I get cracked up when I see commercials where you can buy CDs of "the classics." And they're talking about Pink Floyd, not Mozart. I like all sorts of music and at the same time can really hate others. Music is spiritual in nature. It burrows right down into your soul and tells you things. It makes you dream, makes you mad, makes you crazy, makes you think. I marvel at the immense power it has.
As a child, I heard my MawMaw humming as she swept. It changed what she was doing. I used to sneak out to my Daddy's Volkswagen Beetle and flip stations until I found songs that I liked. Georgie Girl, tunes by the Beatles, Up-Up-and-Away, the Mamas and the Papas. It was fascinating and forbidden at the same time. The public pool and the skating rink were dangerous, because of the boys and especially the music. Christmas was about the shows that came on once a year, with their delightful verses woven throughout. And church, well...there was nothing more beautiful than voices lifted in praise, hushed arias to the Lord. In fifth grade, our teacher introduced us to Mozart, Bach, Beethoven, Haydn, Schubert -- music that stopped time for me. My Mama bought me albums at a yard sale for a dollar -- Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, his Pastoral Symphony and then a whole whopping sixty minutes of Mozart. I died and went to heaven. My friends thought I was weird. It was the most deliriously gorgeous thing I had ever heard.
Time marched on. Music, a smorgasbord of delights -- sweet and sour, tangy, spicy, creamy, smooth, bitter, salty, from subtle to insane. I added likes and dislikes to my palate, ever thankful that I was lucky to get to play the piano, my flute and sing in the church choir. Music doesn't ask you, it compels you. It brings other worlds and the field next door right on up to your brain, your soul. I remember the first time I got to see the Nutcracker, with its Pandora's box of melodies springing out. The story came alive because Tchaikovsky churned it. Hearing Messiah and the Hallelujah chorus, then "For Unto Us a Child," not to mention the incomparable Alleluia at the end -- I heard angels. Then again, how I love an earthy folk tune, sung by a husky, time-worn soul. A traveler who has seen those places I haven't, whose heart has dragged the depths. There are mysteries there and at once all that is familiar. There's rock, pop, swing, jazz. And so much dancing to be done.
When the holidays roll around and Christmas peeks at us from the bend, I love to drag out all the decor and music. Recent years have cheapened it, as they start playing it right after Halloween and at every store and street corner. No longer do we pull out the Perry Como album once a year from its fragile sleeve and play it with the white noise and pops and scratches. We open an app on our phone and conjure up instant gratification, any time we like. There's good and bad in that, but I just don't want to lose the magic. It's kind-of like the cure for anxiety and the eating of a chocolate truffle, both... The anticipation, the taking-in of it, the melting into the soul. In the end, it's about that crystalline moment where the cares of the world fall away and, if even for just a little while, all is well.
Monday, November 28, 2016
Monday, November 21, 2016
There's No Place Like Home
There it was, a castle rising out of the ground. Behind it were the rough and tumbled mountains, all golden and bronze. Crowds of people lined up in their cars and then in a queue to get inside it, freezing and blown by an unexpected onslaught of northern wind. My daughter and I had abruptly made our plans, booked a cheesy, cheap motel, cancelled all other projects, grabbed an extra friend and drove four hours up to Asheville, North Carolina for the weekend. All because a chum had given me the idea a few days before. It just seemed like we needed some early holiday cheer -- a trip to the Biltmore House, all gussied up for Christmas. Even though it's a tourist trap, costing way too much, it truly is splendid. Liz and I love to tour old homes, and this one is the Mack Daddy. From the smooth Indiana limestone to the finely hewed mantels, the craftmanship that makes up this mansion is overwhelming. Gargoyles on the corners, statues overseeing the edges, soaring glass conservatory, a library to die for, fireplaces everywhere, wood and stone, exquisitely crafted etchings and carvings...it would take weeks to really properly examine all the details.
At first glance, a rich man's ability to command and pay an army of workers to build him a monument might seem superfluous, useless, too much. It is certainly nothing I can relate to, as far as being the rich man. But I have been on the other end - the worker, the artisan. The wealthy who have employed me to paint, create, and decorate have done me a great service these many years. They have helped us to feed our family, to own our home, to enjoy the fruits of our labors. But even more importantly, they have given me the opportunity to perform my crafts with abandon. The things that I am gifted with, I do not lay claim to... I wasn't trained in them, I didn't chase them down. They were given to me by God and He put internal compulsions inside that I cannot explain or even sometimes control. When people pay you to swim in that, well, it's just gravy.
