It’s that time of year again, and we’re having spring break at our house. We have a two-day sleepover with the Chipmunks. Let the games begin.

Tessa and I love to cuddle and talk when we first get up, because we are always the first ones to rise. She ambles right up to me on the couch, her soft hair scented by the shampoo from her morning bath, and this warm little presence greets me with her morning kisses. It’s all too surreal and I don’t ever want it to end. Meanwhile, Grandma and the remaining two grandchildren are still lost in their beauty sleep. We were watching curious George this morning and as we watched, Tessa popped up, “A polar bear driving a truck? WHAT?!!!!” There was a scene where this polar bear was driving a truck. The incredulity of this 6 year old caught me off guard. She made the quotation sign with her fingers and said .”AS IF”. I queried her about what she meant. She continued…”Now Poppie…How does that polar bear get a truck up on an iceberg…Think about it”. (She’s got a little “Italian” in her. That’s from her dad.). Bada Bing!!!

We always play this game called “What Animal Am I?” We get down on our hands and knees and ape some animal. The chippies are all very good at it, but when it’s my turn it doesn’t work as well. I’m an excellent thespian…that is except for the convincing part. Last night I tried to be a hummingbird, but they kept guessing a rhinoceros. The next guess was even worse. As I kept pantomiming, Tessa blurted out…”I know…. a frightened hippopotamus?” I hate that game.

Every year at this pre Easter season I give up something for Lent. This year it’s going to be helping Blythe with math for the rest of the year…did I mention she’s in fourth grade. I think Jesus would be pleased, cuz I’m lost in this new math. Come to think of it, I didn’t get math when I WAS going to school .Georgia is very bright in math and she has begun tutoring me… And with her homeschooling prowess, I think I have a real good shot at graduating from sixth grade math in about..oh…let’s say….four more years. I don’t know …it’s a gift. I don’t mean to brag or anything, but some things just come easy for me.

After playing a few matches of ping pong on our kitchen table, the girls took good care of grandma by fixing her hair, massaging her hands and painting her toenails. They’re all going for manicures this afternoon. Blythe is the ashionista and does excellent makeup, which the girls spent the majority of the evening last night having her do for them. She’s always a servant and beautiful heart. Should do standup or acting. She’s hysterical.

Every time I get together with the girls I think I get a little dumber. (If that is even possible) The kids mention something to me and I try to show my brilliance…but that doesn’t work either. So I’m talking to Georgia and she related something about bears, and asked me if I thought bears hibernate, Yes or no. Of course I said they hibernate. I know about bears, and I know they hibernate. I just love bears. One of my favorite stories is “Goldilocks and the Three Bears“ (I read that one..it’s got pictures).

Well, Georgia informed me that bears do not hibernate. What what what..You’re way wrong? I’m arguing and telling her OK go ahead and google it…you’ll see”…”No Poppie…yOU Google it.” So I did. I hate bears.

Tomorrow grandma is teaching the girls how to play YAHTZEE, then we’re headed to see “I Can Only Imagine” at the theater. Whatever happens tomorrow, it will be another memorable day with these princesses of indefatigable mirth.

I keep telling myself, you don’t have many days like this, Greg. Don’t take it for granted….savor it….hold this time close. Soon graduated…soon possibly married….maybe great-grands. But all Pan and I are assured of…is now. Walks together in the neighborhood or Radnor Lake, making muffins for breakfast, playing games, cuddling, encouraging them in faith, reading to them or vice versa, letting them hear our story, and eager to hear theirs. Baths in our tub with bubbles maximus, wet hair, braiding hair, comfy clothes and joy unspeakable There will be difficult days to come…but with the exception of the mind thief…we will have these memories…..Yes….these heart sewn heirlooms.

