Tag Archives: bohemian rhapsody

10, 9, 8 … Countdown to Wedding Day

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I paid the wedding fee and the kitchen deposit today to use Christian Fellowship Church for the Sept. 7 holy matrimony of Natasha Jackson and Kory Myrick. A week from now it’ll be Mr. and Mrs. Myrick.

As we’re counting down the days and activity at the Jackson Estate becomes almost solely wedding focused, I’m also counting up with “How to Wreck a Marriage,” some of which is based on my 31 years of trial and error of being a prince to my princess, and some of which is based on the observations of others.

Wrecking ball No. 9: Resist change; don’t expect change. Andy will always be sheriff, Barney will always be his whacky sidekick, and Aunt Bee has a pie in the oven. You have an idea of what marriage will be like and look like, and if you’re the type that doesn’t roll very well with the punches of ever-present change, you’re in good shape to follow through with this wrecking ball. (It’s sibling, “Your fiancé will change once he/she becomes your spouse,” is this wrecking ball’s evil twin. More on that one tomorrow).

At first glance this wrecker might seem hard to understand, but if you can appreciate the nuances of “resist change,” you can wreak great havoc. For instance, here’s a chance to flex your inflexibility, to shrink away from challenges that threaten to expand your borders. Someone wants you “think outside the box?” What a ridiculous cliché. Besides, the box you’re in is just fine. You know how it operates, you know what to expect. There’s structure. Sounds like a good thing, sure, but taken to the extreme — which is what we’re after here — the unalterable structure you’ve created stifles creativity. And it stifles your spouse, the one that maybe recognizes the need to switch careers, houses, seats at church, the seasons of life. Blah blah blah.

You’re just fine. This is the way it will always be. Inside the box. Safe. Stifled.

On the other hand — I told you there were nuances, right? — being inflexible and unimaginative brings heavy darkness when things aren’t good, and love has grown dim, live has become overbearing, and your faith is like a vapor.

It will always be this way. It’s hopeless. I can’t change.

Hopeless indeed. Wrecked.

Congratulations.

Playlist

With my deepest, most sincere apologies to the late Freddy Mercury — and take a listen before you pass judgment — my No. 1 rock/metal hit of all time, Bohemian Rhapsody, performed by …

The Muppets.

And once that warms you up, check out the most classic Muppet tune of all-time. Click here.

Mahna Mahna

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Filed under Family, Inspiration, MIP: Memoir-in-progress, Wedding countdown

Memoir-in-progress: Dec. 24-25, 1975

Note to self: You’ve been a certified nerd a long, long time. Twelve years old and keeping a diary? I know, I know, you called it your “little book,” but it was a diary.

Note to reader: I was in seventh grade, living in Jefferson City. Didn’t know it at the time, but it was the final Christmas that my family was “intact.” By the time Christmas ’76 rolled around and Queen had completely rocked my world with “Bohemian Rhapsody,” my parents were divorced.

From the “little book” … (Sorry no photographic evidence):

“12-24-75: I’m about to go to bed. Kathy and I put on our X-mas program. George is hurt, but I prayed for him. He’s lots better. It’s hard to go to bed on X-mas Eve.

12-25-75: Christmas Day! I didn’t think anything about getting a hamster. I went downstairs at 7:15 this morning. I heard Mom talking about a loose hamster, but I didn’t know what to think. It had gnawed out of the box Mom had it in. She caught it so then I had it as an X-mas present. Early this morning Dad brought out a big triangular box. I guessed right off: it was a guitar. I’m making friends with my hamster, Christmas, a female, and this has been a great X-mas.”

MEMOIR MENTIONS: Kathy is my sister. She was the baby of the family until I was born 21 months after her. Kathy recently turned 50. I’m next. Kathy and I performed a family-only Christmas program (song and skits) for several years. George was my mutt dog. He was about eight months old. I recall that he jumped off the back of the couch and hurt his leg, but it didn’t bother him for long. Must have been a good prayer, huh?

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