The Wanton Misapplication of Song Lyrics

Today I came up with a term for one of my heretofore vague, nameless, yet very distressing pet peeves. Peeve, I dub thee "The Wanton Misapplication of Song Lyrics." Now I know what to call thee.

Occurrences of Wanton Misapplication are most frequently encountered when visiting a new, modern-style church. A few months ago we visited such a church. After the pastor's sermon, there was a multi-modal presentation: a young guitarist who sang while some sort of PowerPoint slideshow played on a huge screen behind him. The slide show had a bit of a plot, sort of like a silent movie unfolding behind the singer. The story of the slides was that of a young girl who dreams of being a dancer, encounters rejection, gives up, but then is encouraged to be who God has created her to be. She listens to the encouraging verses and dances her heart out. The theme of the pictures: Believe in Your Dreams. Don't Give Up.

What's wrong with that, you ask? It was the soundtrack: the 20-something guitarist was singing Switchfoot's Dare You To Move! If you've never listened to Dare You To Move, you might think this slideshow was aptly matched to its soundtrack. Dancing is moving, okay, I get it. And there's a dare... okay, a challenge to overcome obstacles. What's the problem?

The problem is, Dare You To Move is a powerful and emotional song about figuring out how to forgive yourself. It's not about being discouraged because someone else doesn't believe in you... it's about facing your failure and receiving grace because you need it, because you blew it. In a big, fat, public way.

Here's some excerpts from the lyrics:

I dare you to move,
I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor
I dare you to move
Like today never happened
Like today never happened before

Welcome to the fallout
Welcome to resistance
The tension is here
Between who you are and who you could be
Between how it is and how it should be

Maybe redemption has stories to tell
Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell
Where can you run to escape from yourself?
Where you gonna go? Where you gonna go?
Salvation is here.

I sat through that presentation registering a 8.5 on the Cringe-O-Meter. Yikes, dude! He's sitting up there with his guitar and his Jon-Foreman-soundalike voice, oh-so-cool, and he's just screaming, "Even though I've memorized these words, I have never listened to them! I am totally clueless and shallow! But look how cool I am with my guitar and my hair!" I hurt for him, I really did. While my eyes rolled.

Wanton Misapplication is not limited to church settings, though. Once, in college, I read an album review in the school newspaper. (Yes, I am that old. Music came out on albums when I was in college.) The review was for U2's The Joshua Tree. (One of the best albums ever. Evvv-vvver.) The reviewer spent an entire paragraph bowing to Bono's wisdom in With or Without You, where, he said, Bono declared his independence in stating that he "can live without or without" his lover.

Sigh. You know the song. You're shaking your head with me and saying, out loud, "No, no, NO! It's CAN"T! I CAN'T live with or without you! Bono is not a complete moron!"

So how about you? Do any of you have examples of The Wanton Misapplication of Song Lyrics? Blog about them and leave me a link.

Blondie Imperfection

Sigh. Well, the blondies were okay, but not perfection. I think my problem was that I gave the CI instructions too much weight; they say, "Bake until top is shiny, cracked, and light golden brown, 22 to 25 minutes; do not overbake." Earlier in the article was the explanation: "Timing, as with so much in life, appeared to be crucial.... When I removed them from the oven even a moment too soon, they had the pale, sticky sweetness and gummy texture of cookie dough. Removed a few moments too late, the blondies dried out and became boring."

Well - which would you rather have? Pale sticky sweet cookie dough or dry and boring? Yeah, me too - so I pulled them out after EXACTLY 25 minutes. And got pale sticky sweet cookie dough.

It's not inedible. I like cookie dough. But it wasn't Blondie Perfection.

I maintain that I am a Domestic Goddess, however. Without a title to defend, I will not want to try again. And I am off to sew this morning, an act which exalts me all on its own.

A-Camping We Will Go (or, "To Helen Back")

When I was a little kid, my parents used to take us camping every summer. No, not tent-in-the-wilderness camping; rather, RV-at-the-bluegrass-festival camping. We first went in our little pop-up Scotty, when it was just my parents and my one sister. (One of my earliest memories is from when I was about 4 or 5 years old and my dad put us to bed in our little bunk, then stood right outside our window with his guitar singing The Big Rock Candy Mountain. And The Fox and the Goose. Anyway...)