Life…..It keeps coming to me through the complexities of pleasure and pain. I heard a very interesting and humorous TEDx talk at TPAC this past Friday and Saturday with my buddies Rod Huff and Neal Joseph (they couldn’t believe I could pay attention that long). One of the speakers was Seth Stephens-Davidowitz who spoke about the differences between Facebook and Google. He pointed out several funny scenarios about how people on Facebook generally sport the finest aspects of their lives on this site…but if you want to know the truth…Google it.(You had to be there) I try to be upfront about where I am on Facebook…it’s an old peoples site you know. (If you want to split a gut, watch “A Millennial Job Interview on YouTube)

My days are about keeping the house clean with Pam, washing dishes, studying, watching different YouTube discussions every morning, listening to new music, researching things, mentoring continually and writing (rewriting, rewriting, rewriting) I saw on my edit post history about Ronn Huff, that I had edited it over 50 times. No…I’m not obsessive compulsive!!!! The mix of poor eyesight and my ADHD getting more ferocious as I grow older makes it nearly impossible for me to read a book. I read a lot of poetry because I don’t have to pay attention for extended periods of time and the ideas come in shorter bursts. I love meeting people from different vantage points…it’s a primary way I learn stuff. I need multiple repetitions on a subject to really understand it. There are those times, I’ll instantaneously grasp something someone says, or something I’ve heard or read, but that’s only occasionally. I’m constantly taking notes and tend to have good recall once my synapse snapses.

The fact is, my days are not ones of great events and travel…maybe a few…but not that many. I love my life now. I have great clarity about things I believe, and understand there are things I may never know, until the One I wait to meet will bring me a transforming pellucidity of mind. Then all things will become new.

It’s been a tough tough past few days…and life is unrelenting. Even so, I can’t forget all the wonderful things that are happening around me.

In these past weeks I’ve had the inextricable joy of watching my oldest granddaughter, Georgia play on her middle school varsity Lacrosse team, going to the elementary school my younger grandchildren attend, seeing them run laps to raise money for their school, watching Tessa’s school musical, going with grandma Pam and our middle two grands to Steak n Shake, taking in a movie with Georgia or getting the latest photos of our youngest chippie…Maya.

I regularly lunch with music industry friends, Michael Puryear and Elwyn Raymer, and just last Sunday we got to be with Bob and Jane Farrell, their daughter Dawn Cheri and her handsome son, Isaac. I always enjoy catching up with studio gurus of sound and all things orchestral, Kent Hooper, Phillip Keveren and my ever smiling Brazilian friend and músico extraordinário, Daniel Bondaczuk.

There were other meals shared with lifetime family friends, Brad and Heidi Mitchell, Pam’s cousin, Wayne Spidahl,and her Life Group girls, Celeata Taylor and Susan Ivie. Pam and I were so fortunate to get a private tour of the new LifeWay building with our good friends, Ken and Brenda Barker.

We had the pleasure of getting together again with a family of awesome talent, Jared and Noni Mason and his sweet mother. Jared was on Broadway in the hit show “Million Dollar Quartet” and performed at the “Medora Musical” back home in North Dakota. We spent a wonderful evening at the home of Dr. Sarah Samuel, dining on the most delectable Indian cuisine with our friends, Sarah Becky, Carol and Bill Lovell. Sarah’s father has a 10,000-member church in Hyderbaad, India and her brother leads worship there. I spent some time with him a few years back as he was producing a record here in the US. Bill and Carol’s precious daughter, is a missionary with her family in Myanmar.

Got to speak to the New Canaan men’s fellowship at Puckett’s in Franklin. It was a wonderful time with Wes Yoder, Larry Stone and the band of brothers there. Later I attended a function for Nation of Coaches, a fabulous organization that is intentional about mentoring young athletes. Finally, shared some songwriting ideas with Amber Maxwell and her husband, pastor Charles Maxwell. Amber is a lovely songwriter and singer and we had a glorious day talking about songs, perspectives and Jesus.

It’s a good life…a very good life I lead. It makes me tremble at the weight I feel to help those in crisis and those who go without… the poor…the poor in spirit…and every implication of the word. I have a responsibility to be a good steward of that which is entrusted to me in relationships, finances, service and so much more. I do not want to wile away this final season of my life with “me” activities. This is the real prime of my life…not my earning years.

Pam has been teaching me some vital things as well. She told me that we seem to think that if we tithe and give over and above in an offering, we’re doing a good thing and we’re off the hook with God. She continued and said that none of what we have is ours…it’s all God’s grace to us and not ours to indiscreetly spend because we can. What remains is to be used with discretion no matter how much is there. I bristled….because that revelation of hers kinda ruined my chances to do some really fun indiscreet spending I was thinking about. But she was right….as usual. I can’t figure out she her wisdom always manages to include me having self restraint in one one area or another. I wish she could ease up on that type of epiphany… just a little. Sheesh!!!

