i hear the smell of that color

I love to listen.

I listen to the rain patter against my window.

I listen to the wind whistle gracefully down my alleyway. 

I listen to the gentle wisp a book makes when its page is turned.

I listen to my friends speak in their various accents and dialects. 

I listen to most things.

I love to listen.

Listening is great because though it can be very descriptive, it leaves plenty of room for imagination.

By listening to someone walk, you can tell a few things easily:

1. Their approximate size and stature; a small, gentle individual will make a very different sound than a large, awkward individual.

2. Their shoe preference; a sharp clicking sound will indicate a high heal, a flip and then a flop will indicate a flip-flop (clever, I know), a squeak will indicate some sort of athletic shoe, a clap then thud will indicate a loafer of some kind, etc... 

3. Their speed; obviously a rapid repetition of thumps will be an attribute of someone walking briskly while a slow and steady tap will be an attribute of someone sauntering. 

By these three quick assessments, you can imagine a profile of the person you are listening to.

Their size gives you an idea of their physical appearance, their shoe type gives you an idea of their basic lifestyle, personality, and destination and their speed gives you an idea of their relaxation level (or lack there of).

All of this is to say; I love to listen.

I think this love of listening was born the day that I was introduced to Old Time Radio.

Burns and Allen,

My Favorite Husband,

Fibber McGee and Molly,

Barrie Craig,

and

Gunsmoke

are just a few of these fantastic radio programs.

When I was younger, I would fall asleep listening to these stories and imagining the character's faces.

I would dream-up what their houses looked like, how their neighborhoods smelled, what types of cars their friends drove...

I would wonder at the possibilities!

I would listen to the same tape over and over again, maybe twelve nights in a row, each time envisioning it in a different way.

I love to listen.

I love to listen to the adds that are so unashamedly plugged.

I love to listen to the music that is played in transitions.

I love to listen to the clever sound effects.

Today, too much time is spent on the visual details. 

Films are coming out with more and more frames per second.

Computer generation is sculpting for us what imagination used to do all on its own.

What has happened to the listening?

It's a fading culture. 

It's my culture.

I love to listen.

I close my eyes and imagine. 

I imagine the impossible.

I imagine the possible.

I imagine beauty that cannot be made by computer technology.

Just by my ears.

George Burns, Gracie Allen, Lucille Ball, Richard Denning, Jim and Marian Jordan, William Gargan and so many more voices have inspired my mind.

I love them all.

I love them all because they cause my ears to melt into stages where imagination is the director, fantasy is the stage crew, awe inspiring impossibilities are the cast and the audience is all those who ever doubted the power of my limitless imagination.

"Say goodnight, Gracie."

"Goodnight Gracie!"