Later, with the arrival of my next sister and my baby brother, we traded up to a Terry. My parents still own it - my dad keeps it at the hunting grounds, so it's not in too nice a shape anymore. (Ewwww!) But I remember getting a lower bunk in that camper, which was oh-so-nice and a privilege of being the oldest. I taped pictures of my boyfriends to the walls and practiced my banjo over the drone of the air conditioner.

We pulled that Terry all over the southeastern U.S. Up to North Carolina and Tennessee to see extended family; to the mountains for the North Georgia State Fair; even to Disney World! (That was one of my favorite vacations ever. Ft. Wilderness at DW is awesome. They have the pools and playgrounds, but they also have shady bike trails, an evening campfire, and outdoor movies and singalongs. Kid heaven.)

Now that I am a grown woman, I am still going camping with my folks! But in a different way. About 10 years ago my parents bought a couple of memberships in a campground near Helen, GA. This means that we can rent two campers at a time and go up for a week together. At first, it was me and my two boys and Mom and Dad. My family in one camper, parents in the other. Over the years we've expanded - both my sisters and their kids go as well. (We have to get creative with the sleeping arrangements - it helps that one sis has in-laws nearby.) We've now been doing this for almost a decade.

The campground is a really nice place. There are two pools, a big playground, tennis courts, a lake for fishing, and a clubhouse for playing bridge and checkers and shuffleboard. (Yes, there are lots of grandparents there! LOL) But I've noticed over the years that the demographic has subtly shifted to include more of the younger families - not just retirees. And even the retirees often bring their grandkids, so there's always someone for my kids to play with.

We have this little routine we follow up there. Every morning, dc get up early to go eat breakfast with his grandparents. (Meatma and Doc. (I'll explain another time why we call my mom Meatma.)). I get up a little later, go for a little run, then come eat with my parents and see what the kids want to do. After we get cleaned up and dressed, we head down to the playground for a little while. Boys ride bikes, dd plays in the sand. Cousins show up mid-morning. We suit up and go swimming. Then it's lunch and naps or TV time.

Afternoons we sometimes go shopping - NOT in Helen, which is... touristy? bizarre? No! Kitschy! That's the word I want. Think little gnomes dressed in Alpine liederhosen and you'll have a fair idea of the Helen vibe. No, the best shopping to be had in these parts is at Mark of the Potter (which sells, of course, pottery!) or the Burton Art Gallery. There's also a little cottage-garden shop I love that sells plants, picture frames, statuary, gardening gifts, etc. Very eclectic. And once I discovered a little hole-in-the-wall place that sold beads and gemstones, and I made my own necklace. I haven't been able to find it again, though.

There's also the tubing - a good way to spend a hot summer day in North Georgia. The Chattahoochee River runs through Helen (way north of where it gets all icky with industrial waste). The water is shallow but moves at a pretty good clip, which makes it perfect for floating down in a big, neon-pink (or lime green - your choice!) innertube. This is a favorite activity for camping week.

But I think what I love best about going camping, now that I'm an adult, is how "unplugged" it feels. No, we're not sleeping on the ground or roasting venison over a spit. We still have our refrigerator (albeit tiny) and our sheet-enclosed mattresses. But camping, even RV camping, has a very life-stripped-down-to-its-bare-essentials quality to it. You sleep, you eat, you lounge around in lawn chairs. You read for hours at a time. You don't plan anything; it just happens as you feel like it. You only take the minimum of clothing and food - there's no place to store the excess, and besides, you need room in the truck to carry the bikes with you! (grin)

All this to say... soon, yea, the end of this week even, I embark upon Annual-H-Family-Camping-Adventure, with offspring, parents, sisters, niece and nephews. (DH doesn't go. He never goes. He is a camping snob, being convinced that only tents-in-the-wilderness-camping is worthy of the sacred name "Camping." Besides, he craves that week of blessed quiet, alone in our house, that comes but once a year.)

While I am gone, I will not be blogging. So I am going to try and blog every day before I leave. And I might even do some paper-and-pen writing while I am gone... I usually do at least a little, every year. Maybe I'll even type it up when I get home. Or not. Freedom! That's what camping is all about.

I Am A Domestic Goddess!

That's right, folks, she sews AND she bakes!

