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| Mary Souza |
She marches to the beat of another drum
I've never thought of a drum as a particularly spiritual instrument, mostly, I guess, because of its very size and the enormity of the music that comes from something that big.
To me, they're kind of like the big brothers of musical instruments, loud and showy, while I've always preferred the softer sounds of the saxophone, or the violin, or the clarinet. Music that cries, that whispers, that beckons.
Music from the front cover of a Fabio romance novel.
Pause here for my husband to throw up.
Anyway, when Ann Inman told me she led a local drummer's group, I mentally filed it away as a separate story in and of itself. I pictured her on stage a la Gene Krupa, whacking away at those big, tightly-bound barrels loud enough to wake the dead.
Which seems appropriate, considering Halloween is looming.
But Ann must have known from the expression on my face that I was channeling Krupa in my head because she was quick to tell me that it's the slow, rhythmic sounds of Native American drums that speak to her, that spark the spiritual side of her. She finds a primal comfort in their sound because, after all, they mimic so perfectly the very first sound we hear in the dawning of all our lives -- our mother's heartbeat.
And at the same time, the same sound raises our energy, drawing something out of us that maybe we didn't even know we had inside.
"Drumming is my path," she says. "We're a spiritual group as much as we are a drumming ground. Drums give me a center, a sense of balance."
Inman's interests are fascinating and varied. She designs collectable toys, particularly teddy bears and when she stood side by side with a healer in Nepal who saw 30 people a day six days a week, they all agreed that it was Ann who has the coolest job, designing toys -- until the bottom fell out of the market following Sept. 11.
Now she works at Hastings, finding another comfort in the touch and feel and scent of books. She also gives readings for those seeking the same kind of serenity she's found, and she's friends with renowned psychic John Edward whose television show, "Crossing Over," has served as a lightning rod for believers and skeptics.
"I knew John before he was famous," she says. "He is a nice, nice guy."
She's dug for crystals in Arkansas and she fashioned teddy bears with moving skeletons so they could be positioned like children. Her own books about collectibles are on the shelves at Hastings.
"Teddy bears don't judge you," she says. "They don't care if you have gray hair."
Ann and I have both been readers since we were old enough to figure out what words are. And we both think that computers can be perfected until the Gateway cows come home, but there will still be people us who need to feel the weight of a book in our hands, who need to hunch over the inky pages of a newspaper while we're having our morning coffee.
"There will always be a place for someone who wants to find a quiet place and read a newspaper," Ann says. "Even if all you do is read the comics."
We don't want to hold laptops over the bubbles in the bathtubs. We want to feel the pages, turn the pages, maybe even drip a little taco sauce on the pages.
"I hate to sit and read a computer monitor," Inman says. "I'm real tactile. I like having something in my hands."
Inman likes to read philosophy. I like to read books about historical, life-changing events, like "Krakatoa." And we both freely admit to reading a little bit of trash now and then, too.
Personally, I don't think I could work at a bookstore. I'd never leave. They'd find my dusty, tired bones slumped under my desk in the morning, my arthritic fingers clamped tightly around either a new bestseller or an old classic.
"I read everything," says Inman. "I can't remember a time when I didn't.
"But we have 90,000 titles here," she adds with a smile. "That's more than I'll ever be able to read."
Lynn Berk can be reached at (208) 664-8176, Ext. 2016, or at lberk@cdapress.com.
