Music To My Ears - A Note to Self

On your way to visit one of your friends you like to walk a certain path. This path winds through a beautiful park where artists, philosophers, activists, and comedians congregate. All walks of life like to gather here. There is a spirit of community and diversity in the park. You begin to notice a few people are building soapboxes and giving speeches. Sometimes a few of them say things that simply irritate you; other times they spout complete nonsense. Then some angry musicians start playing controversial music.

You could just walk around the park and avoid the path, but you enjoy seeing your other friends there and you like the atmosphere most of the time. You have tried to ignore the speeches and the music, but you're fed up with having to listen to this junk. And, dang it, you shouldn't have to take a different path! You have just as much right to be here as they do. It's beginning to feel like you can't come to the park anymore without being disgusted and ticked off. No one should have to tolerate this. One day you decide to confront a particular offender or three. After all, they're too loud and they're just wrong!

And the things that tumble out of your mouth... Is your tone sarcastic? Are you being too defensive? Is your argument sour and bitter? Or is your speech laced with sweet but deadly poison instead? Are you merely offering your unique perspective? Or is your ultimate goal just to shut them up if you can't change their warped mind?

Sometimes attempting to understand while being understood seems downright threatening at its worst and difficult at best. Fear wants to turn out all the lights that aren't going down it's own path. Fear prefers to keep people from building a soapbox in the first place. Fear likes to tell people they have no business writing lyrics for the tune.

What if we could knock down all the people on soapboxes we didn't like? After a while, we would likely end up hearing mildly different versions of stuff we've heard before. Avoiding conflict is always nice though, right? We begin to wonder what's the worst that would happen if we tore down all the soapboxes? After all, they have created dangerous controversy and alienated people. They are encouraging division rather than unity. Maybe "Soapboxing" should be banned, and music should be voted upon and regulated.

Then it would be peaceful and quiet in the park. Finally you could hear the sound of your own voice! But given enough time, most things become "Old Hat," regardless of how awe-inspiring or desirous they were at one time. Sure, there's no oppression, but there's also no way to define your true allies. You've forgotten how to stand up for anything or anyone because you don't need to anymore. It seems like there are fewer and fewer people on this path that are challenging you or inspiring you. People are still talking and music is still playing, but there is nothing new or even noteworthy here.

You notice that without the angry music, you have no anthem to march to. Which is perfectly fine since it's pointless to march or wave banners for things anymore. That would be preaching to the choir. But you know that not all the music and speeches out there suit your taste and, worse yet, some people are a little "off-key." Some skip notes and others forget the words. In fact, you've always thought a couple genres and 'soapboxers' should just go away altogether because, after all, the majority detests them and only that weird minority loves them. And that one catchy hit you used to put on repeat? Does the DJ have to keep playing it every time you turn on the radio? You're over it. Sick of it, even.

Music can cause us to cry; it can cause us to dance. With or without lyrics, music amazes and moves. It is loved and hated. But music and lyrics are powerless on their own.

Words require action as a result of their influence to accomplish anything. Auditory or visual exposure to the lyrics of a song or the words of a speech is almost always optional. Implementation of the words is obviously desired and suggested by the writer or speaker but it is almost never mandatory or unavoidable.

Would you tell your daughter she shouldn't learn to play the violin, even if it's her young life's dream, because the screeching is going to hurt your ears? Would you tell an adult relative trying to learn a new language that it's insensitive and ignorant to the native culture and people to practice that language out loud until they are sure they can get the inflection and the pronunciation exact? Would you tell toddlers they are not allowed to speak until they can form words and sentences perfectly and correctly? Just think of all those adorable babbling words and silly phrases you would miss out on.

To try is to learn through action.

In art, using one color next to another can cause one of them to *pop*. Separate, you might not really notice either one. Sometimes balance and depth is achieved by contrast. You might hate yellow, but it makes the gray in a room anything but drab.

You used to think kale was gross, but then you tried so-and-so's recipe and now you can't get enough of it. You knew it's a "superfood" that's good for you, but now you know it can also be delicious if prepared in certain ways. It took several test runs and kitchen disasters to get it right, but now you can't help telling everyone who will listen, from the top of your bulk food cardboard box of kale, "You've just gotta try it!"

When "that picky friend" tells you they are never going to like kale, they're never going to try kale, and they're never going to stop thinking you're crazy for loving kale, just remind yourself that they are really missing out. Maybe they are allergic. Allergy is only determined by testing or exposure of one kind or another. Even if they aren't allergic, they could try it a million different ways and still end up hating it. That doesn't mean it's not still the green vegetable of choice for you. At least you gave it a chance.

