This week it is time for solo-n-ensemble rehearsals. High school students come to my home after school to practice for their upcoming competition. Currently, my piano is upstairs in an open loft area. So, while I was waiting for my last student to arrive I sat down at the top of the stairs.
I love looking down into the living room from upstairs. It provides an interesting perspective. The light is different. Seeing the space from above causes me to notice things I might otherwise overlook.
We have taken many photos from this angle over the years. Family photos, Christmas decorations, furniture rearranging.
My favorite pic from this vantage point was secretly taken by my daughter, Rachel. So many reasons to love this photo. The warmth from the Christmas tree and lighting. Playing music with my son, Robert, practicing Christmas Time is Here by Vince Guaraldi.
“There’s never a moment without music in our house.”
Rachel is not in the photo, yet she is in the center of the memory. I can picture her upstairs in her room, listening to us practice. What made her think to snap a picture? I’m not sure. However, the memory of playing this particular music with Robert might not be as clear if not for her thoughtfulness.
My view from the top of the stairs today isn’t nearly as exciting or memorable. Yet the more I think about it, the more I realize how much it connects with this photo from the past.
Rachel’s caption for her photo was, “There’s never a moment without music in our house.” Something I hope will always be said about our home.
Why was I sitting at the top of the stairs today? I was taking a rest from making music…waiting to make more.
My daughter, Rachel,
and I saw James Taylor in concert yesterday evening. This was my sixth JT concert over the past 26
years, Rachel’s first. I can truly say
he never disappoints. His songs are
timeless and his sound seems to grow stronger and warmer with age-kind,
genuine, personal.
Me and my girl! ❤
Listening to his songs has a way of lifting my spirits. Obviously, he did not write any of them for me. 😉 Yet, particular ones remind me of specific times and places from my own life. Country Road immediately comes to mind. Hearing it again last evening…beautiful.
I guess my feet know where they want me to go
Walking on a country road
Just the thought of this song makes me smile. Hearing it live and in person transports me back to my childhood. Riding my bike and going for walks down our country road. Always with the specific instructions, “Do not go past the red clay hill!”
This winding road from my parents’ house to the highway is only about ¼ of a mile long. As a kid, however, it seemed much longer, mysterious. Thick forest on each side of the pavement made for limited visibility. Any rustle in the leaves had the power to trigger our wild imaginations. Although there have been rare sightings of bears and big cats in the past, I’m certain most of our unexplained noises came from birds and lizards.
I walked down that road many times for many
reasons. Playing with my cousins,
getting some fresh air, eating too much Thanksgiving dinner, spending time with
a special aunt or a friend. Walking,
talking, running, riding…a foundational place in my growing up.
Some things have changed over the years. The forest thinned. A few houses now scattered in the woods,
visible through the trees. No more red
clay hill. Yet, there continues to be
something special about taking a walk down that road.
Memories may fade over time. Great songwriters have the power to bring those memories back to life. Singer/songwriters like James Taylor. Songs like Country Road. Take a listen. https://youtu.be/2Dsph5uikX0
Grandparents are special people. My grandparents were an essential part of my childhood. Spending time with them was important. As a child, you don’t really think about losing them. You imagine they will be part of your world forever. Then you become a young adult, or in my case, a high school student and that idea is shattered.
When my Grandpa Mahar died, it was very sudden. Early on the morning of July 4th, he woke up before anyone else, sat down in his favorite chair, and did not wake up again. We had seen him the day before. The family would be gathering on the 4th to celebrate. How could he be gone?
I mostly remember shock and tears from that day, almost thirty-five years ago now. The reality of my mom losing her dad brought a new perspective on the frailty and brevity of life on this earth. And it was made even more difficult because there had been no chance to say goodbye. This seemed especially hard for my mom and her siblings.
This was not the case for my own children with their first loss of a grandparent. Before my father-n-law passed away, we knew our time was limited. Watching as death approached was not easy, but we found comfort in having time to say goodbye. He will have been gone for three years this coming week, and we miss him more with each passing year.
One circumstance is not easier than the other, just different. Grief is present in both. We hang on tight to memories. We look at photos, share stories, cling to anything that reminds us of the person we lost. And as soon as we think our grief is fading, a birthday, holiday, or other event brings it right back to the forefront.