There was a recipe for Blondies in the latest Cook's Illustrated that I've been itchin' to try, so tonight was the night. I haven't tasted these yet - you have to let them cool, then lift them out of the pan by the edges of the foil, then cut them into 2-inch squares. (And if you think the folks at Cook's Illustrated are just a wee bit EXACTING and PRECISE in their instructions, then you and I think alike.) The great and exasperating thing about CI is that they CARE. Deeply. Madly. About every little freaking detail of how a recipe is carried out. But I am loving this, actually, because they publish all those freaking details and the mistakes and experiments they made while perfecting that recipe. There's a whole paragraph devoted to the right amount of melted butter. And a big sidebar comparing six different types of white chocolate chips as they performed in this recipe. With photos of each one.

The bottom line is that I don't have to bother with a lot of silly failures before I, too, achieve Blondie Perfection.

I will let you know how these taste. I've had pretty great success with CI recipes this year, so my hopes are high!

The Work of My Hands

I am making curtains for my family room.






I made all the window treatments in our old house, but somehow the task seems really daunting in the new one. This week is the one-year anniversary of our move-in, and the only window treatments in the house are the ones I purchased or had someone else make. And those look really great. There is definitely a difference between what I can do and what a pro can do. BUT... you really pay for all that time and expertise. So I decided that the simple panels I want in the family room are simple enough for even me.

But the job is taking a while. I bought the fabric, oh, two months ago. And that was after two months of shopping and agonizing over fabrics and trims. Then it took about a month to get everything cut. (Cutting is, to me, the most tedious and time-consuming task in sewing. I get obsessive about it because I don't want to make a mistake! Measure twice, and all that.)

But, finally, I'm to the fun part - putting all the pieces together. So far I haven't had to rip out any seams - that's why it's been fun and not curse-inducing. And this week I finished the first of FOUR panels! But wonderful dh installed the hanging hardware yesterday and we got to hang it up... INSPIRING! It looks so nice! And really finishes the room! So I am inspired - I AM going to finish those other three this week. (And pack for a camping trip - but that's another post!)

So... I'm off to make good on my vow.

30 Days

Last night DH and I watched the premiere of Morgan Spurlock's new TV show, 30 Days.

Wow. I am so bothered I don't know how to describe it. Which is to say, this show is great.

The premise of the show is that Spurlock gets himself or other people to agree to live in someone else's (radically different) world for 30 days, to experience life in a totally new environment. So this season he'll have an ex-military youth minister go and live for 30 days with a gay roommate in the heart of San Francisco to immerse himself in gay culture. Or a 43-year-old mom go on a 30 day college drinking binge, to experience her daughter's party worldview.

But in the premiere, it's Spurlock himself who leaves his comfortable home and goes out there - to the world of minimum wage. And it ain't pretty.

Spurlock isn't the first to do this, of course. Several years ago I read a book called "Nickel and Dimed" in which the author lived the same way, taking on minimum wage jobs in different parts of the country to see how the working poor live. But 30 Days had a more powerful emotional pull on me.

For one thing, it is different to read about someone's experiences than to see them... the pictures of Spurlock cutting sod and his fiance' washing dishes had a more visceral effect. For another, you could see the cruddy apartment they had to live in... the ants... the void of furniture... their red, runny noses because they didn't have heat.

I remember being a college graduate and having absolutely no money and no food except a box of mac and cheese in the pantry. I remember taking a twenty to the grocery store and having to put stuff back because the total went over. And those memories suck. But back then, I still had hope. I believed that things had to improve (and they did). I still had a mom who cleaned out her freezer to stock mine and a dad who slipped me twenties when he took me out to lunch. What do people do if they don't have moms with freezers or dads with spare twenties? If they don't have a college education or a whole network of family and friends who want to see them succeed?

It made me want to go and volunteer at the homeless shelter.

Ergonomic Engineering

I'm redoing my homeschool room over the summer. I figured out that I am not enjoying working in that room. Therefore I am not enjoying school - the actual work of homeschooling. It's so, like, EVERY DAY! (grin) But the room contributes to the dread.

