The "I Don't Want to Run" Post

        I am sure that no one else ever feels this way, but sometimes -- particularly on dark and chilly mornings -- I don't really want to run. This morning was such a time. In order to convince myself that running was, nevertheless, a fun idea, I told myself that I could play a game. This game has no name, but it involves my iPod, which contains several years' worth of music downloaded by me, my husband, my children, and maybe other people too. The deal is that I have to put the iPod on "shuffle," then listen to whatever songs come up. This is made particularly interesting by the fact that the items which I (and others) have put on my iTunes account include music for enjoyment, but also songs for classes I've taught, theatrical productions mounted by the kids and their friends, and homework assignments various family members have completed.
         This morning the iPod began auspiciously with "Great Is the Lord," by Michael W. Smith. Not only is it an upbeat running song with encouraging words, but I have liked it -- and other music by this musician -- ever since this song came out, in the old days, in 1983, when I was TWELVE. I remember being lost with other members of my junior high youth group on the way to a concert he did with Amy Grant. I had the song then too . . . on a record, of course.
         As I started down the big hill in Parc Navazza, the iPod switched to Carrie Underwood singing "Cowboy Cassanova." The song made me think of driving a vanload of sixth-graders to the annual bonfire at Mr. Persing's house (he's the sixth grade teacher, and as far as I know, still has the bonfires). I think the year I remember, it was Johanna who was in sixth grade. The songs warns someone -- perhaps the singer herself -- against some guy who is "candy-coated misery," which is a pretty creative way to put it. This guy, however, doesn't sound nearly as worrisome as the man in the next song that came up -- Brittany Spears singing "Mama, I'm in Love with a Criminal." Now how did that get on my iPod? We are a family with eclectic musical tastes, but I don't think we have a single Brittany Spears fan in our midst. I didn't even know she was the singer until I got home and looked it up. The words, as one can judge from the title, are not calculated to calm a mother's cockles -- but to be fair, that probably wasn't her intention. Running past a house we looked at -- but weren't able to rent -- I meditated upon the fact that so many songs seem to be about the wrong man.
        Case in point: "Danny Boy," sung by Celtic Woman (clearly Johanna's influence on my iPod) was next up. While the eponymous Danny may have been a great guy, he clearly wasn't sticking around to comfort his love. And she fully expected to be dead by the time he returned. That's hardly a happy ending. Also, as talented as these women may be, most of their music isn't the greatest for spurring on an uninspired jogger. I eagerly awaited a new tune.
         The iPod gave me a break from misbestowed love -- though certainly not a better beat  -- by playing the story of Donatello as read by Jim Weiss. I had attempted to download these stories (Masters of the Renaissance) for our trip to Italy last spring. Like so many other aspects of that trip, the download had not gone exactly as planned, and we'd been unable to listen to any but the initial story. I'd gladly listen to Jim Weiss read the telephone book, and I was interested to hear about Donatello's consuming enthusiasm for sculpture, friendship with Cosimo di Medici, and generosity to other artists. This selection ended with the words, "Donatello was laid to rest in church beside the tomb of Cosimo di Medici." This ending was followed, in a perhaps à propos, yet jarring, juxtaposition by the words: "Down once more to the dungeons of my dark despair . . . ." The iPod had decided to treat me to a full twelve minutes from the final scenes of the Broadway show and movie Phantom of the Opera. Three summers ago Eric and I saw the musical in New York, where it's been running for like a zillion years (maybe even as long as Michael W. Smith's been around). We were every bit as awestruck by the talent and production as we thought we'd be. Later, that same summer, the kids put on their own version of the show with some friends from the neighborhood. Lucas, the only boy they could rope into onstage participation, played both Raoul and the Phantom with as much aplomb as one could expect from a 10-year-old. Johanna was Christine, and Drew did sound. The show, which ran for at least two grandparent-attended performances, was pretty outstanding for something produced, acted, and directed entirely by people under 15 -- on a budget of zero. Gut-wrenchingly beautiful as the music is, however, this is truly the story of the wrong man. He's not just a player, not just a criminal . . . he's evil incarnate. (Okay, he reforms in a way at the end, but still -- what is up with these women?)
         We moved away from men with Alison Krause singing "Down to the River to Pray" from the soundtrack of O Brother, Where Art Thou? Every time I hear the song, I am reminded that I want to see the movie again. It both confused and entranced me, and I'd like to see what 12 years has done to my impressions. I did think fleetingly that the number would have been more appropriate half an hour earlier, when I was trotting along the Aire River, rather than now, when I was running past the Co-op grocery store. Clearly, my program of musical entertainment was being presented without much forethought. The next song, again from Celtic Woman, was about . . . I have no idea. It was in Welsh or something, and I didn't understand a word -- not even enough to figure out, afterwards, what song it was. It was however, chipper and boppy, and I picked up the pace as I imagined the sword dancers picking up their feet.
        Turning into my neighborhood, I ran past our house and to the end of the street so I could listen to the final song in its entirety. It was the men's a capella group Cantus, from a CD given to Eric by my parents but beloved by Drew (whose wide-ranging musical tastes encompass French rap, gospel hymns, pop, folk, and Broadway show tunes -- to enumerate but a few). "E'en So, Lord Jesus, Quickly Come," included words that seemed like a good program for the day:

"Rejoice in heaven, all ye that dwell therein, rejoice on earth ye saints below, for Christ is coming, is coming soon, for Christ is coming soon."