My mother would have been 90 years old on February first, and in March it will be 20 years since she passed away. I miss her profoundly in so many ways, but one of the greatest ways that she influenced me is that she was one of the most generous people I've ever known, both with her hands and with her heart.
Mother was a child of the Depression. In 1930 her father took his family to wait out the bad economic times living off the land on a homestead in Southern Oregon. Mother's memories of that time read like "Little House in the Cascades," complete with carrying water from the creek, going to a one-room school, and picking wild berries. Grandma, one of 14 kids, had grown up on a ranch in Idaho and knew how to sew and can. She made underwear for the girls out of flour sacks and scrimped and made do. Grandpa sold cord wood in town and did odd jobs to earn money when he needed to buy things at the general store. Knowing Grandpa was out there with four little kids, the storekeeper kept an eye on him. Once he gave Grandpa a case of unlabeled cans that he couldn't sell, but not knowing what it was didn't matter when the kids were hungry. Mother said she'd never forget the smell when the can opener pierced the tin. It was spinach, and it tasted good.
For Christmas that year, the family got a box of used clothes and toys and were so grateful that someone remembered them. Grandpa, orphaned at eight, had grown up in a Masonic Home where the thoughtful matron saw to it that each child had fifty cents to spend for Christmas every year. Likewise, Grandpa took his children to Woolworth's in Roseburg and gave them each fifty cents to buy gifts for their siblings and parents.
For the rest of her life, Mother tried to make life better for other people. She appreciated what she had and though my parents were never wealthy, they shared their blessings. Mother gleaned apples from nearby orchards and made sure her widowed or financially struggling friends had a box of apples. Every year she bottled a thousand jars of fruits, vegetables, juice, jam and sometimes meat. She made sure all the kids in the family had coats and boots for the winter if their parents couldn't afford it. When she took me to school at BYU, she'd stop on the way home at a dry bean warehouse in Idaho for a couple of sacks to divide up among friends and family in Portland. She noticed when other people needed something and was always on the lookout for a way to satisfy that need. When something came into her hands that she couldn't use, she'd pass it along to someone who could. Other people might have been insulted and thrown the thing in the trash, but not Mother.
Growing up with this kind of mother, I never resented the treasures she brought home from the Good Will store. I understood what it meant to have a generous heart. Our children will never forget the trips we took with my parents, full of adventure and laughter and good food and endless interesting information (Mother was a walking encyclopedia). When we moved in 2009 and downsized, I had the kids come and help me clean out closets so they could take away what they wanted. They can enjoy their "inheritance," such as it may be, and I have the pleasure of watching that.
In our world of selfishness and narcissism and "what's in it for me," a generous person is a rare find, even a treasure. I could do a lot worse than to be like my mother.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Camelot - NOT!!!
With the jetstream pumping Arctic air into the Rockies and a massive storm paralyzing the Midwest and Northeast, there's a lot of complaining now about the weather. In parking lots we drive past the piles of dirty snow, reminders of our heavy December storms that will still be there a month from now.
Yesterday morning the faucet in our kitchen was frozen. Since the sink is on an outside north wall, and the temperatures were subzero, of course something's going to freeze. Duh. Why didn't we anticipate that. Roger called the plumber, who was having an insane day and would not be able to get here until 6 o'clock. Fine. In the meantime, we didn't have a spare space heater to aim under the sink, so Roger went to Home Depot to get one. "Sorry," they said, "the only heaters we have left are the ones on display." And they weren't what he wanted. So he bought some insulated sleeves for the outside faucets and Home Depot employees went on unloading the summer fans that have just arrived. Don't you love irony?
Instead, Roger went to Sears and found a small space heater. Good ol' Sears. In the meantime, the line unfroze itself and water started running again. We canceled the plumber and left the faucet dripping overnight with the little heater aimed at the pipes underneath.
But it got me thinking. No fact of our lives - not love, not genius, not even babies - provides more immediate proof of the existence of God than does the weather. He gave us rocks and trees and autumn and Eagle Creek Falls, and we do nothing but complain about snow and cold and the serendipitous randomness of the world. Come on, people - He never promised us Camelot, where the rain may never fall till after sundown, but we can be sure of this: our world is never boring.