Which, if you took a quick glance at this room, sounds crazy! It's huge! It's a dream homeschool room! It's the entire length of our garage, with two dormer windows and those walls that slant in toward the ceiling, but the ceiling's high enough that you don't feel closed in. And last summer I painted it a really cheerful green, and it has some beadboard paneling, so it looks nice. And it's full of books and educational toys and stuff. But...

There's no place for me to sit by the kids while they work... and no comfortable place from which to read to them... and the books and stuff are organized, but not in a way that makes them easy to find and then put away... and the papers! They just multiply exponentially! So it's time to rethink the whole layout of the room.

So... one thing I've done is get a daybed. We had two twin mattresses in the basement that the boys used in their old rooms, before we moved; so I bought a frame and put those mattresses to use. Voila! Instant sofa. Next... move the table out of the dormer window nook and nab a chair from dh's office. Now! I have a place to sit next to dd while she practices handwriting. So far, so good. I think the next thing will be a new computer desk. The one I have now is the little cheap chipboard thing I got from Target a couple of years ago for, like, 39.99. Time to go uptown and spring for the newer, bigger, 99.99 model! Seriously - I just need a desk with some actual work space. And maybe a drawer or two.

Still don't know what to do about all those papers, though.

I will see about posting a picture when I get the whole thing done. I love seeing pictures of other people's schoolrooms. You always get good ideas.

Justice!

A good friend of mine from forever emailed to tell me (and then I opened the newspaper and saw for myself) about something really cool. This guy who was in our church youth group in high school, Harold Melton...





...has been appointed to Georgia's Supreme Court!

How cool is that?

Congratulations, Harold. You deserve every bit of happiness and respect that this appointment may bring you.

My New Favorite Artist

Today I am listening to Dave FM and Mara Davis introduces a song by commenting on the singer's deep, soulful voice. This gets my attention, so I listen carefully to the song. Wow, I like it. Who is this? I don't recognize him. I listen very carefully and pay close attention when the song is nearing its end so I can catch who it is, if she's going to say. (My luck, she usually doesn't until 5 songs later when I'm out of the car and never hear it.)

But no! She comes back on and says, "Yeah, that's the song everyone's been talking about. Home, by Marc Broussard... off the album Carencro."

I am now Marc Broussard's biggest fan. I shall buy all his records and tell everyone I've been listening to him forever.

DH only said, "I might have to get my gun out." (I love you too, honey.)

Ever Used A Backhoe?

Today I am going to post my backhoe story. (I read another blog today that featured photos of a backhoe, and this inspired me.)

The first year that dh and I were married, we decided we needed life insurance. (Why? Why? I think we made, between the two of us that first year, about $10,000. We were poverty level, for cryin' out loud! Why did we think we needed life insurance? Sigh.)

So the nurse comes to our house for the health tests. Blood sample... check. Urine sample... check. Blood pressure, heart rate, temperature, etc. Now, fill out the questionnaire. Name, age, health history. Check.

Then it comes time for the interrogation. No, she wasn't all NYPD Blue about it - just a few routine questions.

Nurse: "Do you drink?"
Me: "No." (I didn't, not until about 1o years later. Couldn't afford to!)
Nurse: Live more than 20 miles from work?
Me: "Nope."
Nurse: "Use any type of illegal drugs?"
Me: "No way." (I was raised Baptist, baby! Drugs were a one-way ticket to HELL!)

Then the more bizarre questions began...
Nurse: "In the past 5 years have you ever flown an airplane or taken flying lessons?"
Me: "Are you kidding?
Nurse: "How about bungee jumping?"
Me: "Uh, NO."
Nurse: "Skydiving?"
Me: (no answer, just a snort. I have a fear of heights.)

And then, out of left field, she asks, "Ever used a backhoe?"

Ever used a backhoe?
WHAT?

No, lady, I'm a secretary in a small office - I weigh about 125 pounds, have never done more than 10 consecutive pushups, and could not complete even half of a chin-up if called upon to prevent nuclear war. I am definitely NOT a construction type.

So I looked at her quizzically and said, disbelievingly, "A backhoe? Noooooooo...."

To which she patiently replied, "No, no, dear. Do you smoke?"

Oh.

Have I ever used TOBACCO.

Good thing life insurance requirements don't include a hearing test. Or one for COMMON SENSE.

A Tail Of New Kitties

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times....

