Theme Thursday - Rhythm

Thank you to C.M. Jackson for suggesting this week's theme. For more takes on the subject, click here.

Surely the first thing an infant is aware of is the beating of her mother's heart. Any mother will hold her baby close to her body in order to comfort her. Watch a toddler move to the rhythm of music. Perhaps her enjoyment of music is related to that early source of comfort, her mother's heartbeat.

Throughout our lives, we continue to seek pleasure and comfort in rhythm. When we are nervous, we tap our fingers on any convenient surface. When we see a musical or dramatic performance that pleases and excites us, we clap our hands rhythmically, often in concert with many other people. We dance, keeping time to the music with our entire body.

I've found a few music videos on the theme of rhythm. I hope you enjoy listening to them - even dancing to them. To begin with, listen to the rhythm of the falling rain...



How many of us will post Gershwin's I've Got Rhythm? I hesitated to do so, on the grounds that everybody would surely use it, but then it occurred to me that we might all think that way, and then we wouldn't get to hear the very best song about rhythm ever. So here goes.



Maybe I spoke too soon, though. I forgot about Fascinating Rhythm, which may actually be the best.



There are just too many possibilities. Rhythm is everywhere - in music, and in the sounds of everyday life.



My last offering is one of my favourite songs. It combines those two elements, the rhythm of everyday life and music. It is Paul Simon's song, Everybody Loves the Sound of a Train in the Distance.

Tales of an Intrepid Explorer



William James Booksellers are located in downtown Port Townsend. They sell used and collectible books. I cannot come to PT without paying a visit to the shop. Today, we strolled in at about 11 o'clock in the morning. I wanted a book. Note: a book. My hosts bought seven books. I bought four. The odd thing was, we had been talking about books over breakfast, and when we got to the store, we kept seeing the books we had talked about. It was as if our browsing were a continuation of our breakfast conversation. I know. It was a bookstore.Of course we were seeing books. But who would expect to find a copy of A Confederacy of Dunces? That's fairly obscure, and I wasn't looking for it. It just appeared. I didn't buy it, though. As I walked up and down the aisles, my hands kept reaching out, of their own accord, and snatching books from the shelves. As I walked, I would look down and see that I had picked up yet another book. Where did I get that, and why? Where did it belong? I would have to retrace my steps and put the stowaway back where it came from. It was only by virtue of stony self-discipline that I escaped with only four books. I did buy a Strunk & White to replace mine that's gone missing, a copy of The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter, the Collected Poems of Czeslaw Milosz, and Yann Martel's The Facts Behind the Helsinki Roccamatios. I was grinning as I walked out the door. Ah. A successful hunt - but oh, the ones that got away!

Our treasures in hand, we headed to one of the local coffee shops, and on the way there, we came across the Women in Black. I didn't know about this group until today. I wonder whether we have a chapter in Nanaimo. They were very impressive. This is their website. Their mission statement begins "We stand in silence because words alone cannot express the tragedy that wars and hatred bring." I was touched by their commitment and courage.

We drove around for a little longer, enjoying the dramatic sky and the seascape, then headed home to have a look at the books we had bought.

One of the books that followed Rita home was Richard Lederer's Bride of Anguished English. When we got home, she started to read it aloud, but she kept collapsing in a heap of giggles. Next we knew, her husband and I were laughing helplessly, and all three of us were wiping tears from our faces. If you haven't read Lederer's books, I highly recommend that you do. Buy the books, and save them for a day when you need to laugh. They are strong medicine.

Later, there was dinner at La Fiesta Jalisco Restaurant in Port Hadlock. I had chicken with mole. It came with rice and beans and salad. Afterward, I rolled out to the car, far too full to walk. (Okay, I exaggerate - but only a little).

Our friend from Texas arrived in town today, and tomorrow we will all be going to the Thai restaurant for lunch. This is a great mini-holiday. I promise to visit all my bloggy friends when I get home to Nanaimo, but there's just so much to do here!

Notes from a Near but Far Place

I'm ba-a-a-a-a-ck! I am writing from the office of my friends in Port Townsend, Washington. We went to the local hardware store today and bought an extra cable, so that I could plug into their computer network (they don't have wireless set up).

I caught the 10:30 bus from Nanaimo yesterday morning. Because I like to sit in the front-most right-hand seat - the seat with the view, I arrived at the bus station a full hour before the bus was scheduled to leave. When it pulled into its appointed spot, I walked right up and stood beside the door. Another woman came up behind me. The driver got out of the bus.

"The bus doesn't leave until 10:30."
"I know. I want to make sure to get the front seat."
"Well, you can't. It's reserved. I like to keep that seat empty."

I thought he was kidding, but when we finally boarded, there were various objects placed on all the front seats, and the right-hand seat had a Reserved sign on it. For some reason, the driver felt he needed his own seat and four passenger seats. I was ever so slightly annoyed. There was nothing I could do about it, so I set about making up a story to explain the driver's action. A long time ago, I said to myself, he was assaulted by a passenger who was seated right behind him. Ever since then, he has felt very nervous about having passengers sit too close to him. Once I had the back story in place, I could sympathize with the driver, rather than complain.

When we got to Duncan (about the halfway point), the rain came. It was a heavy enough downpour that I regretted having left my umbrella at home. We drove up over the Malahat Pass, and as we got to the top, suddenly the rain disappeared and the sun came out. Consequently, I had a lovely stopover in Victoria.

I went to Sam's Deli for lunch. I think Sam's was the first place that I ever ate in Victoria, and I loved it right away. They build fabulous sandwiches. Yesterday, I had a turkey and cranberry sandwich on multi-grain bread, with oodles of fixin's. On the side, I had a ramekin of clam chowder. Delicious, all of it. As I ate my lunch, I glanced across Government Street, and there he was. Darth Vader. Playing the violin.


When I had finished eating, I walked over to listen - because you never know - it might have been Joshua Bell under that hood. But no. I put a little money in his violin case anyway, because he had made me smile. Then I walked around the Inner Harbour to where the Coho was docked. I passed a group of blond young men who spoke a language I didn't recognize - Polish, maybe? It seemed to have lots of Ms in it. As I passed the piper who performs at the corner, he was just setting up. I didn't linger, because I was afraid I would forget to leave, and I did have a boat to catch. As I walked on, he started playing Scotland the Brave.



Robin and I had talked about my ferry ride to the Olympic Peninsula. He was worried that the crossing might be a little rough - and it doesn't take much for my stomach to consider it "a little rough" - but as it turned out, the only rough bit was about 2/3 of the way across, where the water always gets a little confused. I had a very pleasant crossing. For most of the trip, I read my book, though I did make a note at the beginning of the trip, when a very new baby was making a lot of noise and things didn't look promising:

The baby's strangled cry sounds like cats mating. My seatmates and I, codgers all, grimace and exchange long-suffering looks. It occurs to me that we've sat here for nearly half an hour, and we haven't left the dock yet. Four minutes to departure, then an hour and a half's voyage. Perhaps the sea's motion will calm the fretful child.

Apparently I was right. The baby calmed down soon after I wrote my note, and I was able to read in peace.

Later, an older woman (considerably older than I, even) sat down across from me. We chatted a bit about inconsequential matters during the voyage, but as we neared Port Angeles, she suddenly started telling me some pretty intimate details of her early life. She told me about being sexually abused by her father and running away from home, some more stories about her coming of age. It occurred to me that this stranger felt free to talk to me because the chances of our ever meeting again were very slim. I gave her a little of my own history in exchange, and we parted ways as the ferry docked.

There's something special about traveling alone. It can be a lonely experience, and if problems arise, it can be scary, but it has its moments.