On the contrary, we should be grateful that the seasons change and the world renews itself in spite of whether we've lost ten pounds or apologized or taken down the Christmas lights by Valentine's Day. Seasons of planting, growing, maturing and harvesting are gifts we take for granted. We remain reticent and skeptical while all around us is proof that God loves us and believes we can straighten things out.
According to people who have studied the phenomenon, spring starts at sea level and moves up eleven miles per day. You see? God loves us. He gives us time to adjust and change.
Yesterday morning the faucet in our kitchen was frozen. Since the sink is on an outside north wall, and the temperatures were subzero, of course something's going to freeze. Duh. Why didn't we anticipate that. Roger called the plumber, who was having an insane day and would not be able to get here until 6 o'clock. Fine. In the meantime, we didn't have a spare space heater to aim under the sink, so Roger went to Home Depot to get one. "Sorry," they said, "the only heaters we have left are the ones on display." And they weren't what he wanted. So he bought some insulated sleeves for the outside faucets and Home Depot employees went on unloading the summer fans that have just arrived. Don't you love irony?
Instead, Roger went to Sears and found a small space heater. Good ol' Sears. In the meantime, the line unfroze itself and water started running again. We canceled the plumber and left the faucet dripping overnight with the little heater aimed at the pipes underneath.
But it got me thinking. No fact of our lives - not love, not genius, not even babies - provides more immediate proof of the existence of God than does the weather. He gave us rocks and trees and autumn and Eagle Creek Falls, and we do nothing but complain about snow and cold and the serendipitous randomness of the world. Come on, people - He never promised us Camelot, where the rain may never fall till after sundown, but we can be sure of this: our world is never boring.
On the contrary, we should be grateful that the seasons change and the world renews itself in spite of whether we've lost ten pounds or apologized or taken down the Christmas lights by Valentine's Day. Seasons of planting, growing, maturing and harvesting are gifts we take for granted. We remain reticent and skeptical while all around us is proof that God loves us and believes we can straighten things out.
According to people who have studied the phenomenon, spring starts at sea level and moves up eleven miles per day. You see? God loves us. He gives us time to adjust and change.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Counting My Blessings Again
It's been two years for me and Barack. He only got sworn in as President of the United States. But I got my life back.
Two years ago today I had my left knee replacement surgery. I'm doing much better with simple things like walking, but not so much with more complicated things like kneeling. These days I sit to say my prayers, but mentally I'm kneeling. I'm not doing 5K races and I'm not sprinting all over big box stores like a teenager, but I am out there and into life. My second surgery was February 17, meaning the left one had to be the "good" leg I could depend on. It sort of worked that way.
Now I note the milestones – doing stairs, shopping without riding the motorized cart, even just standing around talking is progress. I'll never take for granted the ability to walk without pain.
I'm so grateful for modern medicine. And plastic and steel and the way the human body adapts. I've catalogued my experience here before so I won't repeat it, but today I'm thinking about where I might be if I hadn't done it - in a wheelchair.
Two years ago today I had my left knee replacement surgery. I'm doing much better with simple things like walking, but not so much with more complicated things like kneeling. These days I sit to say my prayers, but mentally I'm kneeling. I'm not doing 5K races and I'm not sprinting all over big box stores like a teenager, but I am out there and into life. My second surgery was February 17, meaning the left one had to be the "good" leg I could depend on. It sort of worked that way.
Now I note the milestones – doing stairs, shopping without riding the motorized cart, even just standing around talking is progress. I'll never take for granted the ability to walk without pain.
I'm so grateful for modern medicine. And plastic and steel and the way the human body adapts. I've catalogued my experience here before so I won't repeat it, but today I'm thinking about where I might be if I hadn't done it - in a wheelchair.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Cattle Call
In the theatrical world, auditions are known as cattle calls, but that's what I felt like yesterday when I went to get my driver's license renewed at the East Bay location in south Provo. I dreaded waiting in long lines and sitting there with nothing to do while the process moved like a herd of snails on parade, so I came prepared with a sandwich and a book.
