I splurged at JB recently (‘tis a shame hubby sold our JB stocks) and picked up some new albums, as well as some golden oldies.
One of the newbies in the bunch is a pearler from Cloud Control, Bliss Release. I can confidently say it is just beaut having on repeat for several hours, whilst reclining in the sun with two dogs on lap, sucking back a Mega Choc Sustagen and reading Frankie magazine from cover to cover, on a lazy Saturday arvo. Failing that, it is pretty darn good in other scenarios, too (work-mates can attest to my enjoying a sing-a-long first thing in the morn).
Other gems in the shopping basket were a couple of Outkast albums: The Love Below/Speakerboxx, Stankonia and Aquemini. An old friend made me an Outkast mix CD years ago, and it has withstood many repetitious plays. Unfortunately, the quality started to deteriorate; skipping several times in every song became the norm. A couple weeks ago I decided that it was time to retire the beloved mix, and I feel sheepish to admit I burst into tears. I can duplicate the music mix, but I can’t replace the sentimental value.
I love words. They inspire, they make me laugh, they make me cry. I love how words can have several different meanings, depending on which other words you pair them with — subtle though it may be. For example, describing someone as 'an old friend' may mean 'a friend whom you have known for a long time'; but if in the same sentence you mention their love of knitting and classic novels, it can sound a little like 'an 85-year old friend who has grey hair and dentures, and a penchant for decorating with doilies'. I wish I had the talent to write poetry, songs, fiction and facts. *Sigh*
I read a brilliant book whilst on our travels: The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak. I will forever have this image of the Cinque Terre: lying on the beach, concluding reading a sad book; salt-water pools in the hollow of my throat. I'll let the blurb tell you all you need to know:
It is 1939. Nazi Germany. The country is holding its breath. Death has never been busier, and will become busier still.
By her brother’s graveside, Liesel’s life is changed when she picks up a single object, partially hidden in the snow. It is The Gravedigger’s Handbook, left there by accident, and it is her first act of book thievery.
So begins a love affair with books and words, as Liesel, with the help of her accordion-playing foster father, learns to read. Soon she is stealing books from Nazi-burnings, the mayor’s wife’s library, wherever there are books to be found.
But these are dangerous times. When Liesel’s foster family hides a Jewish fist-fighter in their basement, Liesel’s world is both opened up, and closed down.
In superbly crafted writing that burns with intensity, award-winning author Markus Zusak has given us one of the most enduring stories of our time.
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