Ruby- Marching to the beat of your own drum doesn't mean you have to possess the talent to drum, it means you get your own private drummer... like a soundtrack. Mine is Meg White. The need to have my own drummer is the direct result of being saddled with the name Ruby. It brings to mind either a bad Kenny Rogers tune or a blue-haired old lady. I did have blue hair once but it wasn't from old age, it was intentional. I chronically dye or cut my hair depending on how I'm feeling. I've had a Mohawk, shaved a smiley face into the side of my head and even been bald. My hair is relatively tame nowadays, part of the uniform when you're a 41 year-old single Mother of four. Purple Mohawks are only okay in your forties if you're in a rock band. Playing rock band with the kids doesn't count. I make up for it with well hidden tattoos and piercings. Plus it's hard to land a date with a financially viable, responsible adult male if you have purple hair. My cohort and I met in the sixth grade. We politely agree, (well most of the time it's polite), to disagree on matters of politics and religion. I'm the liberal, agnostic Bohemian. She loves me in spite of these obvious shortcomings.
Sarah- According to my research, drums are the oldest instruments. According to
www.bing.com/music, "the types of drums that exist vary as markedly as the people who use them for communication, ritual, or entertainment all over the world." GOOD NEWS! I am Sarah, I also claim to "beat to my own drum" but let me tell you. . . Ruby and I are different drummers. I believe that is why we have managed to maintain a friendship that has taken us through the roller coaster of life. Our differences allow each of us to see how "the other side" lives and we can respect those differences and even learn from each other. Ruby has a tattoo (of course, I would never consider . . . ) but this particular one is of the ying and yang. Yeah, I guess that is us . . . but let's not go into where this tattoo is, it might not paint as cool a picture. So, I am the conservative family mother. I am pretty convinced that I was born in the wrong era . . . I would have been perfectly content to cook in my high heels and pearls wearing the latest shirt dress while my husband went off to work wearing his freshly ironed suit. But here I am in the year 2010, I still wear mostly dresses and skirts and is it weird that I think ironing is a favorite pastime?????