However, the line was surprisingly short and I went happily to the first window where the process begins. My good mood didn't last long. I'd forgotten my social security card - not my number, but the card that proves it's my number. Never mind that the number is in my head, on the medicare card in my possession, and I had to have it to get the passport I presented to them, but no, that wasn't enough. If I couldn't find the actual card itself, the clerk told me with a smile (am I paranoid or did I detect a certain sense of power-mad glee in it?) that I could get a replacement at some other government office some distance away where I would be privileged to stand in another line.
No thanks. It was mid-afternoon and I knew that by the time I went home and found the card, I'd come back to this office and find longer lines. It was risky since the office buttons up precisely at 4 p.m. No exceptions, no mercy.
Though I didn't remember exactly where the card was, I knew sort of where I might have put it in my desk, so I went home to west Provo, found it, and drove back to the driver license office. There's only one Window #1 where the process starts. Other people at windows 2, 3 and 4 weren't that busy because people weren't funneling through Window #1 very quickly. (I'm reaching for a dysfunctional alimentary canal metaphor here that would apply to dealing with government institutions but it isn't working so I'll skip it.)
In its infinite wisdom, the Utah Legislature changed the law so new and renewal licensees have to show four forms of identification. I brought my passport, birth certificate, proof that we paid property taxes in Utah County this year, copies of paid utility bills, and my driver's license. In lieu of the social security card I could have brought a W-2 form, but I don't work, so I don't get those anymore. Faxed or photocopied documents are unacceptable, and if your name is different than the last time you got a license, the law says you have to have documentation for the change. We have government assurance that images of all these documents will be kept in a "secure database."
Now if the Utah Legislature doesn't think I am who I say I am with proof from three documents and 35 years of paying taxes in this state, what makes them think four will be stronger proof? And how do I know that database is really secure? I'm just asking. If the Legislature wants to do something useful, they could put the social security office, the passport office, and the driver license office all in the same vicinity, next to the city office and the county courthouse. With drink dispensers.
As I left those hallowed precincts, was it my imagination or did I really hear sounds of mooing from the 20 people still standing in line?
Anyway, I medicated with chocolate as soon as I got home and I'm fine now. My new license should be here in time for my birthday next week.
However, the line was surprisingly short and I went happily to the first window where the process begins. My good mood didn't last long. I'd forgotten my social security card - not my number, but the card that proves it's my number. Never mind that the number is in my head, on the medicare card in my possession, and I had to have it to get the passport I presented to them, but no, that wasn't enough. If I couldn't find the actual card itself, the clerk told me with a smile (am I paranoid or did I detect a certain sense of power-mad glee in it?) that I could get a replacement at some other government office some distance away where I would be privileged to stand in another line.
No thanks. It was mid-afternoon and I knew that by the time I went home and found the card, I'd come back to this office and find longer lines. It was risky since the office buttons up precisely at 4 p.m. No exceptions, no mercy.
Though I didn't remember exactly where the card was, I knew sort of where I might have put it in my desk, so I went home to west Provo, found it, and drove back to the driver license office. There's only one Window #1 where the process starts. Other people at windows 2, 3 and 4 weren't that busy because people weren't funneling through Window #1 very quickly. (I'm reaching for a dysfunctional alimentary canal metaphor here that would apply to dealing with government institutions but it isn't working so I'll skip it.)
In its infinite wisdom, the Utah Legislature changed the law so new and renewal licensees have to show four forms of identification. I brought my passport, birth certificate, proof that we paid property taxes in Utah County this year, copies of paid utility bills, and my driver's license. In lieu of the social security card I could have brought a W-2 form, but I don't work, so I don't get those anymore. Faxed or photocopied documents are unacceptable, and if your name is different than the last time you got a license, the law says you have to have documentation for the change. We have government assurance that images of all these documents will be kept in a "secure database."
Now if the Utah Legislature doesn't think I am who I say I am with proof from three documents and 35 years of paying taxes in this state, what makes them think four will be stronger proof? And how do I know that database is really secure? I'm just asking. If the Legislature wants to do something useful, they could put the social security office, the passport office, and the driver license office all in the same vicinity, next to the city office and the county courthouse. With drink dispensers.
As I left those hallowed precincts, was it my imagination or did I really hear sounds of mooing from the 20 people still standing in line?
