Big Brother Is Watching You

An older brother can be a blessing and a curse. I was fortunate to have one that was heavy on the blessing side in spite of having two little sisters, one four years younger and another 15 years his junior.

I followed him everywhere and thought whatever he was doing was way cooler than what I was doing. Can we spell "pester"? I learned all sorts of things following him around and hanging out. Like, memorizing the Morse Code so I could help him practice for his ham radio license or learning the difference between a transistor and capacitor thereby assisting him in cleaning his room when Mom had said NOW. The short wires on the ends of the electronic wonders were hard on bare feet. He also taught me that you don't hold the wire connected to a horse shoe magnet when he's turning the crank. Ever the Mr. Wizard wanna be, I was his Igor in the Frankenstein experiments.

He deserved some fun out of my naivete since I was constantly hanging around and getting in the way.

Hal at 16 months

Big Brother with us at Sam's 
graduation from BGA in 1999.

There was farm work to do as well. It was a family affair. If  you didn't have the brawn to pick up hay or work in tobacco, you shelled, peeled, broke or seeded anything that came out of the garden or from the fruit trees and grape arbor.

A Grandparent Pleaser

In fact the night before my sister was born on Nov. 19, Mom had spent most of the evening stripping tobacco in

 the barn sitting on a stool. The proceeds were for my brother's college fund, and she had wanted to do her part. 
The next morning as I was preparing to get on the bus, Mom said, I think I'm in labor. You go on to school and I'll  call Daddy and Grandmother to take me to the hospital.

Later that morning, I was called to the office and the principal told me I had a new little sister and all was well with Mom and baby. Now brother had two girls to annoy him.

The racer--we made a track in
a cow pasture.

Tractors are popular props for photos
Linda's not sure what's going on.

The only thing that saved him was that he was in high school and didn't spent quite as much time at home. However, the photos I use on this post show that he gave the newest Denton a lot of time and attention. We all did. She has more sunshine in her soul than anyone I know.

Maybe my brother's children and grandchildren will appreciate these pictures. His grandsons favor him greatly which is a good thing. He was a cutie pie even though Mom said he was always a handful.

"This is a heavy toy, Hal."

He continues to function as protector and guardian. Even if he does live in Texas, I know that all it would take is a single call, and he would be on the next flight to Nashville from DFW.

Evidently sister and I didn't totally turn him off to kids because he has three lovely children and four grandchildren. It's his turn to be blessed.

In Johnson City acting as the family
photographer when Sam graduated
from med school.

 A new puppy for the Dentons

The Reluctant Community Leader

When you live on a farm, socializing is rare. There are cows to feed, milk and care for in all types of weather. Putting up hay, setting, plowing and cutting tobaco and keeping fence rows cleared are all in the farmer's job description.

For my Dad, not only did he do the farmer's job, he also worked 40 hours per week at Union Carbide, taught adult Sunday School and played with us.

I don't remember much about how we started going to the Culleoka Community Club, but we did. My best guess is that my grandparents were active in it, and at that time, there weren't any government grants to do improvement projects to public facilities.

The homeplace circa 1959

It was always a pot-luck affair, and because I was so small, the topics of discussion are a little fuzzy. There is one thing I'll always remember, the night my Dad was elected president of Culleoka Community Club in absentia. My best friend Martha invited me to go with her parents. When I got home, I ran to the kitchen and found Dad with his head under the sink working to repair an aging pipe so Mom could fix breakfast the next morning.

Dad spent many hours at the barn.

It wasn't that Dad was anti-social, he just had a full plate, and community club activities weren't high on the priority list. He ducked his head out from beneath the sink, and I announced in an excited voice that he had been elected president of the club for the next year.

My father didn't use bad language, but after that announcement, I think he was tempted. I thought smoke would come out of his ears. It was a little tense in the kitchen to say the least.

After much discussion and protesting with my Mom, Dad said he would do it.

My father was good for his word; regardless of the task, if he was given it, he would do it to the best of his ability. I remember fair booths that he and Mom designed and built for the county fair publicizing the club. It's amazing what the two of them could do with a stapler, duck tape and bailing wire. We made visits to other community clubs as gestures of good will. There were probably other activities, but I don't remember them.

Dad and Hal built barn #2.

The infamous sink!