But that’s really my life….and you can Google it. Not glamorous, but beautiful. These are the opportune hours I have to encourage, teach and live life to it’s fullest. So I’ll let life come to me…. and deal with it one day at a time.

It was a lonely walk I took this afternoon. A quiet breeze whispered in the chill air, wintered leaves brushed by…and there was sadness afloat in my heart. I started off…..but my buddy was not with me. Ronn Huff was my friend, mentor and next-door neighbor. He’d been dealing with Parkinson’s for over 24 years, and today his struggle was over…..so I took this walk in his honor.

Along the way, I remembered our times together. We’d meet in the alley behind our homes and head down the street. Early on, the pace was brisk and full of vigor, but later…his steps faltered from time to time as we walked through our beautiful neighborhood. Occasionally he would grow frustrated because his mind would not cooperate and let him speak. He tried to get a word out, but to no avail. We’d wait a few seconds and then his sentences would come pouring out once again.

Here were two old men bragging about their hearing aids, yet both having difficulty understanding each other, but neither letting on. I loved to tease him. “You’re looking good today, Ronn…I mean…considering what you got to work with”…He’d turn and grin. We talked about life perspectives, politics, music and old friends. He kept walking, working in his yard and not taking a bow to this cruel malady. I would receive a call on his good days, and if I was home, we’d venture out together or he would move on without me. Most amazingly, I never heard him complain. It was what it was. He was stoic, and he let life come to him with all its fury and sweetness.

The most enjoyable times with Ronn were listening to our favorite classical works, reminiscing about projects on which we worked together, like the trip to London with our wives to record “Saviour”, or enjoying the CD compilations of his lifetime work. He told me he didn’t like anything he’d written…..but as we sat listening, absorbing some of the brilliant beauty of his work…..I saw him smile, conducting in that chair of his…nodding in approval from time to time.

I thought back to our history. I remember sitting in my office at First United Methodist Church in Bismarck, North Dakota and being mesmerized by his work in the first printable orchestration I’d ever seen. It was “Alleluia” a work written by Gloria and Bill Gaither. I followed him from a distance when he was at “The Chapel on Fir Hill” in Akron, Ohio and later, Calvary Temple in Denver, Colorado. He had no formal training and after his initial foray into orchestrating, he spent a period of time at Columbia University studying scores, working with conductors and listening to rehearsals of various groups before returning to Nashville.

We both had strong sensibilities about what we were after musically, and we did have our moments of disagreement, but what I always appreciated was the freedom and safety we both felt to state our case. Make no mistake about it, I was always the student and respect for Ronn ran with wide swath. He could see things musically that I felt, but did not know how to express. He did. We both were prone to go with our gut, looking for what we thought was best for the artist and the material. I can’t begin to express the joy I felt when we worked together. The wise sage and an ADHD race horse.

My children and grandchildren loved and revered Ronn. On hearing the news of his imminent passing, Sarah told her children on the way home from school. Tessa, the youngest at 6 years old would not be consoled and cried all the way home, as did her older sister, Blythe and Sarah.. They recounted to their mother how Ronn had given them chocolates at Easter last year and how kind he was to talk to them. Tessa blurted out as she wept…”But I loved his hugs the best!!!” It was not the music for them…it was a beautiful man… with the most beautiful heart. Sarah was a babysitter for Dann and Sherri as a teenager. Our family’s love for Ronn, Donna and the boys runs deep.

He was as ferocious in his love for his wife, Donna, the boys and their families as they were for him. He was so proud of his children and grandchildren and excitedly told me about their lives and many accomplishments. There are countless stories of Donna and Ronn showing up at hospitals to encourage and support…or helping friends in need in any number of situations

This was a vibrant man with a passion for excellence that never just “settled”. Up until it was time to record, his scores were always subject to revision.He’d often tear up what he’d written and start again. Ronn was old school…and always wrote to paper, not computer based Finale. He was as persistent in exercising, learning and growing as he was with his intentional kindness.