Sometimes the grief catches us off guard, and we are encompassed by unexpected emotions. How do we respond? That depends on the person, for we are all different. But here are a few personal thoughts:
When tears well up Let them fall When your heart aches Let words flow When a friend is near Lean on them When feeling motionless Take one step When tempted to forget Remember For that memory Is a piece of your heart
A memory of my Grandpa Mahar: He is wearing overalls and telling me if I do him a favor, he will dance at my wedding. 😉
A memory of my father-n-law: He would always bring me a box of See’s candy when traveling to California. We both had quite a sweet tooth. 🙂
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Matthew 5:4
Yes the winter was bitter and long So the spring'll be sweet Come along with a rhythm and a song Watch creation repeat
I know winter is just beginning but the hope of spring is ever present. Trees will once again bud and flowers will once again bloom. We must look for it in the moments of sunshine and patches of blue. Or in store-bought flowers placed in a favorite vase.
While recently visiting my parents, I spent an afternoon helping my mom rearrange and clean out their den. She and my dad had purchased two new recliners and wanted to make this space a little cozier and less cluttered. My mom is the queen of knick-knacks and definitely has difficulty throwing anything away. My dad also tends to hang on to certain items…just in case he might need them. I may take after them just a little bit…
After our work was finished, some unused/no longer needed objects were gone. The room felt very inviting and everyone was happy. Our little project caused me to think about my own view of things. My husband has often accused me of being too sentimental toward certain possessions. Shhh…don’t tell him, but he may be right.
What is it about those things? Items you just can’t get rid of. Things like gifts, cards/artwork from your children, concert programs. You get the idea. Yes, when you received them, they touched your heart. A memory was planted in your brain forever tying that one thing to a specific person or place.
Here is my question. If you no longer have the object, is your memory any less significant? In times past, I would have argued that logic. Surely if I give away something given to me, I might run the risk of forgetting someone or someplace important. Even as I type the words, that logic sounds a little silly.
As I’m getting older, the thought of simplifying my life becomes more appealing. Perhaps I could be persuaded to change my thinking concerning getting rid of some possessions. Of course, some would automatically be excluded. The serving plate and bowl my mom gave me. The Hummel’s and candy dish which belonged to Gart’s grandmothers. Unusual items, not easily replaced.
What happens if I choose not to keep every single thing ever given to me by another person? Does that make me a bad person? Does it mean the person or place represented is no longer important? Of course not!
I’m beginning to understand that it’s always the person or place, not the thing, that I am actually holding onto. The impact someone had on my life. How being in a specific place changed my perspective and possibly my direction.
Keeping material momentos has no bearing on any personal relationship gained or influence bestowed. Truthfully, these three words should always be listed in the following order of importance:
Person
Place
Thing
That being said…when it’s time to pack up this house in which we’ve lived fifteen years and raised three children, getting rid of certain things will most assuredly be difficult. Nonetheless, I’m determined to simplify life and stop hanging on to the unnecessary. I’m quite sure my husband will be relieved to hear of this recent revelation. Let’s just hope I can stick to it! 😉
“…Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in an abundance of possessions.” Luke 12:15
Today is Thursday, November 22, 2018, Thanksgiving Day! As the day begins, I realize one of the things I’m most thankful for is the ability to remember. There are specific people, places and foods which come to mind with each Thanksgiving past. They all blend together, creating a beautiful tapestry.
As a child, my family spent Thanksgiving next door at my grandparent’s home. There were lots of aunts, uncles, and cousins. With thirty plus people present, finding a place to sit was often a challenge. Thus, the phrases “On your feet, lose your seat” & “Butt in the air, lose your chair” were uttered often with laughter.
I had two important Thanksgiving jobs growing up. One was stirring the pie filling for my dad’s chocolate pies until it began to thicken. It seemed to take forever, but oh so worth it! There would always be enough filling left for a few small bowls. My second job was chopping the pecans for mom’s four-layer carrot cake, using a hand-crank chopper. Remember those?
Our family also made the fruit salad, complete with marshmallows and coconut. The funny thing is, every year we’d forget to take it out of the fridge. About the time we were ready for pie, someone would say, “Hey, where’s the fruit salad?” Better late than never, I guess.
