joie de vivre

We have a middle aged car. Or possible an elderly car depending on how you calculate auto years. Ten years and over 280,000 K's. On our way home from the hospital Saturday evening, the engine warning light suddenly cast an ominous red glow over the dashboard. One ignores warning lights at their own peril, so, abandoning routine, I set off to work Tuesday morning in the truck. Now, the truck and I have not bonded. We are a bit wary of each other. We don't know each other on a first name basis. This became obvious when I clicked on the radio and heard sports! I pressed the scan button twice and watched station call numbers flash past. I listened with growing angst to snippets of music and garbled words. I finally settled on a French station. Ahhhh, the joy of music, unsullied by words.
I am bombarded with music all day at work. It is usually the lyrics I tire of first. My husband, who has an ear for music, is inexplicably able to filter out the words and simply enjoy the music, but I am just the opposite. There seems a power in words that cannot be ignored. Listening to music, sung in a language I didn't understand was a refreshing change. I caught the odd word, something about life being good and free, but it was the music that took centre stage. This is why I love classical music too I guess, although a lot of it is too pensive. This was toe tapping, mandolin and fiddle playing, joie de vivre music. The message was clear, even without the words.