I spent the morning putting up Thanksgiving decorations then getting my ironing done while my daughter danced to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Yes, I STILL iron, and if you are someone who takes pride in expertly finding ways to get out of ironing, “Great for you!” but I happen to like the smell of hot cotton.
It was a pretty ambitious morning for me, but now I’m sitting here eating Ramen noodle soup and feeling like the most boring person in the world. I’m thinking about giving the blog the boot because surely no one wants to read about my life with Ramen noodles even if it is spiced up with Vivaldi. That just makes me sound like a Ramen snob. “Well, I prefer my noodles with the Adagio Molto movement from The Autumn concerto.” Sniff. Sniff.
Perhaps worse than succumbing to being a Ramen snob, is that I’ve also been devising desperate last ditch schemes to increase readership, and since my blog about the Bob Dylan concert a while back was my most commented upon ever, I’ve considered just typing “Bob Dylan” about a thousand times to see how many hits I get. However, believe it or not, I have too much respect for Dylan fans to do that. Instead, I’m just going to direct you to a book review I wrote on a book about Mr. Dylan. If you happen to be a Dylan fan, who is reading this because I’ve now used Dylan’s name five times and cyberspace directed you here, great. However, I’ll understand if you prefer your Dylan served up a by a non-Ramen snob. (Click here to read the review.)
This review is on my church’s website. We’re Presbyterians and it’s been hinted that that makes us “bookish.” Some might even call us book snobs. So, am I Presbyterian because I love books, or do I love books because I am Presbyterian? Neither. My love for anything worthy of being loved is due to my love for Jesus who has given me eyes to see and ears to hear and tongue to taste and experience all that is good. I think Bob Dylan probably loves Jesus, too. It was not the book that convinced me of this, though; it was his own words, the lyrics to some of his songs.
Whether one speaks of Vivaldi or Dylan, I’ve found it’s usually the artist’s work itself that says the most. I hope that doesn’t sound too much like a snob – of any kind.