Growing up, singing was our only acceptable form of music. Even though we sang, a LOT, there was something in me that craved music.
Visiting stores in town was great since they always had music playing. Getting to town, most of the time involved having to hire a driver to take you there. They always had Country music playing, and I soaked it up, thankful for every red light we had to stop at, or slow school bus we had to follow home. Anything to prolong the opportunity to listen to music.
I still love music, but I can happily drive without the radio turned on. My taste in music has changed as well, and unless it's one of my favorite songs from my teen years, I can't make myself listen to Country music.
Yesterday we were out and about, and when it was time to go home one of Sharon's friends decided to come with us.
We got in our vehicle and as I turned the key to start it, the radio started playing. I turned the volume down a bit (so I can better listen to the girl's fun conversation). For some reason that took me back to when I was eighteen years old.
My parents had sent me to do some errands. The driver had his radio tuned to the local Country station. He chatted as he drove along, and I tried my best to keep up with his conversation while at the same time soaking up the music.
When we got to town he announced he has an errand to run as well, and pulled in to a store. Before going in he showed me how to adjust the volume on the radio. He exited the vehicle with the radio turned up loud.
Being the good little Amish girl I was, there was no way I was going to touch the knob to adjust the volume, but I sat there reveling in the music that enveloped me.
Song after song played as the driver took his time in completing his errand.
When he finally exited the building and made his way across the parking lot I could see his agitation build as he marched faster and faster toward his truck. He yanked the drivers door open, reached in, and turned down the music so that you could barely hear it. The remainder of the way home he was quiet as well. I was sad I couldn't listen to the music on the way home, but that time of uninterrupted listening had made this silent trip worth it.
Those thirty some minutes of listening to music at that volume earned me a visit from the bishop. I told him I hadn't touched the radio, and left it at the volume the driver had it when he adjusted it to show me how to operate it. My explanation seemed to satisfy him and I was relieved to not have to make a confession in church.
Now since I no longer fear visits from the bishop, if you'll excuse me, I'll go turn on some Christmas music to listen to as I do the morning chores.