He said he’d never see 80, but this Friday past, March 16th…he made it. Just two days before he journeyed on, Pam and I visited him at the hospice center. He was not responsive, his breathing labored and I glimpsed a wash cloth that cooled his brow. I drew close to his ear and read the letter that I’d sent him years before. I don’t know if he heard me…maybe did. No matter what, those final moments with him were tender…healing …comforting.

March 2005

Dear Ronn,

How do I begin to convey to you what you mean to me? When I met you, I knew I was in the presence of greatness. Your musicianship was understood, but there was so much more. For me, our relationship has been a symbiotic flow of musicality, philosophy and openness. You challenged my spiritual presuppositions. As I spent time with you, I began my quest to rethink why I believed what was so ingrained in me. This was not an overt pointing out to me on your part, but simply observing the way you approached your own life issues.

You have taught me the meaning of humility, honesty, graciousness, giving, passion and discipline. Never denying me an opportunity for counsel, you have been a caring, straightforward and extremely generous mentor. I feel safe in our talks together, and I know that you would treat me as lovingly as you would treat your own sons. It has always been so. The unique musical sensibilities that God has given you are without question. No one looks out the world’s window quite like you have.

Your wisdom has shown that passion in music comes from a mix of questioning, re-evaluation, rich experiences, triumphs and personal struggle. Never content with the status quo or considered what you have accomplished to be enough, your return to school as an already seasoned orchestrator and conductor, along with your pursuit of alternate career paths, are examples to everyone. For me, this is a master class in how to live life well. I can’t possibly quantify all the expressions of gratitude I have for you dear one. All I can say, is that you have changed the way I view life in a myriad of ways. Thank you from the bottom of my being. Cheers to you friend, who wisely jumped off the merry-go round to smell the roses, tend the garden and rest awhile, always knowing there’s another day to play.

Eternally in your debt,

Greg Nelson

“There is no friend like an old friend who has shared our morning days, no greeting like his welcome, no homage like his praise.

Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr

I was on my way to pick up two of our granddaughters from school the other day, and came upon a dog frantically running in front of us. She was a mixed breed, with a long body, black and white markings, traversing aback and forth in the middle of the road, panting heavily at a hurried pace, her long skinny tail wagging behind.  

Cars were stopping abruptly to avoid hitting her and, some swerving, barely missing her and slowing down.  We followed her for more than a mile and she kept looking around, looking back and we wondered what circumstance led her to this frightened state.  We were almost late to the car line at school and so at one point we managed to go around her as another car stopped and the driver got out to help.  I so wanted to stop, but knew we had to be there for our girls.

When we came back on the same route, the dog was gone. It left me spending the rest of that afternoon in melancholic thought, regretting not stopping and disquieted at what I had seen. Had someone just released her to get rid of her, or was it something else? Where was she, and was she safe now? It occurred to me there are many people in the world feeling just like that helpless little creature; lots of people, more than we imagine.

We know them…or about them. Soldiers returning home from war, but sadly, not everything they were will make it back. Sanity and limbs are casualties that won’t be retrieved…won’t be returning on a later flight.  These guardians face relentless nightmares, night sweats, weeping midnights of battle sewn memories and residual family tension as well.

There are parents of children missing, or lost to addiction or suicide, as well as those struggling with ongoing mental and physical problems. There are those distraught with knowing they will never feel the touch of their spouse or children again, or worse,  not know where their children are.

There are those who will never again enter the company offices that once employed them….. feeling a lonely distance from those with whom they once felt a closeness;. Their self image now in shambles, hold little hope of employment on the horizon, much less an equally compensated position.

There are those whose world has been abruptly uprooted by a doctor’s diagnosis that they have limited time on this earth…it’s real…it’s final.

All these desperados running down this road in a frenetic haze, hopelessly looking around….and know nothing else but to hurt…to hide…to cry….to scream…to fear.  And so  they run…….run…and keep running. Even with the hope of heaven, if they believe…there’s still a stark, enigmatic “otherness” they feel. They may need a kind word, or assurance of God’s nearness, a hand on their shoulder, your quiet presence or aid in finding more emotional or financial support.