After I was married and had my own family, there were new Thanksgiving traditions. Sometimes we would host the family meal, having my family travel from Arkansas to Oklahoma to be with us. Other years we would have dinner in Owasso with Gart’s parents, his sisters and their husbands, and our nieces. There were also times our family would travel to Arkansas, and I would share childhood memories with my children.
A couple of Thanksgivings were spent far away from home. The first was a trip to Colorado. My parents, Gart’s parents, and our three children spent Thanksgiving in a cabin in the mountains. Complete with snow, fire in the fireplace, a big picture window, and deer in the front yard. Except for one harrowing drive during the snowstorm, it was a perfect trip!
Then there was Thanksgiving in NYC. A once-in-a-lifetime experience. Our daughter, Rachel, marched in the Macy’s Parade. Watching the parade on television had been a tradition every year for as long as I could remember. Seeing it in person was so special. Even though it was the coldest parade day on record, and we survived by taping hand/body warmers all inside our clothes and shoes!
So many great memories. So many things to be thankful for. Yet in the middle of them, there are moments of grief. The Thanksgiving we’ve talked about most the past couple of days is November 2015. The pictures confirm the meal was at our home. A photo of Gart, his dad, and Robert-three generations. Gart’s parents sitting at the bar. Gart’s dad in the kitchen helping his granddaughter, Hannah, and daughter, Andrea. Typical snapshots from any of our family gatherings. What we didn’t know, however, was that it would be our last Thanksgiving with my sweet father-n-law.
So, what are our plans for this year? Today will be a quiet day at home. Me, Gart, Gart’s mom, two of our children. We will watch the Macy’s parade, eat a simple meal, but we will also prepare food for Friday-cornbread dressing and chocolate pies! Friday we will all travel to Dallas. A huge meal and celebration have been planned at Paula and Martin’s home (Gart’s sister and brother-n-law.) Friends, family, even a great grandbaby will enjoy each other’s company, eat lots of good food, while adding to our beautiful tapestry of memories.
Will there be moments of sadness? Most definitely. People we love dearly will not be with us. Some for the first year, some for the third year, and so on. We miss them. Their absence felt even stronger on days such as this. Days we know they loved because they were about family. Yet through the sadness, we will be thankful. Thankful for the memories of Thanksgivings past.
During recent Red Ribbon Week activities, our school had a “dress in your favorite decade” day. I chose the 80’s-big hair, hot pink tank layered over black dress, leggings & leg warmers. “Girls just wanna have fun” was uttered by colleagues several times throughout the day. Staying in line with my decade choice, I decided we would spend some time in the 80’s during music class.
One class entered my room particularly quiet, much more so than usual. Thinking they might be a tough audience, I decided to shake things up a bit. “You guys don’t know this, but the music room is actually a time machine. And today, we are taking a trip back to the 1980’s!” Of course, there were a few eye rolls but mostly giggles. We had so much fun!
Our playlist for the day:
Richard Simmons exercise video-I Just Wanna Dance with Somebody
Jump by Van Halen
Take on Me by A-Ha
Always Something There to Remind Me by Naked Eyes
We Will Rock You by Queen (actually 1977 but it worked with the boomwhackers)
This activity started me thinking. Music really is like a time machine. In one instance we listen to a composition from hundreds of years ago, imagining what life was like when it was written. The next minute we hear a song on the radio and are immediately transported back to a special event, a certain person, or a memorable place from our own past. Both examples are powerful.
It certainly was the case for me all throughout this 80’s music day. I smiled as I thought about the fun times spent with my best friend Kim watching music videos on MTV. Remembered my short-lived dream of becoming a rock star when performing in my high school talent show. Laughed about the many times my husband has played the keyboard opening to “Jump.” (He is a tuba player, not a pianist-so this was his piano claim to fame!)
