The Sound of Music

My brain is just too retentive.

This morning, I sprayed Roundup on the last stubborn bit of bindweed. That particular plant looked pretty sickly, so this dose should finish it off. Then I sprayed the weeds growing between our patio's flagstones.

Gene Autry's "Heading for the Last Roundup" began playing in my mental jukebox.

"I'm heading for the last roundup. Gonna saddle Old Paint for the last time and ride. So long, old pal, it's time your tears are dried. I'm heading for the last roundup...."

This tune kept playing in my head until I got on the riding mower several hours later.


Then I thought how the mower is my own private place and the The Beach Boys began playing.

"There's a room where I can go and tell my secrets to. In this world I lock out all my worries and my fears. In my room, in my room, in my room, in my room. Do my dreaming and my scheming. Lie awake and pray. Do my crying and my sighing. Laugh at yesterday...."

These two tunes kept alternating, sometimes as a counterpoint to my thoughts and sometimes overriding them.

Then I saw a lady named Jean.

I suppose that could have triggered "Cheer up, sleepy Jean; oh, what can it mean to a daydream believer and a homecoming queen."

But I'm a bit too young for the Monkees.

Instead, Michael Jackson's Billie Jean popped up in the mental jukebox: "Billie Jean is not my lover. She's just a girl who claims that I am the one, but the kid is not my son. She says I am the one, but the kid is not my son."

So now I had three songs running through my head on some kind of endless loop.

Or is that Endless Love?

"I know I've found in you my endless love."

Yes, my brain is definitely too retentive.

Absalom's hair

My hair caught on a branch as I was mowing under a tree this morning. That hurt! I had to struggle to escape. I tried shaking off the branch, but it wouldn't release me.

I didn't want to let go of the mower because I didn't want to restart it. Wasn't that ridiculous?

I must have looked ridiculous, too. Hanging by the hair in a strange, very uncomfortable crouch while hanging onto the mower. Not a pretty picture. I hope the homeowner wasn't looking out the window.

Finally, I let go of the mower and used both hands to untangle my hair. I could feel my hair standing up on top and in back. I must have looked as if I'd seen a ghost. I had no comb to undo the knots.

When we returned to headquarters, I hurriedly put on my hat to cover up my frightful hairdo.

While hooked to the tree, I felt like Absalom in the Bible when he rebelled against his father, King David.

II Samuel 18:9 and 14: "Now Absalom happened to meet David's men. He was riding his mule, and as the mule went under the thick branches of a large oak, Absalom's head got caught in the tree. He was left hanging in midair, while the mule he was riding kept on going.

[Joab, David's general] took three javelins in his hand and plunged them into Absalom's heart while Absalom was still alive in the oak tree. And ten of Joab's armor-bearers surrounded Absalom, struck him and killed him."

Ironically, Absalom was considered to be the most handsome man in the kingdom and he was very vain about his long, beautiful hair. His vanity became his downfall.

Luckily for me, the tree was the only enemy. I didn't have an angry general who wanted to stab me through the heart.

As I was looking for illustrations to go with this post, I found this one on "One Year Bible Blog", a blog that features daily devotions and a one-year Bible study reading plan.

I don't know where the blogger found this image, but it reminds me of a still from a bad silent movie. Look at the heavy black makeup around Absalom's eyes! And check out the art deco costumes.

Mowing

I started a job last week as head of a mowing crew. I had forgotten the biggest advantage of mowing: Think time. No one can talk to me when I'm on/behind a mower. I can't hear them. I can hear my own thoughts very well.

Mowing time is a chance to pray, a chance to reflect, a chance to turn my mind completely off. Kind of like driving in the country, except the scenery isn't so great.

The mower's roar often fades into the background as my mind turns to whatever topic interests it.

Mowing is also a kind of instant gratification. My work's results are immediately apparent. I find that deeply satisfying. Crazy, I know.

Now, if I could just figure out how to keep the Weed Eater from beating up my hands, elbows and shoulders.