And the moon is a sliver of silver
Like a shaving that fell on the floor of a Carpenter’s shop
People say “Why do you write music?” and I always say “Well, how many of Wesley’s sermons do you know?” And I’ve talked to a lot of good Methodists and they don’t know any of them. Then I say, “Well, how many of Wesley’s hymns do you know?” and most church goers know at least a good solid dozen hymns that Wesley wrote. Most pagans know at least a couple. And I kind of go, that is why I write music and not sermons.
I bought a soundtrack to a fifty-year old movie this week.
Which, of course, got me thinking about my favorite movie soundtracks. (Why, doesn’t it you?) I’m going to exclude musical soundtracks; that’s kind of cheating, since the soundtrack essentially is the movie. Or a large portion of it. So, no Sound of Music (ugh), no Funny Lady (double-ugh), and most definitely no La-La Land.
Good movie soundtracks are usually unobtrusive; they make the movie better, but don’t take attention away from it. Great movie soundtracks, however, not only make the movie better, they become a character themselves, a character so good that you can’t help but notice them.
Radio listeners in early 1971 were treated to something rare for that time — a song that dealt with adult relationships like an adult. The song began with just a piano and a woman’s almost wispy voice singing of her parent’s in-home estrangement and how it had impacted her. It was remarkable for a number of reasons, not the least because the woman singing was only twenty-six.
My father sits at night with no lights on, his cigarette glows in the dark
The living room is still, I walk by, no remark
I tiptoe past the master bedroom where my mother reads her magazines
I hear her call sweet dreams, but I forgot how to dream
After a chorus of sounding less than thrilled at her boyfriend’s proposal, she goes on to sing of all her friends from college and their equally dismal married lives.
Our first Postmaster General once wrote that nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes. I’m sticking with the theme, but picking two different certainties, since Franklin’s two turned out not to be quite as certain as he thought. (See Jesus for the former and our President-elect for the latter.)
My first certainty is from yesterday’s post — there’s bound to come some trouble. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, maybe next year, but there’s bound to come some trouble. That’s not pessimism, that’s just reality — we live in a broken world, and we all eventually step on that brokenness and find ourselves with a (figurative) cut foot.
Rumor has it I’ve quit writing. As rumors go, this one has more legs than most because it’s been two months since I’ve posted anything. One of the deals I made when I started the new location for the blog was that I was going to write more, and, for the most part, I’ve managed to do that. Until this summer.
Unlike in the past, however, I have a fairly good reason for this. The WCG and his transportation devices1 were home on furlough for the summer. Call it “otherwise engaged.”
Lots of things happen when the WCG hits town.