These days, it seems that there is some sort of righteousness connected to being jobless and homeless. Though Ken and I have never been without a home, we have experienced rounds of unemployment and have had our trials, though in America I find it hard to believe there's much true hunger or suffering. Go to a third-world country and try to make a case... Currently, however, the trend is to act as if the rich man is the devil. I know several devils, wealthy ones and dirt-poor ones. Having money doesn't mean you are one. Looking at this garish, over-the-top mansion this weekend made me think about all the thousands of people who fed their children because a monied tycoon employed them to build and sustain his empire. Even today, as the wheels of commerce turn and myriads show up to gape at it, a hundred years later, scores of jobs have been created to keep it all moving. The American dream, where scads of poverty-stricken individuals, children without shoes or family, the humble of the earth, have managed to scrap their way up to the top and build mansions. Or a humble cottage. Or buy an RV and travel the land. Where people like my folks, one from extreme poverty, one from dysfunction, can work hard and change their world. I'm not only talking about wealth, but possibilities. They are still here for the taking.
We wound up our tour and sat outside at the stables, drinking hot cocoa and looking at the magnificent house and the glorious sky behind it. Somehow it suddenly seemed intimate, not so grand, not so impossible. We had peeked into the life of other people, with far different lives than us. People who were also now pushing up daisies. They had a few brief years, with money, yes, but also with sins and trials and indigestion, just like us. It made me think of my own family, my husband, my children and grandchildren, our sweet domicile. I think I'll keep 'em.
At first glance, a rich man's ability to command and pay an army of workers to build him a monument might seem superfluous, useless, too much. It is certainly nothing I can relate to, as far as being the rich man. But I have been on the other end - the worker, the artisan. The wealthy who have employed me to paint, create, and decorate have done me a great service these many years. They have helped us to feed our family, to own our home, to enjoy the fruits of our labors. But even more importantly, they have given me the opportunity to perform my crafts with abandon. The things that I am gifted with, I do not lay claim to... I wasn't trained in them, I didn't chase them down. They were given to me by God and He put internal compulsions inside that I cannot explain or even sometimes control. When people pay you to swim in that, well, it's just gravy.
These days, it seems that there is some sort of righteousness connected to being jobless and homeless. Though Ken and I have never been without a home, we have experienced rounds of unemployment and have had our trials, though in America I find it hard to believe there's much true hunger or suffering. Go to a third-world country and try to make a case... Currently, however, the trend is to act as if the rich man is the devil. I know several devils, wealthy ones and dirt-poor ones. Having money doesn't mean you are one. Looking at this garish, over-the-top mansion this weekend made me think about all the thousands of people who fed their children because a monied tycoon employed them to build and sustain his empire. Even today, as the wheels of commerce turn and myriads show up to gape at it, a hundred years later, scores of jobs have been created to keep it all moving. The American dream, where scads of poverty-stricken individuals, children without shoes or family, the humble of the earth, have managed to scrap their way up to the top and build mansions. Or a humble cottage. Or buy an RV and travel the land. Where people like my folks, one from extreme poverty, one from dysfunction, can work hard and change their world. I'm not only talking about wealth, but possibilities. They are still here for the taking.
We wound up our tour and sat outside at the stables, drinking hot cocoa and looking at the magnificent house and the glorious sky behind it. Somehow it suddenly seemed intimate, not so grand, not so impossible. We had peeked into the life of other people, with far different lives than us. People who were also now pushing up daisies. They had a few brief years, with money, yes, but also with sins and trials and indigestion, just like us. It made me think of my own family, my husband, my children and grandchildren, our sweet domicile. I think I'll keep 'em.
Monday, November 14, 2016
Bah Humbug!
I never intended to become Scrooge. I've always loved the delightful promise of Christmas, with twinkling lights, wonderful smells, the excitement of the season. The baby in the manger has held my heart since childhood, so the advent and celebration of His birth holds much meaning for me. When we had our four babies, it was like getting to be a kid all over again. Their new discoveries peeled the years off our old cynical selves. And then grandbabies came, with their innocence and joy. I had no clue that was part of the fun that arrived with the treasure of a baby.
