Back at school, Miss Trunchbull forces the children to take a spelling test; anyone who misspells a word will be sent to the Chokey. The children fail to misspell a single word, so Miss Trunchbull invents a word in order to be able to punish Lavender. As Lavender is about to be taken to the Chokey, her classmates deliberately misspell simple words, telling her she cannot send them all to the Chokey. However, Miss Trunchbull has built many more Chokeys. Matilda uses her powers to write on the blackboard and convinces Miss Trunchbull that it is the ghost of Miss Honey's father, demanding that she give his daughter back her house or he will get her (\"Chalk Writing\"). Miss Trunchbull runs from the school screaming and the children celebrate their freedom (\"Revolting Children\").
For some, it can be disorienting and confusing when a word or phrase could suddenly be considered politically incorrect. I think as a society, we can afford to give people more grace when they slip up with such gaffes.
I am about to start leading a worship team that consists of a good number of talented people and a variety of instruments. To this point, the band has used printed sheet music for all of the songs they play; this means that someone has manually entered everything into a music writing program (Finale) and printed everything out. It also means that for any given song, A) Musicians have four to six pages of material to deal with, B) creativity and freedom of expression are squelched a bit, and C) introducing new songs to the band, and to the congregation, will be very difficult.I have been used to working from chord charts. I feel this creates structure but allows creativity and freedom, and logistically it makes much more sense, because it would take up a LOT less space, and would allow me to much more easily introduce new songs.My question is this: A) Is it a good idea to try to transition a group of people who are used to sheet music to a chord chart paradigm, and 2) if it IS a good idea, how should I go about making that transition
Perhaps even more amazing is the fact that my mother started her little project, me, at a time when she could not have known that apartheid would end. There was no reason to think it would end; it had seen generations come and go. I was nearly six when Mandela was released, ten before democracy finally came, yet she was preparing me to live a life of freedom long before we knew freedom would exist. A hard life in the township or a trip to the colored orphanage were the far more likely options on the table. But we never lived that way. We only moved forward and we always moved fast, and by the time the law and everyone else came around we were already miles down the road, flying across the freeway in a bright-orange, piece-of-shit Volkswagen with the windows down and Jimmy Swaggart praising Jesus at the top of his lungs. 59ce067264