I Wonder as I Wander: November's Rambling Thoughts

 

I was watching a vlog the other day and the narrator found the most stunning grove of trees in a park.  They were such beautiful colors!  She said, "I wondered what it would be like to just see things in black and white..." and then that portion of the film was in black and white.  The wonder and awe of the scene dulled.

I remember as a child, we watched tv in black and white.  I was in third grade when we got our first color tv, but a lot of reruns of old programs and movies were still shown in black and white. And most all of the photos in our photo albums were black and white.  

My child-mind never quite comprehended that the ability to see color was not abnormal for my parents in their youth.  So, when I saw black and white photos, I assumed that the world had always been black and white for them.  Sort of like when Dorothy was still in Kansas and before she enters the colorful and rather awesome world of Oz.  And it made me so sad for them, that they didn't know what color was until later in life...

I think I held on to that belief for a good bit longer than I ought to have.  There was just something about my parents that had me convinced they didn't know what color was from birth.  Even now, I find it hard to wrap my head about the fact that they lived 'in color' just like everyone else I know.  Isn't it funny that one childish thought has lingered for so long and must continually be corrected even yet?

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Have you ever wondered what the soundtrack of your life would be?  I found myself wondering about this one very late night when I was restless, and sleep was elusive.  I started listening to a soundtrack from the group Secret Garden and that led me to wonder what music would overlay the pivotal moments of my life.

I thought of certain songs that were played and replayed in certain seasons.  

The playlist to my teens isn't as filled with rock and roll as most kids my age.  I was too busy listening to Andy Williams sing  "Moon River" and "The Second Time Around" or listening to other albums from my parents' collection of records.  I listened to Xavier Cugat, Ferrante and Teichner, the Ray Coniff Singers, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass.  Throw in a little Bread and America and you've about got the bulk of my teen years.  I was quite the romantic back then. 

Bonnie Raitt's "I Can't Make You Love Me" was certainly a soundtrack for my life at one point, as well as Roseanne Carter Cash's song, "Blue Moon with Heartache".  Both of those are terribly sad songs to me and I rarely if ever listen to them now as they strongly bring back the emotional memories associated with that era of my life.

But then I started wondering, "What would be the soundtrack to this season of life?"   For the most part I listen to a variety of Christian song writers.  Not mainstream writers but largely unknown ones.  "My Soul Thirsts for You" for instance, and just about any song from Jake Westbrooks combined seasonal soundtracks on YouTube.

What do you think your songs might be?

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It was going to happen sooner or later, and it just happened to be sooner.

Caleb has a double ear infection and Katie has the flu.  In the past I was Johnny on the spot for keeping Caleb while he was ill and always had a supply of homemade chicken broth to soothe Katie's ills.  Well, there they are.  And here I am.  So, Katie called and whispered (she also has laryngitis), "How do I make your chicken broth?"

She didn't have half the ingredients that I might use but she did have a chicken frame, onions and garlic. I told her that was the bulk of the goodness of it right there and to just proceed as best she could.  She also didn't have her big pot which is here waiting to go to South Carolina, but she has her slow cooker so she can have her broth cooked in it.

Just maybe she'll learn the wisdom of keeping some broth in her freezer.  But when I can some of mine, if I ever get to it, she might be gifted some to keep on her pantry shelf.  

In the meantime, guess who has a full stock pot of chicken frames on the stove?  I can't help it.  Someone gets sick and I want to make chicken soup.   Some habits are hard to break.

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As we drove through the grocery store parking lot on Friday, we noted a van in one space and on the opposite side of the road a young man with an electric violin, amplifier, FX box (that he could loop music through) and a sign was on the verge.  I'd seen only enough of the sign to know he was asking for help of some sort.    We watched as children tumbled from the van and saw the man wave them back with his bow.

We sat in the pharmacy drive-thru and I let the window of the car down a little despite the cold.  At that moment the violinist began to play, and music wafted all around us on the breeze. The music was beautiful, and ethereal. 

Many years ago, when we were in Helen, Georgia, as we walked the streets, music began to fill the air. Like a hound who'd caught scent, I left my family and walked in the direction I thought the music came from until I found it.  My family ran behind me calling, "Where are you going?", but John never asked.  He knew.  I was following the music.  Had I not been sitting right across from the source of the music I would have done the same this day.

Next to the van, the children began to dance to the lovely music.  They twirled and stepped and moved all about the empty space next to them, swaying in rhythm to the music.  There was a tiny little girl, perhaps less than 2.  A boy of perhaps 8.  Another girl who might have been 9.  I could see another person (mother?  child?) sitting on the floor of the van's open side door but my view was blocked by a tree.

The driver I was in the car with commented, "If he'd sell that electric violin he wouldn't have to ask for money!"  I sat and pondered that statement, as I listened to a second and third song and watched the children dancing about the lot.  