But something happened. Maybe I've just gotten tired. Or older. Or really out of shape. Never mind, all that has kind-of happened. After Halloween hits, the pressure begins to mount. Layers and layers of guilt from all directions press onto my psyche. What I should do. What I don't do. What I will do. What I won't do. Food, more food. Gifts and thoughtfulness. Not to mention forgetfulness. Thanksgiving is looming. Gotta get the trees up, get the house cleaned. How will I do that turkey this year? Butter and more butter. More and more guilt. I start thinking about last year's resolutions and how this next year's are starting to seem like a broken record, played how many times? And are we gonna have those potato yeast rolls or just buy some packaged ones? I want everybody here, everybody. No grousing or griping about this or that, what am I supposed to bring? I have no idea. I'm making the turkey, with rosemary and butter up its hiney. And some jello. Bring whatever you like. It'll all work out. I haven't even read the Thanksgiving edition of Southern Living, much less the Fall edition. That insane pecan pie on the front will take me a week to figure out, so I guess I'll pick one up at Walmart. Speaking of pecans, they're dropping all over the backyard and I can't even get the ones picked out that I've got sitting in a monstrous bowl in the living room. And that's just Thanksgiving. Then there's four weeks to Christmas. A mural to paint, three houses to decorate for clients and obligations to city events. Don't mention the real estate. Or how I've neglected pretty much everybody I love this year.
Ah, there it is. My people. We run about, making money and projects, only to forget about the people. It all starts with good intentions, where that's exactly what we are doing: taking care of our own. Then it morphs into the tyranny of the urgent and chaos and mayhem, until we've forgotten who or why. How do we change it? Here in America, we've made the holidays into a strange melee of consumerism. It's what makes the world go 'round. How do we make it stop?
We don't really have true winter here, in our lovely South. There's very few snow days, though usually a day or two of some really bad ice. There's no lingering with a snowflake tipping onto your tongue or long months curled up with a book next to a fire. But we do have Christmas. Let's take this year to be intentional about our lives. I am going to vacate for a day, sometime in the next few....and write down what each person in my family means to me. I am going to put to pen all the things that I'm thankful for. I'm not going to promise to lose a hundred pounds or change the world. But I'm resolving to make these holidays better, to have a plan and not just wait on Chernobyl to happen. To seek the face of the Lord who made it all and who makes it all worth it. Maybe I'll just cancel that confounded magazine.
But something happened. Maybe I've just gotten tired. Or older. Or really out of shape. Never mind, all that has kind-of happened. After Halloween hits, the pressure begins to mount. Layers and layers of guilt from all directions press onto my psyche. What I should do. What I don't do. What I will do. What I won't do. Food, more food. Gifts and thoughtfulness. Not to mention forgetfulness. Thanksgiving is looming. Gotta get the trees up, get the house cleaned. How will I do that turkey this year? Butter and more butter. More and more guilt. I start thinking about last year's resolutions and how this next year's are starting to seem like a broken record, played how many times? And are we gonna have those potato yeast rolls or just buy some packaged ones? I want everybody here, everybody. No grousing or griping about this or that, what am I supposed to bring? I have no idea. I'm making the turkey, with rosemary and butter up its hiney. And some jello. Bring whatever you like. It'll all work out. I haven't even read the Thanksgiving edition of Southern Living, much less the Fall edition. That insane pecan pie on the front will take me a week to figure out, so I guess I'll pick one up at Walmart. Speaking of pecans, they're dropping all over the backyard and I can't even get the ones picked out that I've got sitting in a monstrous bowl in the living room. And that's just Thanksgiving. Then there's four weeks to Christmas. A mural to paint, three houses to decorate for clients and obligations to city events. Don't mention the real estate. Or how I've neglected pretty much everybody I love this year.
Ah, there it is. My people. We run about, making money and projects, only to forget about the people. It all starts with good intentions, where that's exactly what we are doing: taking care of our own. Then it morphs into the tyranny of the urgent and chaos and mayhem, until we've forgotten who or why. How do we change it? Here in America, we've made the holidays into a strange melee of consumerism. It's what makes the world go 'round. How do we make it stop?