God help me never forget when I see, or hear of people met in the despair of personal difficulty. Would that I not find myself so wrapped up in my comfort, in my busyness…. that I’m too busy to stop along the road.

I was going to write this little episode in the previous blog about my grocery store adventures, but Pam said that I had too many themes running. She says people tend to like shorter blogs than some of the “epistles I tend to write sometimes. I read everything to her before posting. She sorta edits my tendencies toward, as she says, “writer’s diarrhea”. Maybe I should’ve rephrased that, cuz it didn’t really come out right.  Oh, man…that’s not what I meant either, it just slipped out… I’ll just quit right there. What’s that Tom Waits quote, “I’m buried beneath the wait of information.”

Well, same day I came out of the Publix grocery store waiting for Pam, I saw this diminutive cute, well-dressed and well-manicured grey haired lady approaching me holding her little dog.  They were walking out of the Pet Smart store near by, and the closer she came into view I got a grin on my face. .  You know how people say that a person kinda looks like their dog.   Well I’m telling you for a fact…her little dog looked like this lady’s shrunken twin sister. It was so close it wasn’t funny. I sort of felt bad for the dog because it was tiny, but really fat. He literally looked much like a Pekinese matzo ball.  She was talking up a storm to her little friend, who she called “Spooner”…her little “Spoonie”.  I wonder if she named him after Spooner Oldham” the keyboardist andsongwriter who was a member of the Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section playing on hit songs like  “Mustang Sally and When A Man Loves A Woman. I’m leaning toward “Not a chance”.  This lady was way too sophisticated.  She had the poor dog dressed up in a tuxedo outfit with a little dog necklace…I guess that’s what it was.  He looked SO uncomfortable and I thought for a minute he was probably thinking ….WOULD YOU ZIP IT FOR JUST A MINUTE, WOMAN. ….AND QUIT CALLING ME “SPOONIE”, DOG!! I love thinking about all the possible things animals aren’t saying…but they’re thinking.

And while we’re on the subject of dogs, did you hear the news about the two new breeds that the American kennel club is introducing. Here’s what Google says about the two breeds.

The two are…”A spirited Dutch duck-luring dog and a friendly French rabbit hound are now running with the American Kennel Club’s pack. The club announced Wednesday that it’s recognizing the Nederlandse kooikerhondje (NAY-dehr-lahn-seh KOY-kehr-hahnd-jeh) and the grand basset griffon Vendeen (vahn-DAY-ahn).”

Now there’s a mouthful.

Okay, I’m just trying to figure out how a dog lures a duck. Dogs don’t even talk duck. There’s already a language barrier. Am I to assume that the dog dresses seductively…. you know, like that  lady dressed up her poor Spoonie. Except in this case the female dog  would probably be wearing a canine tank top and some red doggie pumps. Now that would be alluring!  The male dog would probably don a blue jean bottom and a fur-tight white t-shirt top with  a WWF baseball cap worn backwards.

And let’s talk about the other breed that you have to take a  Rosetta Stone course to pronounce…..”grand basset griffon Vendeen”….Give that a spin on your Google translator. Harder to pronounce but easier to understand what this bow-wow is about. They catch rabbits.  This breed would be like the hunting companion for the French version of Elmer Fudd. It’s bad enough these poor rabbits are getting chased all over French wine country, but even worse…. They can’t warn their fellow rabbits, because they’re unable to pronounce the dog’s name. Give me a break. SHEESH!!!!

Yesterday I was standing outside Publix grocery store waiting for Pam to pick me up with the groceries I just bought.  We were getting stocked up for the approaching snow storm which was forecast for the next day…which is today when I’m writing this.

In this regard, a dear friend, Miss Kay told us something she learned from her mother. Her momma said that if there were blackbirds on the ground eating, , it indicates there’s going to be snow. She said there were a lot of blackbirds on the ground where they live, so it would be snowing for sure. She was right, it snowed like crazy this morning.

Miss Kay, is a precious lady who along with her lovely sister, Cindy, help Pam keep our house in order. We know this family well and have been to Fourth of July parties, multiple family funerals and weddings together. They attend a little Penecostal church in the country and love Jesus. Pam and I are inspired by their strong experiential faith. When they come to the house, I occasionally turn on some southern gospel music they can listen to as they work I’ love the times I hear them, singing at the top of their lungs. These lovelies make our home a joyful place. We’ve prayed together and cried together. It’s one of the most beautiful relationships we have, and has been so for decades. When they come to the house, they’re eager to give us hugs and kisses. It’s mutual….because they mean the world to us.

