Our firstborn son has had some memorable Halloween costumes. Once he wore his clothes backwards, and strung a mask on the back of his head. I tipped my own head and wrinkled my brows for a moment before I could figure out the disguise. He seemed normal. Then I laughed. Another time he rigged up a boom box and Ipad to be a Karaoke machine. People could click on the song they preferred and sing along. It was fantastic. 

 

Boom boxes are going out of style. They used to be standard fare for yoga classes, and pizza parties. But then Ipods replaced them, and now phones are all you need to create a playlist of your top tunes.

 

There is even a feature where you can put a song on repeat, and it will merrily prattle over and over. You could never do that with vinyl. Unless it skipped, which was annoying. 

 

The other day I reignited an old, stale response to a perennial conflict with John. I didn't even like the reprise, but it kept banging around between my ears. Then I cocked my head and looked at it differently. The disapproval was turning me in the wrong direction.

 

A friend used the analogy of a boom box stuck repeating music that he doesn't even like. The opinions, and criticisms, and barbed judgments that he held on to as if they mattered are finally mute. And moot. In releasing those internal diatribes he has turned off the cacophony and can savor the silence.  He wiped a tear from his cheek at the relief.