Anyway, I medicated with chocolate as soon as I got home and I'm fine now. My new license should be here in time for my birthday next week.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Belated Christmas
We will be celebrating Christmas this year with two of our children and two of our grandchildren.
Almost.
Our REAL Christmas will come in a few weeks when another grandchild arrives. Our son Jordan and his wife Heather have been chosen by a birth mother to be the parents of a little boy who will be born in late January. That's a unique Christmas gift, to say the least, an example of the most selfless kind of love. Christmas will never be the same. Is it any wonder we can't hear or sing lullabies and songs about Joseph this year without floods of tears.
They have named him Samuel, which means 'asked of God.' For more than nine years Jordan and Heather have prayed for a baby. This one is an answer to prayer. A string of happy miracles has brought him to our family. And there will be more miracles in the life of his birth mother as she reaches for new goals in seeking to renew her own life. We will never forget her, and we will always be grateful for her faith and trust.
Because of various scheduling circumstances we had two Thanksgivings this year, and now we are going to have two Christmases. No family could be more blessed!
Almost.
Our REAL Christmas will come in a few weeks when another grandchild arrives. Our son Jordan and his wife Heather have been chosen by a birth mother to be the parents of a little boy who will be born in late January. That's a unique Christmas gift, to say the least, an example of the most selfless kind of love. Christmas will never be the same. Is it any wonder we can't hear or sing lullabies and songs about Joseph this year without floods of tears.
They have named him Samuel, which means 'asked of God.' For more than nine years Jordan and Heather have prayed for a baby. This one is an answer to prayer. A string of happy miracles has brought him to our family. And there will be more miracles in the life of his birth mother as she reaches for new goals in seeking to renew her own life. We will never forget her, and we will always be grateful for her faith and trust.
Because of various scheduling circumstances we had two Thanksgivings this year, and now we are going to have two Christmases. No family could be more blessed!
Thursday, December 9, 2010
How Shall We Celebrate Christmas?
Recently I read an article that suggested there are three ways to keep Christmas –
…at the Santa Claus level, with the decorations, trees, presents and food,
…at the Silent Night level, with the carols, Bible reading to review the story of Christ's birth, and traditions involving the symbols of Christmas,
…at the Adult Christ level with its lasting joy, lasting peace, and lasting hope.
It seems like the first two levels get the most attention, but they don't last and they go away quickly. However, the third level is one that requires spiritual maturity to become like Christ, with his forgiving touch and boundless love.
Here are some thoughts that help me keep my attention focused on the Christ in Christmas:
This Christmas, mend a quarrel, seek out the forgotten friend, dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a letter. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Manifest your loyalty in word and deed. Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else. Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more. Express your gratitude. Welcome a stranger. Try to understand. Gladden the heart of a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. Speak love, and then speak it again. (Howard W. Hunter)
Gifts in God's Name
by Sigrid Undset
When we give each other
Christmas presents in His name,
Let us remember that He has given us
the sun and the moon and the stars,
the earth with its forests and mountains
and oceans –
and all that lives and moves upon them.
He has given us all green things
and everything that blossoms and bears
fruit –
and all that we quarrel about
and all that we have misused –
And to save us from our foolishness,
from our sins,
He came down to earth
and gave us Himself.
(author unknown)
If, as Herod, we fill our lives with things,
and again with things;
if we consider ourselves so unimportant
that we must fill every moment of our lives with action,
when will we have the time
to make the long, slow journey
across the desert as did the Magi?
Or sit and watch the stars as did the shepherds?
Or brood over the coming of the Child as did Mary?
For each one of us, there is a desert to travel,
a star to discover,
and a being within ourselves to bring to life.
…at the Santa Claus level, with the decorations, trees, presents and food,
…at the Silent Night level, with the carols, Bible reading to review the story of Christ's birth, and traditions involving the symbols of Christmas,
…at the Adult Christ level with its lasting joy, lasting peace, and lasting hope.
It seems like the first two levels get the most attention, but they don't last and they go away quickly. However, the third level is one that requires spiritual maturity to become like Christ, with his forgiving touch and boundless love.