Well.. back at the ranch.

Pam hates going to the grocery store with me because she thinks I take too much time dilly-dallying in the isles, wandering around, not taking care of business, not value shopping, buying stuff we don’t need and not presenting coupons she’s given me to use. Pam just wants to go in and get out. I love to talk to friends, greet people I don’t know and visit with the different employees working at the store. Pam actually told me the other day that she would not be surprised whatsoever if she found me talking to a head of cabbage in the produce department if I felt the compunction. That’s just silly…..well maybe an attractive head of lettuce.

All this basically drives her nuts and into a exasperated state of spousal madness which often times she fears might turn into spousal abuse. That of course would never happen because she knows whenever you see a doctor, the people at the front desk always ask the old people if they have been mistreated (I always thought they said HIPPO law, but Pam caught me up to speed on that one, “you just can’t listen Greg, can you?!!!….”HIPAA  regulation, honey…turn your hearing aids up”)… Since I’m an old person, they’re certain to ask me what could be damning information to said spouse, Pam. I watch Forensic Files and have seen all the ways wives get rid of their husbands. JUST KIDDING..maybe.

All that said, she has finally settled on leaving me to my own devices in the grocery store while she takes four ibuprofen and escapes by listening to soothing music in the car as she waits for the inevitable overspending, missing and unneeded items, once again watching me walk out of the building with plastic bags and not the cloth grocery bags she gave me to use. Okay so maybe in my quest to secure all our foodstuff needs, I inadvertently (Pam has another word for inadvertently) forgot I left them on the bottom section of the shopping cart…make that, I just forgot them, period.

I see these problems as a minor oversight. Let’s just say, Pam sees things differently. She in fact, thinks that without question, the pharmaceutical companies should start listing my name as a warning for anyone who’s met me…. as one of the primary reasons for using any number of their anxiety medications. It’s a tough thing living with me. She never knows where I am…and that’s even when I’m sitting right next to her.

I play the cello, and I mean that in the most unprofessional sense. I’m not really that good and I want to make it perfectly clear this is not an attempt to pander for sympathetic encouragement and approval from my relatives and friends…..I can only hope.

I’m nearly deaf, and my oldest granddaughter refers to what I wear as “hard of hearing aids.” Luckily I have one working eye and can’t drive anymore except on very well lit days. The good news here is this allows me NOT to see the music when I play (bad for me…worse for the listener). On the bright side….I don’t practice as much as I should either, and this reticence to discipline moves me ever closer to gaining certification as a musical collision specialist. This a calculus that does not portend a cocktail for success, but as long as I have a heavy handed brass section behind me…. I’m safe.

If you don’t practice, your fingers become like frightened children who missed the fire drill at school, and when a fire rages, these wandering fingers are lost in a blaze of limited facility and appalling intonation. You know it’s happening, but it’s too late to do anything about it.

Trust me….okay hypothetically if you must. My cello is like dealing with a jealous girlfriend, if you don’t pay attention to her…..she will not let you play in tune. It’s The Ancient Rule. I swear my fingerboard shifts on me when I’m playing. Pam also knows how to get my attention… and I always make it a point to appear interested. But sometimes she goes just a little over the top and asks me to pick up after myself or take out the garbage, but that’s just because she doesn’t realize the pressure I ‘m under …you know… being all retired and stuff. I need my rest.

I keep playing because this instrument has been a close friend that literally saved me from a life of hopelessness and inferiority when I was young.

When my cello is in hand, I can go to places in my mind and heart I cannot go with anyone else. When I’m playing, I feel an emotional freedom, and a sense of perpetual creativity. If the music calls for it, I can express ferocious passion or speak the sweetest moments. To be sure, it’s amazingly cathartic. And besides that…It’s way cheaper than psychotherapy.

