The night David Bowie died, my husband was in the living room playing video games along with random music. I was in the connected library, snuggled up with a book or something. Starman came on, and I cried (for no particular reason but the beauty of it and possibly the few drinks I had in me, which isn't an abnormal behavior -- the drinks or the crying over the beauty of things).
The following morning, we heard of Bowie's passing, and I couldn't help but wonder if I was crying the moment he died. It's stuck with me for some time now.
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We moved recently. One of my new favorite routines is to walk in the door, pick out a record, blast it, and prepare dinner while I have the house to myself. There's something about listening to an entire album these days. Especially in a new space that you love.
Came home today searching for Bowie and couldn't find it! Settled for Tame Impala and cooked up some basil curry.
As the night ticks on and I sit to write this post, I'm tickled to say I found Bowie...
My niece is over to work on an art project. I said, "Put on a record while I type out this blog." She replied, "I don't know how." To my delight, I spotted a spine with Bowie and threw it on. "Look, you just plop it on and push the start button." I didn't even pay attention to the tracks, and there it was. Starman. Full of fond memories for that man I love and helping make new ones.
Life is grand.
Love your music oriented post - there is something special about listening to an album from start to finish...and blasting it makes it even better!
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