Enjoy the Show

Darren and his friend Joel both lead the music worship at their respective churches. They've got different music tastes. Dramatically different.

Joel likes new music. "New" being defined as "coming out six months from now."

Darren likes old music. "Old" being defined as "did St. Augustine know this song?"

If they were Hollywood cops, they'd totally get assigned to cases together.

They do find common ground, like when Joel mentions an "old" song he likes, and Darren says that, yes, that was the same "new" song he'd introduced at church last week.

So when Joel pointed Darren to Lenka's "The Show," they were both surprised that they both liked it. When Darren came home and played it for us, we were all surprised that we all liked it.

Here it is, partly in hopes that if you get it stuck in your head, it will get out of mine. It's a very catchy song, but even more so if your children like it and listen to it twenty-five times in a row.

The song is a lot like amoxicillin, that pink medicine from our childhood. You might remember how yummy it was, sweet and bubblegummy like this music. If you've tasted it as an adult, you realize that the sweetness cloaks teeth-aching bitterness. A lot like these lyrics, which burble along about how it's too depressing to figure out life so you might as well just go along for the ride. Um, that's what I think it means, anyway.

Lenka's voice belongs to the Regina Spektor and Pomplamoose club. It's clear but sharp, and at first is a little grating. It's a style I've learned to like very much.

It's been fun discovering new music. Maybe next time Darren can recommend some peppy Gregorian chants to Joel.

-- SJ

An Open Letter: Facebook

Dear Facebook,

I wanted to hate you, really wanted to. I'm a traditionalist, which in today's world of manic social media means I still have an active Blogspot address.

And I have to hand it to you, Facebook: you don't make it easy to love you. Your design is clunky and your technology is buggy. You claim to create "friendship" among millions of people, but are you ready to face the fact that you've created a deep divide between Farmville and non-Farmville enthusiasts?

"I like keeping in touch with people I otherwise would never hear from." That's what my husband said in your defense.

"You're not keeping in touch," I argued. "You're reading random sentences about distant people. If keeping in touch is food, then Facebook is McDonald's."

He refused to be swayed by my logic, which is a bad habit of his. Facebook, you need to come up with a new group: "1,000,000 Strong Against Unswayable Husbands!" (Mine still wouldn't budge.) So I, who am much more swayable, gave in and created an account.

But I still despised you, Facebook. I didn't join any groups. I didn't allow any applications. I hated Flair... no, wait, I actually liked Flair. And then you, Facebook, went through one of your periodic identity crises and updated your image and now Flair doesn't work. Thanks for that.

We bloggers don't like you, Facebook. Yet you suck us in. Know how? Status Updates, that's how. Bloggers can't resist the chance to write multiple mini-posts and get instant comment feedback. (By the way, we all still call them "status updates," even though your most recent makeover changed it to "share what's on your mind." We like updating, not feeling like we're in a giant small group.)

It's been two years. I'm"friends" with a lot of people now. Surprisingly, I'm actually FRIENDS with people I once barely knew. There are other people I care about but never get to see, and after two years of reading status updates, I feel like we've kept up with each other. There's the friend who moved away, and the other friend I haven't seen for thirteen years... Everybody's right here in front of me, anytime I log onto you.

Don't get me wrong. It's still fast-food interaction. But even fast food is better than emptiness.

So I don't despise you, Facebook. You're pretty okay. You've got your flaws, but nothing we can't live with. And to judge from me and my friends, we'd have a hard time living without you now. A Blogger can admit defeat gracefully.

Just don't get me started on Twitter.

-- SJ

To Do

To Do Today:

1. Fold clothes.

2. Write a new blog post.

3. Clean up kitchen.

4. Drag overflowing laundry basket into living room so can't ignore unfolded clothes.

5. Get kids up.

6. Outline a new blog post.

7. Feed kids.

8. Don't ignore unfolded clothes.

9. Kids are asleep. So they don't need food, right?

10. Don't wake up kids.

11. Okay, fine, write down an *idea* for a new blog post.

12. What laundry?

13. What kids?

14. What blog?

15. There. Took care of that list.

-- SJ

Happy Birthday to my Beautiful Wife

Ten years ago today, I sent a birthday card to a lovely young woman I was getting to know better. She was down in Mississippi and I was in Nova Scotia. Life was good anyway.