It might be disastrous to discourage that terrible violin player. The occasional screech might be drowning out a more dreadful wail from the clarinet down the row. Someday you may find the song is severely lacking when that part, played well, is omitted. Each player, each word, and each note has value. Try to remember that often the music or speech is intended to sound different or better than the way it sounds to you. Lots of practice on everyone's part might eventually make perfect. Just please don't stop the music.

Parental Unit Mortification - Mission Accomplished!

Posted on Myspace.com, Monday, February 23, 2009

One Day In Parental Hell - Not the First Nor the Last!
Current mood: embarrassed

My husband & I learned not long after our son Bryson was born at the end of 2007 that we can't take him anywhere. He's the world's loudest screaming child. You know that your days of dining out with your children are over when people mutter and glare at you as you make your hasty, apologetic retreat. But here in Idaho, Bryson has stepped up his game and had us escorted out of the “child-friendly” library twice since we moved here.

Last week, Sadie proudly parcels out $10 in quarters that was a gift from her grandparents to her friends at school. We aren’t even going to discuss why that was such a big deal, other than to say that I don’t think she gained any more friends with that stunt than she scored points with her mother. So the very next day she freaks out on the school bus because she swallowed a jewel from her encrusted designer jeans. The bus driver is completely freaked out, because Sadie is freaked out and insists, sobbing, that the jewel is still stuck in her throat.

Never mind that my daughter is five and knows better than to put small inedible objects in her mouth, but to top it off, by the time I get her to the doctor’s office... Let me take this pause to note that this is the office thirty minutes from home that we have never been to before, is the ONLY pediatrician’s office in Sandpoint, that we are hoping will accept us as patients, and will treat our children for the next five long, frigid, lonely years… By the time I get her to the doctor’s office and checked in, I inspect her jeans and realize that there are no jewels missing from her fancy pants.

This is kind of where I lose it, because Sadie changes her story at this point, and says that her friend picked the jewel up off the floor because she thought it fell off of Sadie’s pants. So not only did she put the jewel in her mouth, she knew that it had been on the ground and put it in her mouth anyways, because apparently, she thought that was a good idea. “I’ve never swallowed anything that I put in my mouth like that before,” she says. So obviously, this is something she does on a regular basis. Will wonders never cease?

Even though I know from prior experience that Bryson will go ballistic if I try to pry him from the lobby toys, I go to the receptionist and ask her to cancel our appointment, because I’m not sure whether Sadie has actually swallowed anything at all at this point. Sadie is NOT a liar, but from time to time, she embellishes the truth when she’s bored and (lucky me in this situation) she LOVES going to the doctor. Sadie insists that she’s telling the truth, but I’m too miffed to care because when I called my dear husband to tell him that we’re in the waiting room and why, he asks, “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

The other two women in the waiting room, like most other people in Idaho (seriously, what is UP with that?!), are staring at me intently because they’ve been listening to my entire confrontation with Sadie on the validity of her claims and now my terse responses to the cell phone conversation. Apparently people in Sandpoint have nothing better to do. Wow, did I mention how much I love this place? I pick Bryson up, and surprisingly, he doesn’t put up a fight. And I thought Sadie was the brilliant one! In light of recent events, she'll have to accept at least a temporary demotion.

We get into the car, and Sadie gets her usual lecture. We head home and my cell rings. It’s the bus driver, and she’s called the other children’s mothers on her route to find out who gave Sadie the jewel. So now all of the other parents are involved and have grilled their children (who are now about 50 cents richer, give or take) about what Sadie put down her throat and how it got there. Sadie’s bus driver is hands down the kindest woman in the world and one can’t blame her, but I’m pretty much mortified on all fronts now.

The next day the bus driver gets off the bus and says she can't believe that Sadie’s teacher knew all about it and didn’t say anything. (Maybe the teacher's on the same page as my husband?) She made sure that won’t happen again. She gives me a hug and tells me I’m the sweetest thing. I raise my eyebrows and ask why, and she tells me that I'm doing a great job with Sadie and that she is such a sweetheart. On the way home I ask Sadie if she remembered to tell her driver that she was sorry for making her worry, and she says, “Yes, I told her ‘my mommy said to tell you that I’m sorry for making you freak all out yesterday, and I’m fine now.’” Not exactly word for word, but I guess it'll have to do. *Sigh...*

The good news is that Sadie is perfectly fine, and now I get regular reports on her excremental status. Forget digging for gold, my daughter is looking for diamonds in her poo!....