September 1, 2003
Office Music


My long-anticipated copy of Over the Rhine's lovely new double CD, Ohio, arrived last week. I had it sent to my office address, like I do with most important deliveries. Under normal circumstances, I'd have clawed into the package with both hands the moment the postman released it. Then I'd have immediately loaded the first CD into the player and spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying a raft of new songs from one of my favorite bands.

But when the package came, I took my time with it. I let it sit for a while. Finally, I opened it up, and unwrapped the CD, and leafed through the liner notes. But I didn't put the music in. I waited until I was home.

There are some memories that need to be protected from work life, from the bland cruelty of sunless afternoons and fluorescent lights, from precious hours spent working on one faceless project after another.

Am I the only one that thinks this? Listening to good music in my office seems to leach away its power. I've always felt that one of the most powerful qualities of music is its ability to capture memories, in much the same way as a photograph or a diary entry. Even ten years after the fact, I can still remember certain songs that accompanied me through unforgettable road trips and special events. Good music played at the right volume makes an indelible mark on your experiences of life. I love that quality about music.

But when I listen at the office, it's always the same setting. The music is fresh, but I'm looking at the same screen, wearing the same clothes, breathing the same air.

I just don't want to let the office steal away that special magic of a new batch of songs. A music fascist till the end, I'm making a deliberate decision to visit Ohio in the off-hours.


The Little Blue House
So yesterday we made an offer on a little blue house outside Atlanta's Grant Park. It's a sweet house, and I'm excited about the possibilities. I'm having a hard time just holding it with an open hand while we wait through the long weekend for the seller to respond to our offer. This deal is a long way from sealed.

The house has been vacant for several months, and feels like it needs a good airing out and little sprucing up. I fell asleep last night with visions of painting parties in my head, dreaming about the music of banging hammers and whirring drills.

My pulse quickens when I think about living in a place that's really my own. Since I graduated from college, I've never lived in my own place where I could paint the walls whatever color I pleased. (In years past, I have coped by hanging colorful quilts against the blank walls.) I'm dreaming now about all the ways we plan to fill the little house with music and color and laughter.

Ben lovingly reminds us that "every house is perfect until you've bought it," and I'm sure that's the case with this house. After we close the deal, we're certain to discover the bumps and bruises that were somehow hidden to us before. But right now, our little blue house looks just perfect from every angle.