Five years ago today, I had just gotten back from St. Louis, where I found a cool pot in an art gallery that made a great gift to a beautiful woman – who was sick in bed for her birthday. Life was very good anyway.

This weekend, a gorgeous woman and I went out to Outback for her birthday. We chose Outback, because we had a gift card there. Except we couldn’t find the gift card. After we waited for 70 minutes to sit down, we got a text from the babysitter that the baby wouldn't go to sleep. We took the van, because the car has apparently developed a gas leak to complement the oil leak it has been working on for the last few months. And the van transmission started to develop skipping issues as we drove along, so it’s in the shop now. Life is abundantly good anyway.

Happy birthday to the woman who holds my heart, even in “anyway” times. I love you, my treasure, with all my heart.

--DJ

Recipe for Friendship

I met Deidre when we were both pregnant, she with her second child and I with my third. A mutual friend introduced us. In each other we discovered what we'd been searching for: somebody else whose schedule was flexible enough to get together frequently.

Over the course of four years, as we swapped childcare and arranged playdates, we realized we'd formed a close friendship. We chiseled out a couple of hours on an occasional Saturday to have breakfast together. One morning when I woke up with a migraine headache, I put in a pitiful call to Deidre. She rearranged her plans to come watch my kids while I slept. One weekend when her husband was gone and she threw out her back, she called me and I came and got her Very Busy toddler and kept him all evening. Our husbands meet for breakfast once a month. This summer, Deidre and Jeremiah stood as godparents at Phillip's baptism. She calls me SJ. I call her Deige.

For my birthday, along with the ICE CREAM MAKER she got me (excited? a little), she gave me this recipe:

"Friendship

Combine well and set aside:

1/2 cup Adventure
1 cup Kindness
3 and two halves children

Then cream Outings on high speed and gradually add in Heart to Heart Talks.

Mince 2 Tbs Headaches, 2 Tbs thrown-out backs, and stir together with 5 cups Compassion.

Mix all ingredients together and bake in the oven of life for 4 years.

Top with several Escape Breakfasts.

Serves 2. Benefits Many."

The recipe looks so good that I'm planning to do the batches in doubles. Working on eight more years now, Deige.

-- SJ

Customized Praise Songs

Trying to choose music for Sunday's service, Darren wasn't feeling very inspired. The Old Testament passage, for instance, was all about Ezra and Nehemiah gathering the people for a public reading of the Law. And there just aren't many praise songs talking about the joy inherent in hearing the Law read aloud.

It does have the interesting tidbit in it that the people wept and mourned when they heard God's Law and how they'd transgressed; and Ezra told the people that it was a holy day and they shouldn't mourn. Go feast! Go celebrate! Don't mourn! One of God's best counterintuitive moments.

In an attempt to be a good helpmeet, but mostly because I drank coffee yesterday, I emailed the following suggestions to Darren:

I know you're having trouble coming up with a relevant song set. Why not customize our songs?

"Blessed Be Your Law"
(to the tune of Blessed Be Your Name chorus begins at :44)

Chorus:
"Every verse that you read out I'll
Say back by phrase!
I know that it's really Your word
when it's in King James

Blessed be the words of Your law
Blessed be the words..."

***
"Shout to the Crowd"
(to the tune of Shout to the Lord chorus starts 1:06)

Chorus:
Shout to the crowd
Really loud so they'll hear
The words of the law
So the Lord they will fear!
Those in the back
Can't quite hear what you say
So if you could raise your voi-oice?

We're pretty shattered to hear all these words
But we'll have a feast like you said God prefers!
Nothing compares to a brand-new holiday!

-- SJ

Note: I should mention that I like both of these songs. Blessed Be Your Name, in particular, acknowledges the fact that sometimes we have to worship God during dark times. Which still isn't as hard as Gaad worship, so be grateful.

B.C. and A.D.

My friend Kristen calls coffee "artificial personality." I subscribe to that view. I purposely limit how much caffeine I drink so that, after a week of not enough sleep, it's like magic when it gets into my bloodstream.

An actual transcript of Artificial Personality in action this morning:

Before Coffee:

"Daphne, STOP talking so loud! Addie, are you up yet? Stuart, turn down the volume! How much more computer time do you have, anyway?"