The photos I'm using relate a time period when this would have happened  Dad didn't like to have his picture made, and it was hard to catch him still anyway.

Needless to say I didn't make any other "surprise" declarations; I had learned my lesson.

Hal and me in the 60's.

Dad at Myrtle Beach visiting
his first grandchild in 1972.

Crazy for Canines

For those of you who have known me for a while, the announcement of my getting a second dog is the proof that I had really gone over the edge. For the first 57 years of my life, I viewed dogs as an intrusion on my personal space. I didn't like them, and it seemed all of them thought I wanted to be their best friend, Not!

Sissy Beatrice Webb

We had dogs at home, but they were outside dogs and never came in the house. Also, my Dad had to sometimes kill a dog that started running his cows that he was trying to fatten for market. I thought the world was a much better place without them.

When my cousin Bonnie and I bought a house together, her dog Sally moved in as well. I tolerated her because Bonnie tolerated my child!

In 2009, I had been in my house in Thompson's Station for about two years. Being by myself has always been comfortable for me. But at age 57, I wanted a companion that was here all the time. A husband brought more baggage than I wanted, so I opted on a whim to take in a Miniature Schaunzer that my sister found was being given to the first taker. Sissy was five weeks old, and I let her sleep in a tiny crate on my bedside table. I was as scared to have her in my care as I was when Samuel was born. She would awake during the night, I'd take her outside, get her back to sleep, and I would again try to sleep. It was love at first sight. We had our adjustment difficulties, but I was amazed at how I was so attached to this little animal with the most expressive eyes I'd ever seen.

Sissy at 5

Sissy is now 5 years old, and she has gotten a little lazy. The thought occurred to me that maybe a playmate might push her to run around and play a little more. I went to Find A Pet. Com and fell in love with a 5-year-old Jack Russell Terrier mix. Her name was Lady, and she needed a forever home.

Lady Webb

Lady and Sissy playing

The day after Labor Day, Lady came to live with us. I had no idea how Sissy would react, and I wasn't sure that Lady would be happy here. After two-plus weeks, all is well in the Webb household. Sissy and Lady haven't had a cross word--a few less than friendly looks, but no growls exchanged. They love to run outside and inside.

On the Deck

It's interesting to see how a shelter dog reacts to lots of love and attention compared with a pup you've raised since it was weaned. I try to reassure Sissy that she is still my little girl and will always be my baby. It is a joy to watch them run out of their crates in the morning ready to go outside and face the day.

Watching TV with Mom

Since I have two best friends of the canine persuasion, it is all I can do to go to Petsmart on adoption Saturday without crying.  The saying I believe is "there's no fool like an old fool"...guilty as charged and lovin' every minute of it. Glad I figured it out before it was too late!

Making A Joyful Noise (Again)

After a four-year break, I'm back in choir at First Presbyterian. Our first practice was Wednesday evening. It was wonderful to be singing again with people whom I've shared almost 20 years of Sundays. I've enjoyed seeing Pastor Chris' face on Sunday as he preached, but the change in view lets me see who's snoozing during the sermon:)

Friday evening we gathered at a lovely home near Franklin and enjoyed just "visiting". As they used to say in newspaper social pages, "A good time was had by all."

Sorry about the fuzzy photos; I haven't learned how to hold my smart phone still when I snap a picture. 

Our lovely hostess Carlene
(right) and long-time friend
Joy

Dr. Joe (left) having
a "deep" conversation with Reid.

Clata and Doris sample the munchies.

Ron with iced tea in hand.

Sandy keeps us straight
and the music too! She
spends hours just making sure
we have what we need on
Sunday and Wed. nights.

Tenor extraordinaire Dan

Hardwood Heaven

My home in Culleoka was built right after the Civil War. Family tradition has it that the original home was burnt to the ground because the owners tried to hide a horse from the Union Army when they came through. There was a catalpa tree in the front yard with all the bark burned off the side facing the house, so it seemed plausible.
The floors were wooden, but painted boards that were less than modern. Before my sister was born (1963) Mom and Dad decided the best way to get new floors was to install them...DIY before it was cool. 
I can remember coming home from school and finding mom on the floor, sitting on a pillow, with nails in her mouth, hammering hardwood planks into the old floor. They did everything but sand and finish, but it saved a boat load of money back then. 
My current home in Thompson's Station was typical late 1990's design with hardwood in the foyer, dining room and kitchen. Carpet was in the den and master bedroom. 
Today my dream of having hardwood throughout the first floor came true. It took a chunk out of my retirement account, but I can't remember when I've been happier with the way something turned out. Monday, I have a person coming to give the original hardwood a face lift so it won't clash with the new wood. Thank you, The Floor Shop in Lewisburg for an excellent job!

