Evening Thoughts: October 12, 2017

Wish ya’ll could have watched the Lady Hazel (aka “The Last Fan at Woodstock”) and me tonight. La Jefa flew to Houston for a much-deserved night off and we were at the farm with no adult supervision. You know what that means. I grabbed an electric guitar and cranked up an amp loud. There was nobody to stop us. I practiced my finger-picking and we played “Name That Hymn" for all the dogs and cats. Jeez, but we had fun.

Hazel’s had a rough week memory-wise, but tonight, full alert-mode returned. She only missed naming two hymns. They were ones I did a particularly awful job on. She even sang along on most. She remembered a few I was rusty on and I have marching orders to get to work on them. Here's one she particularly seems fond of. It's called Send the Light, a good-old-goodun' that I had fogotten about. I won't make that mistake again.

Periodically she reminisced on some of the music this old house had heard over the last 87 years, how her folks used to move the living room furniture to one side on Saturday nights and invite friends over to dance. She told me how someone took a wagon to Carlisle when she was a young child and returned with the organ that had belonged to her mother's family. It is still in our possession and soon to be installed in a new place of honor. She seemed pleased that we still have it.

I have some info on how they are using music as therapy for victims of dementia. I think there may be some truth to it. It sure worked tonight.

Eventually, my fingers got sore, she got sleepy, the animals got bored, and we just about ran out of tunes. What was I to do after two hours of hymns, a stiff back, and a set of blackened finger tips? Obviously, I settled for a Jameson and three cubes with memories of a night I’ll never forget.

Still game for whatever.