There’s been a lot of chatter on my FB feed about Kendrick Lamar‘s performance at the NCAA National Football Championship game. What is fairly clear is the preponderant negative responses (not all) were coming from white people. If I’m not mistaken, I saw a teeming crowd of black, Hispanic and white faces who were totally enthralled.

I remember Chris Rock hosting the Academy Awards and showing people how blacks viewed the Academy Awards on the street. He went to a black theater in downtown L.A. and asked a series of questions. By their answers it was quite evident there was a cultural gap. Let me be clear, I’m not saying one culture is better than the other. I am saying that the two cultures may view some things in very disparate ways. Not every way….but in some. I do not listen to a lot of rap or hip-hop music, I’m pretty un-hip and chronically white. I didn’t have anything to do with that,…God did. I live in a predominately white world. That is fact.

I have come to the place in my life where some music I hear is not in the context of getting it…but rather experiencing it. As I listen to the music of Stockhausen, Schoenberg, Cage and atonal music, I was always somewhat off balance because I could not analyze it in real time because there were no tonal centers to which I could refer. Finally I sat back and simply experienced the work. I didn’t have to get it, I could just take it in. Now it was more beautiful to me, more visceral. In the same manner, it is essential for me to understand that these precious brothers and sisters are communicating in and to a culture I may or may not understand. For that matter, music related to a culture of which I am ignorant.

Why is this important? It is important because people matter. When I look in someone’s face, I want to see what God sees…a reflection of Himself.

We all live in our own little harbor, not always remembering that we are actually in an ocean of ideas and people coming from different perspectives. We may not see things the way others see them. That does not diminish who they are or what they do. When we appreciate people…our lives are enhanced. When we don’t look for the best in people…our lives are diminished.

All of this certainly does not mean there isn’t music that is poorly done in every type of music that exists… there’s plenty of that too. The problem we face in our country is our readiness to bring our opinions without seeking to understand that which is uncommon to us.

“He who only knows the side of his case, knows little of that. His reasons may be good and no one may be able to refute them, but if he is equally unable to refute the reasons on the opposite side, if he does not so much as know what they are, he has no good ground for preferring either opinion.”

(John Stuart Mill)

It started out to be just dinner and a movie, not in the romantic notion…but with our three chipmunks who live close to us. What ensued turned out to b e a most memorable time. It all began quite innocently with the girls coming over and watching grandma prepare their dinner. They helped and the fun began. Georgia, the oldest almost fell over laughing when Pam asked me where I was going. I told her I was going to get the two chairs she wanted. As so often before…her face turned to an exasperated look as she corrected me with, “I didn’t say two chairs, Greg…. I said, Would you get me some carrots”. At this Georgia is bent over laughing. She always saying “Turn Your hard of hearing aids up Poppie….Can you hear me now?” She absolutely loves to tease me, just like my son Ben does so well. I LOVE IT!!! The evening progressed and our littlest bug, Tessa recounted that when they were coming over to our house she saw a guy driving beside them with his window open and smoke billowing out. She informed all of us with her proclamation as she put it, “He was obviously cigaretting”. Thanks for the clarification, Miss T. She was full of information…letting us in on the fact that she was now playing basketball with the “Lady Krogers”, To which her dear sister Blythe, the middle chippie, corrected her by saying “it’s not the Lady Krogers, T-ball…It’s the Lady COUGARS”. Once more belly laughing ensued.

Later we were discussing what our favorite food was, and we were trying to qualify what that meant, and in what context. So I came up with this scenario about what would your last meal be if you were on death row. Without a pause, Blythe said…”I believe I’d want a buffet. Now I’m rolling on the floor. This is the same girl who made a quick response when we were driving in the car with Georgia and herself and I mentioned the word compliant. Blythe asked me what the word compliant meant. I told them that it meant to comply with and/or honor their parent’s wishes. In short to do what their parents asked them to do. I continued with…”I’d be interested to know who was the most compliant of you two? And without any hesitation, Blythe responded, “I’m going to have to go with me on this one, Poppie”.

