My family has always been a musical one. As a child, my father rode home from town, resting his head on his father's lap, listening as my Grandpa Roy sang Little Joe the Wrangler and Strawberry Roan. My own childhood trips home from town were filled with much the same. When we didn't sing these songs, we sand along with recordings of Bob Seager, Ian Tyson, The Eagles, Credence Clearwater Revival, and sometimes Garth Brooks.. My dad is a guitar picker, as are my brothers. I don't play much by way of instruments, but I sing. Incessantly. In eighth grade, I tormented a girl by singing, "My Hat, It has Three Corners" for the better part of a day. While I cannot say that I was disappointed to torment her, the singing was more of a compulsion or a reflex. I couldn't help myself. I sang enough in the halls of the college seminary to have it occur in the senior roast as I was leaving that place. The same happened again as I finished my theological training. The truth is, I possess an entire soundtrack that runs almost ceaselessly through my head, and the music changes to accommodate the situation. Here is a sampling of today's fare:
I walked into the office of Shari, our youth director, and immediately, this song was playing in my head:
Later in the day, I went over to the school to repose the Blessed Sacrament, which had been exposed for adoration. The reposition hymn was with me for a while.
At dinner this evening, we ate broccoli over which one of the priests had melted velveta cheese. It was a bit of a stretch but my mind finally happened on the right song for the moment (I'm not joking).
I looked at some football pictures from a recent game to the stylings of Bonnie Tyler.