Here are some thoughts that help me keep my attention focused on the Christ in Christmas:
This Christmas, mend a quarrel, seek out the forgotten friend, dismiss suspicion and replace it with trust. Write a letter. Give a soft answer. Encourage youth. Manifest your loyalty in word and deed. Keep a promise. Forgo a grudge. Forgive an enemy. Apologize. Examine your demands on others. Think first of someone else. Be kind. Be gentle. Laugh a little more. Express your gratitude. Welcome a stranger. Try to understand. Gladden the heart of a child. Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the earth. Speak love, and then speak it again. (Howard W. Hunter)
Gifts in God's Name
by Sigrid Undset
When we give each other
Christmas presents in His name,
Let us remember that He has given us
the sun and the moon and the stars,
the earth with its forests and mountains
and oceans –
and all that lives and moves upon them.
He has given us all green things
and everything that blossoms and bears
fruit –
and all that we quarrel about
and all that we have misused –
And to save us from our foolishness,
from our sins,
He came down to earth
and gave us Himself.
(author unknown)
If, as Herod, we fill our lives with things,
and again with things;
if we consider ourselves so unimportant
that we must fill every moment of our lives with action,
when will we have the time
to make the long, slow journey
across the desert as did the Magi?
Or sit and watch the stars as did the shepherds?
Or brood over the coming of the Child as did Mary?
For each one of us, there is a desert to travel,
a star to discover,
and a being within ourselves to bring to life.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Back By Popular Demand... Christmas Music: The Heaven and Hell of It
from December 2008, why Black Friday means nothing to me...
My husband and I were on a phone call recently that required us to wait on hold for about half of the total one-hour time it took to complete the transaction. While we were on hold, we were subjected to the torturous sounds of New Age ‘music,’ put there by some well-meaning person convinced we needed to be ‘entertained’ while we were waiting. Running barefoot on broken glass would have been infinitely more satisfying. I am convinced that New Age ‘music’ destroys brain cells and breaks down resistance to truth, logic and common sense, making people believe that there is no such thing as good or evil – it’s all a matter of preference. New Age sounds dissolve conscience and create a vacuum in its place. Suddenly everything is hunky-dory for listeners and they think all the problems of the world will go away if we all just sit around listening to and grooving on this foulest form of air pollution. New Age ‘music’ is the sorry consequence of bra burning, free love, and Woodstock.
That’s one way of saying I’m picky about music, especially now that it's Christmas time and there's more questionable music in the air. My eclectic musical tastes were formed in a home where we listened to the Metropolitan Opera broadcast on Saturday mornings, and ended the day with the steel guitars, sweet harmonies and ukuleles on Hawaii Calls, as well as the authentic Western sounds of Gene Autry’s Melody Ranch.
Because music has such power, particularly in my own soul, my deeply personal celebration of Christmas very often centers on great music inspired by a heavenly source, and its effect on me is profound. Most especially, probably because I pay close attention to the precise meanings of words, my soul yearns to hear or sing appropriate lyrics from significant texts, paired with satisfying and rewarding melodies expressing the deepest meaning of Christmas. Let me worship through reverent, joyful music in the most sublime, eloquent way, as the Savior of the world deserves. In fact, singing in the church choir I sometimes find myself so moved that I can’t sing. My heart is touched by so many inspired works, the cherished carols and anthems, and authentic folk music that arises from simple, humble faith of ordinary people.
However, there is some Christmas music so patently offensive that I want to wipe out all memories of ever having heard or sung it. I want to slink, Grinch-like, into all the music stores, radio stations, private collections and sheet music publishers and obliterate some sounds I hear over public address systems in stores during the holidays. You don’t have a choice when you hear this drivel in a shopping mall. They mean well, but it doesn’t entertain; in fact, most of these songs don’t even mention the real meaning of Christmas. Indeed, they inspire my inner Scrooge, making me want to buy less so I can leave the premises as quickly as possible. That’s how I first heard the number one selection on my Top Twenty List of Christmas Songs I Never Want To Hear Again.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Here’s the complete and generous list of losers with the heartfelt scorn and derision each so richly deserves:
20. It’s Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas – …to which I want to respond, “Well, duh! What was your first clue – sundown on Halloween?” It sounds like the guy who says during a heat wave, “Hot enough for ya?” This is something clueless Goofy would have said to patient Mickey, who is far more tolerant of stupid remarks than I.
