Chillin' out maxxin'...Saturday jazzin'

It's no news that I love my jazz like no other. I remember Saturday mornings when I was younger. I lived in Nigeria back then, and the weekends were (severe) cleaning days. Wiping windows, dusting carpets, cleaning furniture, or anything my mother saw fit to include as our chores. On the television, or the stereo set, would be the soft, easy processions of jazz. My father is a jazz connoisseur you see - so there were records upon records, upon records in the house growing up. But at that age, such music did not appeal to me, I guess.
My obsession with nostalgia, I guess you could say, was what ignited my love for jazz and the blues. The music carries this oldness with it; a serene feeling of... calm. I could listen to this all day and forget there was work to go to, or people to see, or just generally life to witness.

Yes. My love for the blues runs that deep. It's alright to call me weird, my siblings do that already.