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One of my tasks while traveling is titled “search for a radio station.” Of course, I would be relieved of this task every time we travel if I would remember to complete the earlier task titled “bring the cds.” I know all advanced technology individuals would recommend I get an ipod, iphone or satellite radio, but then I would miss out on all the fun, frustration, and fruitlessness of searching, searching, searching.

When driving through large stretches of the US, you are exposed to a variety of local musical interests via the radio. Traveling along the smokey and appalachian mountains, you find various bluegrass stations. We listened awhile to the top fifty gospel bluegrass songs of the year. Heartbreakingly for Dale, the station faded away just before he could hear the Gaither Vocal Band song that had made the list.

Bluegrass came and went as we traveled and at one point we heard an unusual song in which God drove a volkswagon bus. I must admit, there are spectrums of Christian music that I can’t quite grasp. Now that Josiah has entered high school, he is exposed to most of them.

Josiah has a friend who listens to Christian Death Metal which to me seems an oxymoron. Does the sound or the lyrics qualify it as death metal? If death metal is all about killing, dying, pain and suffering for yourself and others, how do you connect that with Christ? Admittedly, many other Christian artists confuse me.

While traveling home late Saturday night, we heard the song “I feel like a monster.” It is hugely popular in both secular and Christian circles, wrestling and football, and with Ezekiel Manry. I assume it is a loud expression of the struggle between the flesh and the spirit.

Whenever Zeke is feeling particularly naughty or when we are discussing someone’s bad behavior, he will now burst into its chorus. It sends his siblings into a fit of giggles and I can only shake my head that at five and a half, the child knows what to do to get a laugh.

While we were driving, I did manage to find the Saints game on the radio and Dale was able to listen to the pregame show. The show’s commentator was someone who attended Dale’s church when Dale was in high school. The New Orleans sport talk radio is so polite and encouraging towards the team even when they lose, it is a bit shocking to hear. With Chicago fans, even if the team is  winning, talk radio (and I) will still be hurling insults.

Throughout all the searching, my favorite radio station to find is the one that is still local focused. It is broadcast to a very small area, reads the paper out loud over the air, announces spaghetti fundraisers and visiting evangelists, and sounds like a conversation with an old uncle. Admittedly, it is occasionally a crazy old uncle who has given up his sandwich board proclaiming the end of the world for a radio station proclaiming the end of the world.

Whenever I find one of these local stations, I love to listen to the “happenings” in the area. I know there are fewer and fewer of these local focused stations each year, but while they still exist, I smile.

Our school is going to launch a radio station and I have already told a friend of mine he should run it. He could bring in his daughter to play her violin, have the drama club preform a radio mystery, and do the play by play at the basketball game. I’m quite certain it wouldn’t make a cent, but it would be highly entertaining to me.

Part of Dale’s family lives in the town of Natchitoches, Louisiana. Every year the town has a Christmas festival with a parade, fireworks, and lighted displays along the riverbank. I have never been there for the parade and the festival, but each time I have seen the lights, I have loved them.

The displays are reflected in the water and the pulsing, colorful bridge lights are timed to music. There is a tunnel of lights that flash in patterns which make you dizzy. There are the normal holiday lights of snowmen, skaters, trains, candles, nutcrackers, and Santa with sleigh. There are the Louisiana unique lights of magnolia, crayfish, and alligators.

My favorite lighted scene, however, is the depiction of the stable with star overhead, Mary and Joseph, babe in the manger, shepherd nearby, and kings making their approach. There are two lighted signs in this scene. One says Silent Night and the other says For God So Loved The World.

Nativity Christmas Lights

Every time I see it, I take heart that in this small southern town a Christmas display still depicts the birth of Christ and tells you quite clearly why God sent His Son.

On our way to Louisiana, we stopped to see the Gulf of Mexico at Dauphin Island, Alabama. I was “missing the beach.” I occasionally find myself in a state of longing for sand, waves, shells, and the breeze off the ocean. Years ago, my Hawaiian friend, standing on the coast after a year of being landlocked, described it best to me.  “I can breath again,” she said.

We drove the length of the island admiring the brightly painted houses on sticks. Large piles of blown sand and puddles of ocean water covered the two lane road. Dale maneuvered the van slowly forward until we arrived at the end and the undeveloped beach. The parking lot was under a significant amount of sand, so the coke machine in the distance looked a bit out of place. If a hurricane came through there, I don’t know how any of those houses would withstand it. Such beauty, but so perilously lived.

 

The beach was fabulous. Undeveloped white sand, lots of shells to find, and calm waves. Gabe and Zeke were soon soaked through. I had them roll up their pants at the start, but they figured when near the water, it’s best to jump in.

We had the red bucket with us, and it was soon so heavy from shell collecting, it had to be left behind while we explored further. There were a few other families and their dogs on the beach and one guy fishing.

When we had finished looking on the other side of the island, Dale and the kids raced back. As usual, Josiah heard “race back” and missed “to the bucket.” Josiah raced directly to the opposite beach. Everyone else raced to the bucket. Dale finally beat Josiah in a race. He is certain he can beat him again. He just needs Josiah to run the wrong way.

We just returned from our visit with Dale’s family down south. When departing any location, Dale and I are used to saying “Manry Clan – Let’s go.” Finding ourselves around others who could also answer to that, Dale was finding it difficult to figure out what to say. His brother solved the problem by declaring, “All Southern Manrys, over here.” Not wanting to accept being termed a Northerner or a Yankee, Dale insisted on saying “All Virginia Manrys – Let’s go.” To be “The Northern Manrys” was too much for him to accept.

While in Baton Rouge, we visited the Rural Life Museum with Uncle Dwayne. The area is set up as an old plantation with church, jail, post office, and commissary buildings. It also has a sugar cane mill where we watched the farmer squeeze the juice out of the cane and boil it down. Zeke, although fond of the jail, liked the commissary the best. He set himself up behind the cash register and started taking orders.

Zeke is now five and a half and believes silence at any time is unnecessary. His mouth starts moving and won’t stop. “Sir, how may I help you? May I take your order? What would you like?” he queried. His father, thinking he could shut him up, responded, “I would like a boy who obeys his mom and dad.” “That’ll be one thousand dollars,” Zeke responded.

Zeke mans the cash register

Mugs has been overwhelmed by a visit from the Briens (minus Jed) and hasn’t had a chance to post. A couple weeks ago, she sent me these great photos of some of the DC monuments. You can enjoy looking at these photos while we wait for Mugs to post Brien stories. I work for tips only.

Abby took all of these photos with the camera she got for her birthday.