JeanR said she found this envelope in her stack. Mr Wilson was perplexed by it. It's always funny to watch him respond to mail. I'm sure he is amused at they way I respond to the things that are at the center of his universe. Like music. I leave the room.
It wasn't always like that. When we met, we listened to similar music. But, my taste never changed. I still like Bob Dylan. He morphed into a jazz-guy. Oh.My.Gosh. I literally hear sounds where I think he must have hurt himself and needs help. Or that he has turned on something and it is broken and he doesn't have sense enough to turn it off. I have to stop talking about it. That's how traumatic the sounds are to my poor ears.
Lucky for us -- we have three doors between his music room and the bedroom wing of the house. But, I have to figure out what we are going to do if we ever have to live in closer quarters. I'm guessing noise cancelling headphones will do the trick.
In case it was not obvious, this has been one of my ranty-est rants ever. I tried to be diplomatic about it because I realize that there might be readers who love jazz - and that is fine with me. It's like canned spinach. I like it, but, I can totally respect anyone who thinks that it tastes like something that's gone very bad and should not be eaten.
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