19. (tie) Winter Wonderland/Marshmallow World – Ain’t no time nowhere winter is a wonderland for me; I cannot celebrate the charm I do not find. Winter is a slip-on-the-ice, sprain-your-ankle, freeze-your-tushie-off, endlessly boring season broken only by the sweetness of celebrating a sacred holiday. Don’t let’s confuse the two.
18. I’ll be Home for Christmas – This is total schmaltz when you first hear it, mind-numbingly dull after that. So you’re not going to be there except in your dreams – boohoo. Put on your big kid panties and get over it.
17. Let it Snow – This is nothing but a seductive (you’ll excuse the expression) invitation to use bad weather as an excuse for someone to stay over at his sweetie’s house, a one-of-a-kind gift that can only be given once.
16. Have A Holly Jolly Christmas – Actually, this sounds like the worst kind of Christmas to have, completely shallow and unrelated to the real meaning of the holiday.
15. Jingle Bell Rock – Social events at holiday time are nice, but this lyric is unencumbered by logic or a description of an appropriate observance of a sacred event.
14. Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree – See #15 and #16.
13. Frosty the Snowman – Once you’ve heard this ludicrous winter legend, subsequent hearings are migraine-inducing torture.
12. The Christmas Song (you know… chestnuts roasting… yada, yada, yada) – Nothing is more offensive than clichés, and this one is loaded with them. In fact, Santa has loaded his sleigh with toys and goodies. Isn’t that what’s wrong with Christmas in the first place? We don’t need more things.
11. White Christmas – Here’s another tear-jerking string of clichés. What’s the big deal about snow? What about Christmas in Australia that takes place in the summer? Huh? Did you ever think of that? And it wasn’t snowing in Bethlehem. Since the shepherds were out with the sheep at night it had to be lambing season, and that happens in the spring. Unless it’s the Rocky Mountains, you don’t usually get snow in the spring.
10. Silver Bells – There’s not much wrong with this one if you like a boring melody and totally mindless lyrics. Can you say platitude?
9. It’s The Most Wonderful Time of the Year – Really? You love spending too much money, eating too much rich food, going to parties you don’t want to go to with people you don’t really like? What’s wonderful about that? Statistics show Christmas inspires a high incidence of depression, too. Too much hype, too many unmet high expectations.
8. Twelve Days of Christmas – Repetition is the last refuge of the unimaginative. Again, we’re stuck on using things to express love, a pitiful substitute for the genuine article.
7. Deck the Halls – Nonsense lyrics are Exhibit A in the case against this song. I don’t drink, but I should think that drunk would be the best way to find meaning in it. Far more appealing, rewarding and cogent was the Mad Magazine version of this I read in my youth, which began, “Deck us all with Boston Charlie, Walla Walla Wash and Kalamazoo…” It makes just as much sense.
6. (all songs referring to reindeer with or without red noses) – On the whole, these are completely idiotic, without redeeming value or even a modicum of charm. Lord of the Flies teaches kids to play nice together, too.
5. (all songs referring to Santa Claus) – He sees you when you’re sleeping? Really? He knows when you’re awake? Really? Isn’t that what God does, and didn’t He do it first? How can kids NOT get confused?
4. Jingle Bells – Here’s another mediocre winter tale with no connection to the holiday. Translation: people with the IQ of pinecones ride around in the snow apparently unwilling to take refuge from the weather and protect themselves against frostbite. Maybe it's really a song about survival of the fittest.
3. We Wish You a Merry Christmas – Nobody even knows what figgy pudding is anyway, and simply repeating the sentiment ad infinitum doesn’t make it more intelligible.
2. Feliz Navidad – If a guy sang this to me, I’d poison his eggnog. I do not want this derivative, dreary rubbish stuck in my head for the month of December.
