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.

The Wonder Years

It was the 1950's and the Cold War was getting colder by the minute. All Russians were the enemy, according to folks in my rural community. Fall out shelters were being built, and there was a feeling of uneasiness unless you were six years old and excited about starting school. All the troubles of the world were for the adults, not little folks like me.

Ready for my first sleepover with
a new friend in first grade.

Other than teaching piano lessons, the only outside job I remember Mom holding was playing the piano for a lady who taught tap and ballet in Columbia. We would go several days a week for about four hours at a time, and Mom would play while different little children came in and took their lessons. Because I could sing, I helped the others learn the songs. By 10:00 in the morning, I had already sung them a half-dozen times, so it wasn't a big deal.  I wanted to take lessons too.

Gulf Shores--we rented a house!

Money was tight, and Mom couldn't afford to pay out what she was taking home. I remember well one evening when Dad got home I overheard Mom talking to him about letting me have lessons. "Ned, she sits there all day with her mouth watering; she wants to learn the steps so badly. Can't we let her take for just a while?" And so my dancing career began and ended in the same year. Tap acceptable, but I was like a flying cow trying to be graceful enough for ballet.  Mom made my costumes: I was one of three little kittens who had lost their mittens; a cupie doll, and other assorted characters.  I wasn't the best dancer, but my costumes were envied by all.  She would go to the cloth shop and buy remnants in all sorts of fancy fabrics. It was like she was making doll clothes, only I was bigger. Who had time to worry about Communism when you had shuffle-ball-steps to remember

Back to kindergarten, what kindergarten? We started first grade cold turkey. There were no half-days, you were expected to "deal with it". Miss Hayes, our first grade teacher, was a fixture of the school. She had taught my brother, and 12 years later would teach my little sister. She knew where all the bones were buried in my family.

Learning to read was fascinating, and I couldn't get enough of it. New friends were an adventure too. With no daycare experience, being with 20 other people my age was brand new and took some getting used to.

The one bad memory I have of first grade was being forced to drink milk at morning break. Didn't like milk then, don't like it now, and almond milk is a gift from heaven for my cereal each morning. In second grade the milk wasn't mandatory, and that made me an even happier girl.

The neighborhood gang: from left to right front row
Diane Lee, Betty Webb, Doris Jean Kelly
2nd row, Jimmy Dial, Charles Dial, Hal Denton, Ray
Cherry and Joe Kelly; 3rd row, Audrey Poarch
Faye Kelly, and Della Pearl Davis.

I can still remember the smell of that first grade classroom; the pencil shavings, the oiled wood floors, the sour milk and the books. We gathered in the auditorium for chapel where my Mom sometimes played "The Washington Post March" or "Under The Double Eagle". It was so cool to be in the same room with seniors! At Culleoka,  all 12 grades were in the same building in 1958.

Kids were kids then as now. The worst that ever happened at school was a high school kid getting caught smoking in the bathroom. In elementary, we had to be sure to avoid any behavior that led to a spanking because we knew we would get the same at home. Teachers were and always will be my heroes. As a matter of fact, anyone who can tell me something I don't already know earns a brownie point with me. 
Every era has its good and bad, but the memories of my early school years are some of the best I have. When you reach my age, you wish life could be so simple again.