As my once quiet class was winding down and my trip down memory lane ending one young friend piped up, “Mrs. Morris, can we please transport back to the 2000’s now?” I laughed, “Why yes, yes we can.” Our time machine travel was over. At least until the radio began to play in my car, after school, on my way home…
Growing up, giving directions to my house was always interesting. It went something like this…”Drive past the Natural Steps sign and Moreland’s Grocery Store, go around a sharp curve, over a hill, then you’ll see a straight stretch of road. Right at the end of the straight stretch, turn left onto Mahar Road.” Mahar is my mom’s maiden name, hence the name of the road.
My husband likes to tell people that I grew up in a commune, but that is not the case. The quarter of a mile road, lined with trees on both sides, dead ends into a wide-open valley. My grandparent’s house was in the center, surrounded by several homes belonging to my aunts, uncles, and my parents. Huge oaks, towering pines, and grassy fields provided plenty of room for kids to run and play.
That’s where I spent my childhood-riding bikes, digging in the dirt, playing kickball and basketball with my cousins. And since my mom had six sisters and two brothers, there were always cousins around. They say I made them listen to me practice piano and violin…well, maybe a few times. But most of the time, we were outside. Distinct memories include singing at the top of my lungs while riding bicycles, trying to fool my uncle with mud pies, and playing “King of the Mountain” on Grandma’s front porch.
Almost thirty-three years have passed since I lived on Mahar Road. Even while typing I think surely that can’t be correct! Oh, but it is…despite the years gone by and having a family of my own, I still refer to this special place as home. I’m thankful to have grown up there-carefree, no worries about safety, room to let our imaginations run wild.
Of course, things have changed since I was a child. My grandparents are no longer living, cousins are all grown and many, just like me, have moved away. That doesn’t matter. Simply driving the route that leads to home causes any anxiety to melt away. My brain slows down, my body relaxes, and while there I truly rest. Sometimes I even feel like a kid again.
Thinking about my childhood reminds me that home is so much more than a house. It’s the people, the places, the memories. And sometimes…you just need to go home.
Our family has lived in our current home for fifteen years. Kids were nine, seven, and three when we moved in. Prior to that move we had lived in four different houses in three different cities, and two different states. I remember feeling so relieved to be settled.
As someone who spent the first seventeen years of my life (until I left for college) in the same house, all of our moves were challenging. I worried about how the kids would handle each new place. Would they make friends easily? Would I? Of course, we all adjusted in our own way.
This house has truly become home. It’s where our kids grew up. So many memories. For example, my concern that Ryan would fall down the stairs. He was so little when we moved in, and the kids bedrooms were all upstairs. As it turned out, the concern should have been for me! I was the first one to bounce down the stairs on my bottom.
Although there was the time Robert tumbled down the stairs. Apparently Robert, Rachel, and Ryan were playing the game “follow your siblings directions while wearing a sleeping bag over your head.” I’m sure you’ve all played that one before! Some friendly advice; make sure the sibling giving directions knows their right from their left…
Many of the memories involve celebrations-and food. Saturday morning pancakes, Sunday night Chinese take-out, Dad’s burgers on the grill, my chocolate chip cookies, yellow cake with chocolate frosting. Birthday parties, holiday dinners with extended family, graduation parties-so many things to celebrate.
Well…things are about to change. We currently have a high school senior and a college senior, and an already moved out and employed teacher. We know from experience these next few months will fly by. And though our nest won’t be immediately empty, that is the direction we are rapidly heading.
Gart and I have talked many times about preparing for this next stage in life. He would even joke and tell the kids we were going to buy a tiny house or move to a loft apartment downtown. Neither of those is going to happen, but we are preparing to buy another house and sell this one.
Right now my thoughts are mostly in the details-time frame, moving boxes, etc. But they unexpectedly drift and I find my eyes welling with tears. This happened while driving away from the home we eventually decided to buy. It’s a beautiful home, warm and cozy. I am excited. So why was I crying?
Change is like that. Even when the change is positive, it still comes with growing pains. Right now my growing pains involve how my role as a parent is changing. Since the majority of my parenting years took place in this house, leaving it will be emotional.
Sometimes when I’m at home alone, our once busy house feels like an empty shell. I’m thankful for the flood of memories that fills the empty spaces. Just as our family established traditions and made memories here, I must trust we will do the same in our new house. And as old memories travel with us and mix together with the new, a transformation will take place-one that will turn house to home.
Piano Girl 