1. Simply Having A Wonderful Christmas Time – No, we’re not. We’re paralyzed by the tedium of this inferior music and pointless lyric written by Paul McCartney in a fit of acute uninspired tastelessness. With the last chorus repeating ad nauseum, you think you’ve entered a new rung of Purgatory Dante must have created just for shoppers, as if another were necessary. If Christmas shopping doesn’t trigger insanity, you haven’t spent enough time in the Walmart listening to this on the PA system.
And while I’m on a roll, here’s a bonus: I never want to hear another roomful of third graders shouting I’m Gettin’ Nuttin’ for Christmas, or Up On the Housetop, or All I Want For Christmas is my Two Front Teeth. It’s only cute once.
It’s true of music no matter what time of year it is, but especially at Christmas you’ll have a deeper, richer spiritual experience when you’re more careful with what you choose to think and sing about during the holidays. When your spirit is fed with spiritually nourishing music, you grow closer to the reason for the season.
And by the way, Merry Christmas.
My husband and I were on a phone call recently that required us to wait on hold for about half of the total one-hour time it took to complete the transaction. While we were on hold, we were subjected to the torturous sounds of New Age ‘music,’ put there by some well-meaning person convinced we needed to be ‘entertained’ while we were waiting. Running barefoot on broken glass would have been infinitely more satisfying. I am convinced that New Age ‘music’ destroys brain cells and breaks down resistance to truth, logic and common sense, making people believe that there is no such thing as good or evil – it’s all a matter of preference. New Age sounds dissolve conscience and create a vacuum in its place. Suddenly everything is hunky-dory for listeners and they think all the problems of the world will go away if we all just sit around listening to and grooving on this foulest form of air pollution. New Age ‘music’ is the sorry consequence of bra burning, free love, and Woodstock.
That’s one way of saying I’m picky about music, especially now that it's Christmas time and there's more questionable music in the air. My eclectic musical tastes were formed in a home where we listened to the Metropolitan Opera broadcast on Saturday mornings, and ended the day with the steel guitars, sweet harmonies and ukuleles on Hawaii Calls, as well as the authentic Western sounds of Gene Autry’s Melody Ranch.
Because music has such power, particularly in my own soul, my deeply personal celebration of Christmas very often centers on great music inspired by a heavenly source, and its effect on me is profound. Most especially, probably because I pay close attention to the precise meanings of words, my soul yearns to hear or sing appropriate lyrics from significant texts, paired with satisfying and rewarding melodies expressing the deepest meaning of Christmas. Let me worship through reverent, joyful music in the most sublime, eloquent way, as the Savior of the world deserves. In fact, singing in the church choir I sometimes find myself so moved that I can’t sing. My heart is touched by so many inspired works, the cherished carols and anthems, and authentic folk music that arises from simple, humble faith of ordinary people.
However, there is some Christmas music so patently offensive that I want to wipe out all memories of ever having heard or sung it. I want to slink, Grinch-like, into all the music stores, radio stations, private collections and sheet music publishers and obliterate some sounds I hear over public address systems in stores during the holidays. You don’t have a choice when you hear this drivel in a shopping mall. They mean well, but it doesn’t entertain; in fact, most of these songs don’t even mention the real meaning of Christmas. Indeed, they inspire my inner Scrooge, making me want to buy less so I can leave the premises as quickly as possible. That’s how I first heard the number one selection on my Top Twenty List of Christmas Songs I Never Want To Hear Again.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Here’s the complete and generous list of losers with the heartfelt scorn and derision each so richly deserves:
20. It’s Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas – …to which I want to respond, “Well, duh! What was your first clue – sundown on Halloween?” It sounds like the guy who says during a heat wave, “Hot enough for ya?” This is something clueless Goofy would have said to patient Mickey, who is far more tolerant of stupid remarks than I.
19. (tie) Winter Wonderland/Marshmallow World – Ain’t no time nowhere winter is a wonderland for me; I cannot celebrate the charm I do not find. Winter is a slip-on-the-ice, sprain-your-ankle, freeze-your-tushie-off, endlessly boring season broken only by the sweetness of celebrating a sacred holiday. Don’t let’s confuse the two.
18. I’ll be Home for Christmas – This is total schmaltz when you first hear it, mind-numbingly dull after that. So you’re not going to be there except in your dreams – boohoo. Put on your big kid panties and get over it.