Last summer our beloved dog Domino died without warning or explanation. We just came home from a cookout one night and found his poor lifeless frame rigid on our deck. It was horrible beyond words; dh and I have both lost pets before, but never like this, never experiencing the helplessness of having no comfort to offer your grieving children. Eldest child wailed - WAILED! - as though he would never be whole again. Youngest and only female was as pale as snow. Middle son with sensitive heart was AWAY AT CAMP and had to be told upon return, only reopening the fresh wound for the whole family. He never got to say goodbye.

After it was all over, and we had made a - well, not a peace but a truce - with the loss, we all decided to wait a while before opening our hearts again. Our loss was just too painful.

Then, a few weeks ago, dh and I went for a walk through the neighborhood and were followed home by a beautiful little black cat. She was so sweet! and affectionate! and the kids just went totally nuts over her. Alas, we discovered a day and a half and a flea collar and a big bag of kitty food later, she belonged to another family. Disappointment. But... the seed had been planted.

DH: "Did you see how much the kids loved that kitty?"
Me (aka Hard-Hearted Hannah): "Um, well, maybe..." (Duh, of course I did, but I'm still resisting the inevitable and suddenly very interested in removing a stubborn food particle from our kitchen counter.)
DH: "She sure was cute."
Me (impassively): "Mmm-hmmm." (What WAS this food before? Rice? Waffle batter? It REALLY is fascinating.)
DH: "Have you ever heard of a breed called a Bengal?" (Better search under the sink for the extra-strength cleanser... hmm, not here? Maybe I'd better run to WalMart. In Alabama.)
Me: "Nope."

But secretly, I was sorta interested in the links he sent me the next day. Bengals are bred from Asian Leopards. They look a lot like tigers, with stripes and spots called "rosettes." They are very social, very affectionate, and they like water! In other words, they're as much like a dog as a cat can ever be. Here's a link for more info, in case you're interested: http://www.exoticbengals.com/

So - a couple of weeks later, we load the kids up and drive to Murfreesboro, TN to meet a breeder from Kentucky who has two kittens she's willing to sell. The first is NOT interested in meeting or being held by small children... but the second... well, he's so CUTE. And CALM. And JUST FINE with being held by small hands. And then, when Hard-Hearted Hannah takes her turn... he commences to purring and crawls up to her shoulder and KISSES her on the cheek! Sigh... the heart of stone has been transformed. Of course. This is The One.

So, we have a new pet. He will never replace Domino. But he is already making his own place in our world.


Marco

How I'm Spending My Summer Vacation

Ever since the summer started I've been nose-deep in a book. It's been glorious!!! I finished The Year of Pleasures (Elizabeth Berg) and then The Time Traveler's Wife (Audrey Niffenegger), Sea Glass (Anita Shreve), and The Devil Wears Prada (who cares). I've also discovered Terry Pratchett. Wow!

A guy at my church is a huge Pratchett fan and told me about him several years ago. (Thank you, Greg T.!) I tucked the name away, mentally, and never went searching for it. Then I hit the Scholastic book sale (a semi-annual, throw-caution-to-the-wind-these-books-are-50%-off! orgy) and found TWO children's books by Pratchett. Oh, wow. He's intelligent, laugh-out-loud funny, biting, sarcastic, insightful, and even subtle. I decided I've GOT to have the Discworld series. All, oh, thirty or so books. (I think.) Now THAT would be a good summer.

So the big hits so far are Time Traveler's Wife and The Wee Free Men (one of the Pratchett books). Both very absorbing. The Year of Pleasures was really nice - it's a good title to take to the beach, in case you're looking for that sort of thing. Sea Glass was typical Shreve - good characterization, decent plot, not as good as The Pilot's Wife but still okay. The Devil Wears Prada was only mildly interesting. Maybe you'd like it if you were a Gucci-wearin', stiletto-totterin' Yankee who thinks there is no civilization outside of New York City, but whoever the author is, she's no Tom Wolfe. Even The Nanny Diaries was better - more insightful, better dialogue and descriptions. More wit.

Okay. That's my opinion. We welcome yours.

P.S. Is there anyone out there who knows how to make a certain font your default when you compose a blog entry for blogger? I'd like just to start typing and have my words appear in Trebuchet every time. But they're always LucidaGrande unless I highlight and change. All words of advice welcome!