Almost every day I go for a walk wearing my iPod. Since I don’t have a car anymore, I pretty much need to shop all the time, especially since I still smoke (notice how the need for cigarettes keeps me walking, ergo healthy!) I almost always hit the Shuffle option, so I never know which of my 900-plus songs is going to play. Sometimes I sing along — I have no inhibitions about my (not very wonderful) voice being heard by other people. I was once told “If the birds worried about how they sounded, the forest would be silent” and I took it to heart. I also walk to the rhythm of whatever song is playing — not on purpose; it’s a reflex, something that just happens. I learned years ago not to keep a song like Kodachrome on my iPod if I didn’t want to have a heart attack.
Anyhow, you get the picture: gray-haired lady bopping around town singing unabashedly at the top of her lungs, dance-walking to music.
Yesterday my battery died, as sometimes happens, despite my vigilance with the charger. I had to walk home from the bus music-less. When I passed the used furniture store where I always pause to look at the latest arrivals, the owner, a man a little younger than me in jeans and white undershirt, asked with a hearty laugh, “Where’s your music?” I told him of the day’s tragedy, and he laughed some more. His laughter was infectious.
When I walked away, I wondered what the laughter was about. I guess it is kind of funny, Grandma bopping through the streets singing “Everybody Must Get STONED!”