17. Let it Snow – This is nothing but a seductive (you’ll excuse the expression) invitation to use bad weather as an excuse for someone to stay over at his sweetie’s house, a one-of-a-kind gift that can only be given once.
16. Have A Holly Jolly Christmas – Actually, this sounds like the worst kind of Christmas to have, completely shallow and unrelated to the real meaning of the holiday.
15. Jingle Bell Rock – Social events at holiday time are nice, but this lyric is unencumbered by logic or a description of an appropriate observance of a sacred event.
14. Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree – See #15 and #16.
13. Frosty the Snowman – Once you’ve heard this ludicrous winter legend, subsequent hearings are migraine-inducing torture.
12. The Christmas Song (you know… chestnuts roasting… yada, yada, yada) – Nothing is more offensive than clichés, and this one is loaded with them. In fact, Santa has loaded his sleigh with toys and goodies. Isn’t that what’s wrong with Christmas in the first place? We don’t need more things.
11. White Christmas – Here’s another tear-jerking string of clichés. What’s the big deal about snow? What about Christmas in Australia that takes place in the summer? Huh? Did you ever think of that? And it wasn’t snowing in Bethlehem. Since the shepherds were out with the sheep at night it had to be lambing season, and that happens in the spring. Unless it’s the Rocky Mountains, you don’t usually get snow in the spring.
10. Silver Bells – There’s not much wrong with this one if you like a boring melody and totally mindless lyrics. Can you say platitude?
9. It’s The Most Wonderful Time of the Year – Really? You love spending too much money, eating too much rich food, going to parties you don’t want to go to with people you don’t really like? What’s wonderful about that? Statistics show Christmas inspires a high incidence of depression, too. Too much hype, too many unmet high expectations.
8. Twelve Days of Christmas – Repetition is the last refuge of the unimaginative. Again, we’re stuck on using things to express love, a pitiful substitute for the genuine article.
7. Deck the Halls – Nonsense lyrics are Exhibit A in the case against this song. I don’t drink, but I should think that drunk would be the best way to find meaning in it. Far more appealing, rewarding and cogent was the Mad Magazine version of this I read in my youth, which began, “Deck us all with Boston Charlie, Walla Walla Wash and Kalamazoo…” It makes just as much sense.
6. (all songs referring to reindeer with or without red noses) – On the whole, these are completely idiotic, without redeeming value or even a modicum of charm. Lord of the Flies teaches kids to play nice together, too.
5. (all songs referring to Santa Claus) – He sees you when you’re sleeping? Really? He knows when you’re awake? Really? Isn’t that what God does, and didn’t He do it first? How can kids NOT get confused?
4. Jingle Bells – Here’s another mediocre winter tale with no connection to the holiday. Translation: people with the IQ of pinecones ride around in the snow apparently unwilling to take refuge from the weather and protect themselves against frostbite. Maybe it's really a song about survival of the fittest.
3. We Wish You a Merry Christmas – Nobody even knows what figgy pudding is anyway, and simply repeating the sentiment ad infinitum doesn’t make it more intelligible.
2. Feliz Navidad – If a guy sang this to me, I’d poison his eggnog. I do not want this derivative, dreary rubbish stuck in my head for the month of December.
1. Simply Having A Wonderful Christmas Time – No, we’re not. We’re paralyzed by the tedium of this inferior music and pointless lyric written by Paul McCartney in a fit of acute uninspired tastelessness. With the last chorus repeating ad nauseum, you think you’ve entered a new rung of Purgatory Dante must have created just for shoppers, as if another were necessary. If Christmas shopping doesn’t trigger insanity, you haven’t spent enough time in the Walmart listening to this on the PA system.
And while I’m on a roll, here’s a bonus: I never want to hear another roomful of third graders shouting I’m Gettin’ Nuttin’ for Christmas, or Up On the Housetop, or All I Want For Christmas is my Two Front Teeth. It’s only cute once.
It’s true of music no matter what time of year it is, but especially at Christmas you’ll have a deeper, richer spiritual experience when you’re more careful with what you choose to think and sing about during the holidays. When your spirit is fed with spiritually nourishing music, you grow closer to the reason for the season.
And by the way, Merry Christmas.
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