After Drinking:

"What, Daphne? Well, it's daytime because -- here, let me show you -- I'm like the earth facing the sun. That's daytime. Now I'm turning away from the sun. That's nighttime. See? It does it every day."

Coffee. Get the magic.

-- SJ

Sanctity of Life

Today is Sanctity of Life Sunday. I joked to Darren that this Sunday was the only Protestant feast day; he replied that our church has made it an an official feast day on our church calendar, the Feast of Christ the Giver of Life. Hm, point made.

Some thoughts for the day:

* Despite my joking, it is important to set aside a day to acknowledge that all human life is sacred. This has been a difficult concept for the human race ever since... well, ever since there has been a human race.

* Proponents of abortion rights consider children to be inconvenient, difficult, and dream-wreckers. They see children as derailing life goals and limiting a woman's options. They're absolutely right, too.

* It doesn't, however, follow logically that an inconvenient, difficult child who derails your life goals is always a bad thing. A child can change dreams, broaden a personality, enrich a heart -- if given a chance.

* A pro-choice culture says to children: You are special! You can achieve your dreams! You're a person because your mother decided you are! (Not your father. Not your grandparents. Only your mother had the power to confer personhood on you.) Now you need to prove to the rest of us that you are deserving of this honor. Maybe one day you little girls will have the opportunity to confer personhood on someone else!

* I'm sympathetic to the plight of women who are poor and alone, who have no way to promise that they can raise a child with love and opportunities. I understand why they want to be able to end the pregnancy, to save themselves the hardship and the child possible grief of life. But I don't believe that unrestricted abortion the right solution. It instead allows us all to ignore the real problems and instead treat the symptoms.

* I look at seven-month-old Phillip. His rounded head, poked-out ears, kicky legs, and dimpled cheeks came from a little piece of me and a little piece of Darren, and now is his own personality and his own soul. All over again and again, I am amazed.

-- SJ

Fwowy

Daphne came to me, a bundle of indignation. "Stuwot said...!" she began. Most of her eruptions of indignation start with these words.

"Stuwot said it was a fwowy pen! It's NOT a fwowy pen!"

I gazed at her blankly for a moment, giving her time to repeat herself at least twice. Finally I guessed, "It's not a frozen pen?"

"No! Fwowy! FWOH-WEE."

This was tricky. The /w/ sound could be L or R -- or W itself. The /f/ sound could be F or TH, although she often pronounces /th/ as /h/ (she refers to items she can't name as "hingies").

I tried evasive action. "I'm sorry he said that."

"Tell him NOT to say that!"

I imagined myself telling Stuart, "Don't say it's a fwowy pen." No, that would make things even more complicated. I hazarded a couple more guesses: "Flowy pen? Furry pen?" No, no, NO.

Finally I admitted defeat. "Honey, I can't understand the word you're trying to say."

Daphne never, ever admits defeat. (If she realizes she's lost an argument, she'll say, "I want you to stop talking.") She obligingly pronounced it slowly for me. "F-w-oh-w-e-e-e." I remained unenlightened.

Then she gave the the key to cracking the code: "He fwew it and I said don't and he said it was a fwowy pen."

Oh. OH! "He threw it? You mean he said it was a throwy pen?"

"Yes! A fwowy pen! And it's NOT!"

"Right. It's not a throwy pen. You're absolutely right."

Satisfied in her rightness, Daphne smiled at me and wandered away. I was left feeling a little tired, but with a new term at my disposal. When something takes more effort than it's actually worth -- like understanding a stupid argument between siblings -- it's fwowy.

You heard it first here.

-- SJ

Home Again

It's a long way from Mississippi to Virginia.

Multiply that by four kids and it runs into the astronomical.

Divide that by four kids who are super good travelers, and it's a far piece.

Add a baby who wins the Mr. Golden Baby Award for smiles and absence of crying, and you're back down to a long way.

It's supposed to be warm in Mississippi during the winter. I certainly packed for warm weather. Instead, we got cold weather. So cold, the pipes froze more than once in one week. So cold, that although family and friends greeted me with, "Glad you're here!" or "So good to see you!", mostly what they said was, "Why did you bring this weather down with you?"

I saw mother and uncle and brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and friends and familiar places and lots of pine trees. It was great fun.

Still, we're glad to be back! All five and a half of us!

(The other half of me is still a thousand miles away in Mississippi.)

-- SJ