I’m waiting for John when he calls out from the bedroom, “I can’t wear my shirt!”
“Why?” I say.
“It sounds wrong!”
“What?”
“It’s not user friendly, unless you want your clothes talking to you.” he said.
John had never noticed the crackle and rustle of fine cotton before. My warrior, who’d risked his life several times to save friends, was leery of his shirt!
John had had many opportunities to hear fabric, his mother was a quilter but I’ve also noticed a variant sound appreciation in myself. When I love a piece of music on the radio I stop talking, drawing, even walking to hear every subtle change and blend of melody, counter melody, the moving of especially the bass patterns, the qualities of each instrument mixing with the others and change of key. A pattern is established then broken, which makes me laugh out loud. The theme is created, then changed over and again, differently each time, then stretched so far away from the first, I forget how we started, so when it returns I laugh out loud again.
As the music tells a changing story I can see characters, backgrounds, and dilemmas, but, “No.” my mind says, “The music might also be telling of…” and off I go into a completely new story, then another, and another all within a few seconds, while I’m hearing notes , grouped into blocks, changing. I’m ready for a nap when one song is done.
If the song is on the radio I listen VERY carefully because I may never hear it again but as soon as I buy the music I relax and only hear a small portion, engage myself only partially, because I think I now have a life- time to hear everything. If I listen to all music as well as John listens to his shirt I’d have a richer life. And I wonder if Putin is afraid of his shirt.  nancymauerman.com