We don't really have true winter here, in our lovely South. There's very few snow days, though usually a day or two of some really bad ice. There's no lingering with a snowflake tipping onto your tongue or long months curled up with a book next to a fire. But we do have Christmas. Let's take this year to be intentional about our lives. I am going to vacate for a day, sometime in the next few....and write down what each person in my family means to me. I am going to put to pen all the things that I'm thankful for. I'm not going to promise to lose a hundred pounds or change the world. But I'm resolving to make these holidays better, to have a plan and not just wait on Chernobyl to happen. To seek the face of the Lord who made it all and who makes it all worth it. Maybe I'll just cancel that confounded magazine.
Monday, November 7, 2016
Special Christmas Tour!!!
I adore old houses. Their walls have seen lives unfold before them, but they keep them secret. I ponder at all that might have conspired in the 116-year-old house I live in. I wonder if there were babies born here, if people died here, what kinds of love and pain were made here... We are adding to the layers of words, memories and thoughts swirling inside this peaceful abode. Many people want to have new houses, to make them their "own," to not have to live in other peoples' dirt and mayhem. It is indeed a pleasant experience to move into a fresh, shining place that is full of possibilities. But then, there is something wise about an old place. It tells me that we are not here forever, that we are just passing through. Stop and savor it, ponder eternity. Slow down. Sit a spell on the broad, gentle porch. Curl up toes in the old moss in the yard. Look up at the old pecan trees in the backyard, spitting their nuts everywhere. Ken and I have loved houses and real estate all of our 34 married years. We have ridden around and stared at architecture, posing scenarios for the different places we see. Our annual anniversary trip in February has usually included tours of homes. We've been all over the southeast, wandering around ancient places and marveling at everything from mansions to wee cottages. Our daughter, Liz, and I love nothing more than to get in on any kind of home tour. It's fascinating to see history and craftsmanship, be it rich or humble.
This year, Villa Rica is having its own show-down. Suffice it to say, I am promoting our Tour of Homes this week. We have several delightful, historic homes: cottage bungalows and Victorians...and a beautiful old church. It will be on Saturday, December 10. We are having two different tour times: 11-1:00, which includes lunch(!) and then a second tour from 6-8:00, which includes heavy h'ordeuvres (that's snacks, ya'll) and drinks. The price is $25 and includes the lunch (the early one) or heavy snacks/drink (the late one). Here is where you can go to order tickets: http://www.downtownvillarica.com/events/tour-of-homes/ -- or you can purchase them at the Main Street office in Villa Rica (106 Temple St, Villa Rica -- 678-840-1160). Each tour will begin at Uncorked on Main, located at 129 Main Street in downtown Villa Rica. There will be lovely music, musicians, hosts, Christmas lights, and of course, FOOD! Main Street will have shuttles running to each property, bringing you right to the doors. What a lovely addition to the Christmas season. Bring your friends and loved ones (hey -- it can be their gift!) for a fun day and then do some shopping in downtown Villa Rica!
This year, Villa Rica is having its own show-down. Suffice it to say, I am promoting our Tour of Homes this week. We have several delightful, historic homes: cottage bungalows and Victorians...and a beautiful old church. It will be on Saturday, December 10. We are having two different tour times: 11-1:00, which includes lunch(!) and then a second tour from 6-8:00, which includes heavy h'ordeuvres (that's snacks, ya'll) and drinks. The price is $25 and includes the lunch (the early one) or heavy snacks/drink (the late one). Here is where you can go to order tickets: http://www.downtownvillarica.com/events/tour-of-homes/ -- or you can purchase them at the Main Street office in Villa Rica (106 Temple St, Villa Rica -- 678-840-1160). Each tour will begin at Uncorked on Main, located at 129 Main Street in downtown Villa Rica. There will be lovely music, musicians, hosts, Christmas lights, and of course, FOOD! Main Street will have shuttles running to each property, bringing you right to the doors. What a lovely addition to the Christmas season. Bring your friends and loved ones (hey -- it can be their gift!) for a fun day and then do some shopping in downtown Villa Rica!
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