This past weekend, I had the joy of taking a trip back to the 'burg to see some friends, including a belated 21st birthday celebration. The sum of the trip was all sorts of new experiences (including ale and a Corpus Christi procession), in an almost-familiar setting.
One of the new experiences was listening to classical music on a road trip. Country music is my driving companion, and other people I drive with prefer soft or classic rock, or else Christian music. I had one fun trip to a capella from back in the day when they still made cassette tapes, and lots to fun mind-twisting games. But never classical music.
However, road trip companion who held the wheel likes classical and had a few of Beethoven's overtures that he wanted me to hear. While admitting that I am not generally a classical music type of girl, I listened. Before each piece, he explained to me the back story. I never realized that each piece tells a story. The first one I heard was Coriolanus, whose classic roots I enjoyed. And my friend was right -- the music said so much without using words. Knowing the story helped me appreciate it and made me wonder how much of what I appreciate springs from what I have been taught in a way that speaks to me.
I can't say the trip completely converted me to music without words, but I at least have a greater appreciation for it.
A note on classiness: whenever I use the word "classy," I remember an occasion where a boy told me that some girls just wear low-cut shirts, and others wear tank tops underneath, which was classy. I like this as an alternative to my much hated "modest is hottest." We're classy!
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