Well, MAYBE I Ponder, Maybe Not

A post in which I ponder the importance of becoming a discerning listener of music.

I truly love music. But I do not listen to it as background. For some reason I have never been able to do that. If I am the one to turn on music, it is for the sole purpose of listening to it intently.

But sadly, this is not the case for those I live with.

I realized this when I found myself humming "Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off" Sunday afternoon.

Why, you may be wondering? Well, on the very short drive to my parents house Saturday night that song was playing on the radio. I'm not used to this car yet and could not find the knob/button/whathaveyou to turn it off. The ride to my parent's house only took as long as that song. But it stuck in my head.

I know all the words to "I Love This Bar". I was once caught whistling it while I worked. By my former pastor. In the church. Of course then he had to admit that he knew it too. So we were even on that score.

I do not drink. But "Let's Get Drunk and Be Somebody" dances a jig through my head at times. And I want you to know I have NEVER purposely listened to that song.

Strangely enough (as if this isn't already strange enough) "Beer for My Horses" is one of my favorites. I do not drink beer, I do not have horses, and I'm not at all for singing a victory tune when the gunsmoke settles. Hanging people high in a tree? I'm totally opposed to that. I have been know to raise up my glass against evil forces, but not with whiskey for my man, nor beer for my horses - which by the way, I still don't have.

I had a job once balancing checks that came in to my place of employment from several different banks. I worked second shift. The radio BLARED on a honky-tonkish country station from somewhere up north. Did YOU know that there was once a song titled "I've Got Nine Million Nine Hundred Ninety Nine Thousand Nine Hundred Ninety Nine Tears to Go"? Well there is. I'm sure if I heard it now my hand would automatically assume the 10 key adding maching position.

I try to be very careful what I put into my head. But some stuff just flies through the air with the greatest of ease and sticks there whether I want it to or not.

Then when I get a migraine it comes out to play, dancing around happily in my painfilled cranium wearing cowboy boots with spurs.

That makes me wonder...do YOU know the words to John Denver's "Grandma's Featherbed?"

Music is such a personal thing. In my old neighborhood there was a family who would crank up latino music whenever their parents went away (which was often). It was loud and throbbingly painful with lots of castanets, and that high pitched noise that sounds like a cackling bird. This was so annoying. But in an elementary attempt to prove a point, our neighbors would retaliate by turning on a 'Christian' music station full blast. I felt like I had died and gone to some weird sort of music hell.

If only there was a CD of silence one could turn up to escape from all noise.

There isn't.

So on I go through my day, occasionally belting out horribly inappropriate lyrics. Like the one I learned from "The Elephant Show" when my kids were small..."She blew her nose in cornbread and called it pumpkin pie!"

I'm going to put on my favorite praise and worship CD right now, and purposefully LISTEN to it.