeping my back to the sun. But still, the OH is frantic that one of us will accidentally turn and ooops catch a glimpse of the sun.

Well, okay, it’s true. We can’t rule out a whoopsie, given we haven’t got the proper eye protection. But …but I hate being told I cannot do something. It just makes me want to do it more (blame my restrictive parents for that one.)

So, what’s a girl to do? Right, I mean, this is called a once in a life time for a reason. Most people will not get the chance again and look, we’re right in the path of totality.

Come on!