I’m in the Mafia and Other Reasons to Sing

Do you want to know something weird? At least once a day my brain begins to sing “If I Had a Hammer.” (My computer here at work has no volume, so while that video looks somewhat promising, I cannot, well, promise anything about it, including the fact that it actually is “If I Had a Hammer.”) I have absolutely no memories of ever really listening to this song—there are no life events attached to the melodies that surround pounding all over the land. In fact, when it first happened, I had to look up the lyrics to be able to mentally sing anything besides “if I had a hammer,” because I didn’t know the words (which led to a lot of “if I had a hammer, I would make some toast…” versions.) I’m not sure what my subconscious needs to whack, but I do like to occasionally consider what I would do if I had a hammer, and I think we all know I would shoot somebody’ s eye out. This is really totally unrelated to anything concerning the rest of this blog post. But just for kicks, if I had a hammer…

I would make a to-do list and highlight the bananas out of that guy. Incidentally, you don’t need a hammer to do this, so I did it anyway, and then I had a minor panic attack about what it means to make a highlighted to-do list. (It means you’re grown up! It means you have access to a supply closet! It means you actually have enough things to do to formulate a color-coded list!) Then I realized that panic attacks are the opposite of the desired results of to-do lists (word on the street is that they’re helpful), so I pulled myself together and ate some Reese’s cups from the office candy jar.

I would want this E.E. Cummings collection. Although, I’d probably want a leather-bound collection if I was the sort of person who carried around a hammer, because people who do that are obviously in the Mafia and people in the Mafia are obviously into leather. The A –> B –> C lesson here is that I’m in the Mafia. Obviously. As was E.E. Cummings, don’t let that guy fool you.

Spring)and everyone’s
in love and flowers pick themselves.”

I would eat frozen yogurt. I think I would do this just because I can. I think do do this just because I can. Also, I would take a friend and I would love that friend and we would have good times discussing hammering and males and I would try to convince her to let me name my daughter Jane Elliot, but she would not be convinced, though she would love me anyway. She’s all about loving me anyway, Mafia or not.

 And then, of course, if I had no hammer in sight, I would go to Six Flags. (Check out that logic. You can’t explain that.)

And this I can assure: Before I went to Six Flags, I would realize I had forgotten my sneakers at my apartment, and I would try my hand at convincing Coston to stop at Wal-Mart because the very idea of sitting on my flip-flops all day and having my feet touch the ground was atrocious. If you’re thinking this isn’t hypothetical, you’d be a wise bird, my friend.

Coston did stop at Wal-Mart, and probably for several reasons, including but not limited to the facts that I was on the other side of a stomach virus and still interested in riding roller coasters, we were 35 minutes ahead of our companion car, and I was whining like a two-year-old asking for cotton candy at Six Flags. “Puhleeeease stop! I will google the nearest Wal-Mart! My iPhone was made for this adventure!” Indeed it was.

At the end of the day, I was one pair of boyfriend sandals richer, and I was able to maintain possession of all my cookies (those in my stomach, that is. A feisty two-year-old begged for my cotton candy. [I actually don’t even like cotton candy.]) The real exciting thing was that Gracie celebrated turning 21 years old going a million miles an hour down a metal beam ten millions miles in the air. You can’t top that, but we did have a chocolate cake that came close. I’m sure  there’s a metaphor for life somewhere in there, but my brain is still spinning, so I’ll give it to you next week.

I’m probably not in the Mafia, but I can say I know how to wield the sword of the Spirit, courtesy of being in the Lord’s Army (yes sir!).

“‘Is not my word like fire,’ declares the LORD, ‘and like a hammer that breaks a rock in pieces?'”

Oh. I do have a hammer.


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