Work in Progress--Bye, Bye Carpet!

There's a Talent To This

Finished!

Getting Back to Normal

Adding a throw rug for this winter
so my feet won't hit the cold floor first.

Music and Being Politically Incorrect

Playing the piano was my way of escaping when I was a child.  The music belonged to me and talked to me like nothing else could. Mom played everything  from Chopin Etudes to 12th Street Rag and did it well. Her influence made me beg for lessons when I was five. I learned to read music about the same time I learned to read words. I didn't get off the bench so to speak until I was a sophomore in high school. Did I neglect to mention I was a slow learner?

Big Brother Hal--the first Denton
at the piano in 1949.

Reading music was as easy as the written word, but rhythm was my downfall. When Mom would ask me how many beats to a measure and how many beats a quarter note would get, you might as well have asked me to explain the theory of relativity. I just didn't get it and therefore, I didn't keep time very well. I also couldn't play by ear. Those who have the ability don't realize what a blessing it is.

My first public piano recital
with my cousin Bill.

Mom gave me lessons at home and also at school where she taught private lessons. Her rule was to not take a student until they were in the third grade.  In fifth grade, she talked her piano teacher at Martin College in Pulaski, TN into taking me on as a student. 

My first recital in Pulaski--I'm the dark one.

The origin of my costume.

Mrs. Booth didn't start teaching students until seventh grade, but since I was a "grandchild" she made an exception. She knew my mom would make me tow the mark.

Mrs. Booth was the wife of one of Pulaski's physicians and taught piano at the college. During World War II she was a mentor to my mom, and they were friends from that time forward. At my first lesson, Mrs. Booth introduced me to Bach Two Part Inventions. Up until that time, I thought an invention was what made Thomas Edison and Eli Whitney famous. In case you haven't had the pleasure, the right hand and left hand play two separate parts and chords are non-existent. In time, I figured them out, but I couldn't get any speed going. There's never been anything nimble about me, and that includes my fingers.

The first spring recital--second from left.

Mrs. Booth conducted two recitals a year for her junior high students. The first was the Christmas recital and students dressed in the costume of the composer's country.  I was dressed in black face and pinafore, a 5th grader in a sea of 7th and 8th graders, and doing it in the birthplace of the Ku Klux Klan. As a 5th grader, I was more intimidated by the older kids than how I was dressed.

The second Christmas recital--I played a
Hungarian Rhapsody thank goodness! Some
other lucky kid got to go black face.

At my house people were treated with respect regardless of their color. As a kid I had heard on the national news about racial rumblings in the south, but those were far away and didn't concern my small world. All the African American people I knew were kind and pleasant. It would have never occurred to me that playing a part in a piano recital would be disrespectful. It would be a few years down the road before playing Al Jolsen would be deemed politically incorrect. Back then, I didn't know what the Ku Klux Klan was. When I was older and heard about what they did, I feared them much more than any person of color. Contrary to what  some might think, terrorism wasn't invented by  al-Qaeda; it's hard for me to imagine subjecting our own citizens to such violence.

My last recital.

These performances in Pulaski provided even more new experiences...playing in an auditorium of a college and on a grand piano. The stage seemed huge and the piano even more imposing. We took lessons on a baby grand, and even though I thought the shiny black Steinway was gorgeous, it was really big!  Having survived the Christmas recital dressed as as pickaninny, the spring recital wasn't so tough. As usual, Mom made me a new dress, and I took my turn playing the memorized piece.  

In 9th grade my nerves got the best of me at recital time. The knees started knocking and I couldn't make them stop.  I decided to break it to Mom that I was at the end of my piano rope. Surprisingly she said o.k. Practicing was one of my favorite times. I may not have particularly like the current pieces I was preparing, but as soon as I got those done, I could play the things I wanted like big band tunes from the 1940's or some of the easier melodies of Edward Grieg or Franz Listz.

