Because some ear-worms deserve to be shared, and it is Sunday:
Way back when, during the summer my parents shipped me (and Sib) down to the Gulf Coast to stay with our maternal Grandparents for up to a month. Spending the summer in Houston and the winter in the Midwest probably explains a lot about how Sib and I turned out, but I digress.So in June-August we got taken to church twice a week, Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings. We attended Bible classes in the Children’s Department and sat through the service along with our Aunt and Grandparents. And sat, and sat. The preacher Brother Billy, was old school Southern Baptist and firmly believed that the length of the invocation and the message matched the quality. I suspect, had I timed them, the services would not have been as long as they felt, but I was small and easily bored. How bored? I counted the holes on the floor-to-ceiling latticework over the organ pipes. I counted the spikes on the metal trim on the lights. I memorized a large chunk of the Broadman Hymnal, including every verse of “Just as I am.”
Dozing off was not an option. For starters, Brother Billy preached energetic, hand-waving sermons. Second, the air conditioning in the building probably came from a US Navy nuclear submarine or aircraft carrier. It could have quenched the flames of Hell.
I could have done with the occasional squirrel. All we got were little lizards, and the ubiquitous roaches. I did mention that this was in Houston, didn’t I? The occasional tree roach would wander in and be chased back out.