The movie of the evening was “A Christmas Story” and grandma gave us a 10-question test about the movie. I wiped everyone out on this quiz because as Pam put it…”Well he better win, he’s seen it about 50 times. Georgia snapped…Well there some perks for being 100 years old. She laughs…but I won. As the movie went on the girls took their turns cuddling with Pam and me, wiggling around and watching in different sitting and laying positions. Throughout the movie, Poppie’s phone was a major hit. All three of them were playing with an app that distorted their faces, changed their voices, put funny designs on their faces, and all with different backgrounds. Between the dialogue of the movie and giggling at each different funny picture or video they’d taken …there was continuous merriment and entertainment. These are the moments we live for. We know we have to seize them. Georgia will be driving in two years and the youthful exuberance will soon transition into the realities of more difficult issues for each of them. This isn’t uncommon knowledge to anyone…but it’s bittersweet.

Pretty soon Georgia said, “”Poppie, could we have another sleepover here?” Pam and I said we’d love that. Georgia continued…” How about tonight?” We had nothing to do the next day so we said sure. The kids handed me the phone and asked me to ask their mom and dad. I called, and we got the okay, and the evening took off again. At the end of the movie, it was makeup lessons for them with Grandma which was held in our bathroom. “See you later, Poppie” was my cue to go to my writing room and vanish. I complied and the girls had a ball with grandma. I went to bed at 10:00. Pam went to bed at 12:00, Tessa went to bed at 1:00 and Blythe and Georgia went to bed at 2:00. The oldest two confessed to an assortment of petty candy and soda crimes and malfeasance perpetrated while their two very innocent grandparents were in sweet repose. There’s no telling the sugar intake that was involved in this surreptitious activity. …But if you could get a DUI for being over the limit, they’d get more than a sugar bust…They get a saccharine citation for possession of pixie stick paraphernalia, and long stretch would no longer connote a reference to taffy….if you know what I mean.

The next morning, the littlest mermaid was up at 7:30 and we had the best early morning day before Christmas Eve cuddle time EVER. I turned the Christmas tree lights on and some other lights around the room that Pam had decorated so beautifully. We just quietly enjoyed them together for a few minutes all snuggled with light blankets and warm thoughts. Tessa told me she would not stop wanting to cuddle with me for 84 years. She was very specific about that, but 84 was her number and it seemed perfectly fine to me, because I’d be with Jesus long before her commitment would end. It was a win-win for both of us.

The older two chippies came down around 10:00 and I fixed them pancakes and bacon. As Grandma, the chipmunks and me were seated at out breakfast table… we heard a big bang, and I felt a great weight on my knees and lap. This was unbelievable. Our heavy marble table had snapped off about a third of the way right where I was sitting. Here lay this heavy marble section on my lap. We all were gobsmacked. Pam quipped, “Well, we won’t be having Christmas Eve breakfast on this table tomorrow.” Bizarre, bizarre, bizarre. We have had this table for over 25 years, but I think the last time we moved it might have been it’s undoing. Well, I guess we get a new breakfast table for Christmas.

Next, each of the “petits enfants” took a bubble bath in our bathtub. They wanted to try out all the wonderful aromatic bath oil’s that grandma had let them smell last night.I was not privy to what followed because of course I was once again banished to my writing room. First, Pam had to beg Tessa to exit the bathtub. I could easily have heard her singing … “I shall not be moved… Though grandma asail me, I will not be moved.” She was splashing around like Esther Williams in a euphoric stupor. Finally she relented, and the big guns moved in. They got the jets blowing, the bubble bath flowing and the result was a mountainous height of bubbles the like of which neither Pam nor I had ever seen.

By the time everyone had their hair dried and clothes back on it was time for them to return home. I hate it when they have to leave. Sure we’re a little tired, but I still wish they could stay. They don’t want to go home either, but we get big long hugs before we wave goodbye to them as we stand in the driveway. “Peace out, girls. Got your eye on you (Got your eye on you came from what Tessa would always misspeak when they left. She woud say, “Got your eye on you”….and it stuck. Then the last phrase…”Be very careful” was a cue for me to run up and tickle each of them in the car, then get another ” I love you” and kiss from Sarah. It is a tradition for me to never let them leave without this little ceremony. They’ll remember…I’ll remember….because these moments are fleeting…fleeting….and I don’t ever want to forget.

”The story of life is quicker than the wink of an eye, the story of love is hello…goodbye…until we meet again” (Jimi Hendrix)