When I began this blog, music was one of the topics that came to me first. For a brief time I thought I had lost the photos and programs, but to my delight, they were in a scrap book that had gotten damp, and the pages stuck together.

Music remains the love of my life even though I am an observer now and not a participant. It's been my special friend since the days of paper dolls and mud pies and will continue to be as long as I breathe.

All Things Crimson

Disclaimer:  My college football loyalties are not crimson, orange or purple. I love the sport, and most fans I've met are pretty good folks except those with a penchant for killing trees and punching a Titan's player in the chops for no reason other than he went to LSU. This post was partly inspired by hearing Steely Dan sing "Deacon Blue" in person last Friday night. These comments are meant in good fun and with the best of intentions. For my divided college football family, I'll say a mighty "Roll Tide" and "Gig 'Em Aggies"!

Sometimes I think Alabama fans and Methodists are hard to tell apart. It might be because my brother-in-law is a 20-year veteran Methodist pastor as well as an Alabama fan from birth. His parents both went to Alabama--he's a legacy. My sister is an enthusiastic convert to both denominational and collegiate pursuits. She's a mighty fine Methodist, and as you'll see in the photos, a Crimson Tide girl through and through. (Thanks in advance Linda for letting me borrow your photos from FaceBook.)

The powder room...

Would it be heresy to say that John Wesley, Bear Bryant and Nick Sabin have a lot to do with how Alabama rolls? Methodists are part of my family tradition. My grandmother's father and grandfather were staunch members of Gill's Chapel Methodist Church in Marshall County, TN. 

The front door...

At Culleoka Methodist Church grandmother played the organ, cleaned the church, straightened the painting of John Wesley, and helped make the parsonage livable for the new minister and "the little preacher's wife". New pastors were assigned every two years. Culleoka was small and many of those appointed to the church were in college at Scarritt in Nashville; paying tuition and making ends meet weren't easy.  Some had just married, and my grandmother helped initiate these young women into their new roles.

They start 'em early in 'Bama
niece Maggie and nephew
Bennett

When my sister married a Methodist minister from Alabama, it seemed like part of the family plan. My mother converted from Methodist to Presbyterian because she married my dad, so it was time about fair play. However, I wasn't ready for the intensity of either Alabama Methodists or their football fans. Presbyterians are sometimes called "God's Frozen Chosen" ; Alabama Methodists could be called the "Melting Masses". It's hot and there's a lot of them.

With Bennett at the Elephant Stomp

My niece and nephew are both students at Alabama. My nephew begins his second football season as a member of the "Million Dollar Band"  this month.

In 2013, my brother-in-law received an appointment to Tuscaloosa's Forest Lake United Methodist Church about five minutes from campus. He had reached Mecca. This location made up for some of the less glamorous pastorates he had served in the Birmingham area over the past 18 years.

Forest Lake United
Methodist Church

I witnessed college game day at the Crimson Tide's sacred grounds last fall.  The terrain looks like the bivouac of an infantry division complete with cooking facilities, color TV's, and decorations. I didn't know what an "Elephant Stomp" was before, but I said, sure I'll go.The "Stomp" is sort of a gathering of the troops where the band warms up and gets the fans likewise. 

Cousin Keith and the Rev. Lyle shake
before the game. Niece Maggie's at right.

The previous fall, the Denton clan descended on Birmingham so they could attend the first meeting of Texas A & M and the Alabama Crimson Tide. The Texas contingency of the family live either in Dallas or Houston and has strong ties to Texas A & M. All my brother's children have degrees from the university, and they married Aggie graduates. The game had been hyped by ESPN for weeks and Johnny "Football" Manziel was just getting warmed up.  I was thankful I stayed at my sister's and watched the game on TV. The Aggies gave the Tide their only defeat of the season. My fear of a total family explosion didn't materialize...besides it's just football, right?

The in-laws and outlaws from left:
brother Hal, wife Janet, cousin Keith, niece
Julie, nephew Bennett, niece Maggie, sister Linda
and the Rev. Lyle--a really good sport!

Grandmother had a saying: "if it's worth doing; it's worth doing right". Well, she would be very proud of her granddaughter and grandson's families. They have the "RTR", "Gig 'Em Aggies" and Hallelujah corners well covered.

Hope everyone has a safe and great season.