The music was so beautiful.  Would it have been better for him to sell that violin?  Wasn't I benefitting from his music?  Wasn't it just possible it was enough for me to be there listening?    I contemplated the children for whose support I supposed he was playing.  Was it better to have that money for the violin or for the children to hear that beautiful music daily?   The man was obviously accomplished, a true musician and not just someone who played as a hobby.  What would become of him if the instrument were gone?  Could he earn a living otherwise?  Wouldn't his soul have expired slowly if he'd given up something which was obviously very important to him?  Not more important than his children...After all he was standing on a verge in a parking lot attempting to earn money to keep them going.  But wasn't he giving something of value by allowing others to find pleasure in his ability?

John told me, as I related this story to him today, that the performer who stands on the street is called a Busker.   It's very possible, with cold weather coming in this man was taking his family to a warmer climate further down into Florida where a man could continue to earn a living to support his family and just needed the cash he was trying to earn to help pay for the gas along the way.

I'd made up my mind that when we left the drive-thru we'd stop, and I'd tip him for his playing.  It was little enough to give him for the soothing he'd given my sore spirit as I sat there listening to him.

I'll never know what his sign said, what he was wanting help to support.  As we waited a manager of the store came up and by her gestures, we could tell she was ordering him away.  She pointed to the verges at the far end of the parking lot, and to the sidewalk near buildings not owned by the grocery.  As she was telling him where he might set up and urging him to leave, a woman walked up and slipped him a folded bill.  

The man quietly thanked the woman.  He wasn't belligerent or rude to the manager.  He nodded and began to pack his belongings, ushered the children into van and drove away, taking that lovely music with him.

But for 15 minutes, on a cold day in a sad season of life, he'd uplifted me with his music.  He'd brought peace and loveliness on a day that had been difficult and wearying.

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I was asked, politely, if in future I would refrain from mentioning family members on my blog.  It's nothing I've written about that has generated this request, but sometimes even slight details arouse curiosity and questions are asked.  Now and then a comment that might be hurtful might be the result of a mention of others.  It's that past interaction between writer and readers that brought the subject to the forefront the other day and I was asked not to mention them in the blog in the future.

For years now I've tried very, very hard to never show my family in a bad light, but I do share my frustrations and my feelings which I felt shed bad light only on myself, if any light was shed at all, as I have struggled through this season of life.  I suppose that has appeared to be an equal highlighting of shining light on the faults of others.  That was never my intention.

Our family is much like most people's.  We experience ups and downs and trials and difficulties and have joys and fun.  My children are good people with strong work ethics, good parenting skills, and personalities and traits that I feel reflect well upon John and me.  They have struggles as we all do.  Sometimes they make decisions I think are not well thought out.  I do not always agree with their methods, but I respect their privilege to choose how they will adult and bite my tongue unless asked for specific advice in a specific area.  Well, I'll amend that statement.  I give a much shorter piece of advice than I'd give were I asked.  And I don't fuss if my advice is ignored.  No one likes, "I told you so," spoken to their face.  What I think is another matter! lol.

We are going through a very sensitive time in more than one household at present and relationships are complicated enough that I should not like to cause an issue with any one of my family.    My difficulty will not be in just curbing my sharing of personal struggles and feelings and events but in sharing in such a way that a daily account won't generate questions.  Which rather leaves me up in the air about what I'll share.   My family has always been an integral part of my blogging, cautious as I've been.

At any rate, I'll do my best to honor the request and if my writing seems to be a bit restrained or seems to have gaps then do bear with me as I try to find a writing path that works for this blog.

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The dishes are done and put away in their places once more.  The company has departed.  I am depleted and on the verge of tears.  Thanksgiving is such a difficult day for me.  I don't want it to be. I want more than anything to have one of those lovely made for television perfect family Thanksgiving dinners where the snow has started to fall outdoors (never happens in Georgia, lol), the family is gathered about excited to be together once more and the love glows warmer and brighter than the fire in the fireplace in the living room behind.  The table is perfectly set, everyone is dressed well, no one showing up in pajama pants.

Not mine.

It's not that this day was so horrible.  The lead-in to this holiday has been terribly stressful. And as the day drew nearer, the distance between my husband and myself grew greater and greater.  I feel lost.

No, our marriage is not in trouble.  Our lives are under strain and the company we have had this Thanksgiving were all sad in their own ways and the weight of their sadness is heavy.  Likely because I'm tired, I can't seem to quite get over the mountain and out of the clouds of their sorrows to see the sunny side of this day.  

It's over.  For one more year, it's over.   Messy, marred.  Not a movie set.  Real.

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We were on our way over to have a meal out with George and Pilar today.  John took backroads and though many trees are bare, some are still stunning in color.  Red, orange, gold, yellow, pale green gold, russet, brown.  The colors were just stunning today, almost luminous and so gorgeous.  I pointed out a particularly scenic view as we came down a hill and John nodded.  

"We've had such a lovely autumn this year!"  "Yes, we have.  It came early and it's lingered.  It's been one of the most beautiful we've had in years."

There's been all sorts of difficulties and worries and such this year, but the beauty has truly sustained us as we've traveled about doing errands and such.  This one will go down in memory as the loveliest we've had yet.  Like the summer when we had that it rained just enough and the temperatures never climbed over 90 degrees, this autumn will be a real standout for us.  

And the loveliest thing of all will be that likely we will remember first that it was such a beautiful fall and only later that it was such a difficult year.

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