Tag Archives: family togetherness

August 17, 2012 · 3:04 pm

Summers of Contentment: Part 4

Dear Readers,

Click this link to read Part 3, before you read Part 4. Summers of Contentment: Part 3.

After a sit-down supper in a family restaurant, we climbed back into the car.

As the sun went down, my dad and mom led us in singing.  And this was the best part of the entire day . . .

. . . We were certainly not the Family Von Trapp — yet we were all good singers, by nature and nurture.

I have written previously about vocal music, “nature and nurture,” in this entry:  A Gift From My Parents.

My father could “write his own ticket” as a tenor in any church choir.  My mother had a fine alto singing voice and lent her talent to both church choir and community chorus.

Within the “bubble of our Buick,” our parents taught us how to follow a tune, sing the melody in unity,  harmonize, sing in “rounds,” or even “weave” counterpoint melodies.

My mother taught us songs that she learned from her childhood:  Every summer, she attended Baptist Church Youth Camp at Quaker Lake, North Carolina.  [The family of Mildred Mackie, my mother’s dear life-long friend, was Baptist.]

This bit of trivia explains why my mother, raised in a Quaker home, taught her children songs which were fervently evangelical:  “I’ve Got the Joy,”  “This Little Light of Mine,” “Into My Heart,” etc.

Quaker Lake, North Carolina

The Blair Family Singers enjoyed a wide repertoire, including nursery songs, lullabies, Sunday School songs, hymns, Campfire Songs, and folk songs.

But my favorites were the plaintive Spirituals, especially those which my heroine,  Marian Anderson, immortalized, when she sang them so beautifully and bravely.

[You can listen to recordings of these songs, performed by Marian Anderson, on Spotify.]

~~~~~~

Were You There?

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh, oh, oh — sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
 
Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
Oh, oh, oh — sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?
 
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
Oh, oh, oh — sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they laid him in the tomb?
 
Were you there when God raised him from the tomb?
Were you there when God raised him from the tomb?
Oh, oh, oh — sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when God raised him from the tomb?
 
Deep River

Deep River,
My home is over Jordan.
Deep River, Lord.
I want to cross over into campground.

Deep River,
My home is over Jordan.
Deep River, Lord,
I want to cross over into campground.

Oh, don’t you want to go,
To the Gospel feast;
That Promised Land,
Where all is peace?

Oh, Deep River, Lord,
I want to cross over into campground.

My Lord, What a Morning!

My Lord, what a morning,
My Lord, what a morning,
My Lord, what a morning,
When the stars begin to fall.
 
You’ll hear the trumpet sound,
To wake the nations underground,
Look in my God’s right hand,
When the stars begin to fall,
When the stars begin to fall.
 
My Lord, what a morning,
My Lord, what a morning,
My Lord, what a morning,
When the stars begin to fall.
 
You’ll hear the Christians shout,
To wake the nations underground,
Look in my God’s right hand,
When the stars begin to fall,
When the stars begin to fall.
 
My Lord, what a morning,
My Lord, what a morning,
My Lord, what a morning,
When the stars begin to fall.
 
~~~~~~

My parents were not, by any stretch of the imagination, theologically-oriented nor were they evangelical.

Never, as a family at home, did we read and discuss Scriptures nor did we pray together.

But, thankfully, my parents were part of  “The Greatest Generation” [author: Tom Brokaw] and were deeply committed to the family.

And, thankfully, they took us to Sunday School and to Worship Services, every Sunday morning.

I think to myself now:  My parents would be surprised to know that I learned, through those Spirituals, “The Mystery of Faith:”

“We remember His death,

We proclaim His Resurrection,

We await His Coming in glory.”

~~~~

Within the “bubble” of the Blair Family Buick, we blended our voices and sang those Spirituals, with all of our “heart, soul, mind, and strength.”

Singing connected and strengthened us as a family.

Within our family sphere, we had no idea, at that time, of the future challenges that would threaten our family.

Yet, decade after decade, our family endured.  And those songs fortified and galvanized our family for the endurance against difficulties.

So, I praise God:  For my parents, who bequeathed to us a rich legacy of the Simple Pleasures of Family Togetherness.

And for my siblings, with whom I share these memories.

Fifty years later, I still remember those songs.

As I already told you:   I was lucky.

Coram Deo,

Margot

 

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July 24, 2012 · 11:45 am

Summers of Contentment: Part 3

Dear Readers,

‘Tis the Season . . . for Family Togetherness:  Every summer, three generations of the Blair Clan travel to the Family Reunion in the North Carolina Mountains, to enjoy a week or two of  Simple Pleasures.

Sadly, new technology has now all but eclipsed Family Togetherness.  Today, the design of personal electronics allows each traveler [except the driver] to retreat into his or her own personal bubble or sphere, wholly unconnected to the other travelers, with whom he or she happens to share space.

But I was lucky:  The six members of the original Blair family, from 1952-1962, experienced uninterrupted Family Togetherness, before this new wave of technology.  If you were born after, say, 1980, you are indeed unfortunate:  You cannot imagine the fun and creativity that you missed.  So, I will describe it:

Our green Buick, a behemoth, had neither power steering  nor automatic seat/window adjustments.  It had no air conditioning but, then again, neither did our two-story apartment at Randolph Air Force Base, near San Antonio.   My mother was heavily pregnant with me, when my parents moved to Texas, in the summer of 1952.  My mother took a shower every time she climbed the stairs, which was several times per day.

We received a military transfer to California in the summer of 1958.  We planned to travel in the Buick across the desert, which would be an unbearable challenge.  So, my father bought a motorized device, no bigger than a bread box.  It sat on the floor board, at my mother’s feet, and bounced ice cubes around the interior of the box.  Then, it fanned the cooled air into the interior of the car.

As soon as we passed across the interminable desert, my father stopped and bought everyone a Date Milkshake, at the first oasis.  You never tasted anything so delicious, cold, and refreshing in your entire life.

The Buick had no seat belts, which made it difficult for each siblings to mark off his or her “territory.”  There were neither infant safety seats nor booster seats but this deficit allowed the older siblings to pass the baby to the front seat, where my mother would feed and console him or her.   Then, she would pass the baby back to us, until we grew tired of him or her.  And back and forth and so on.

The back seat of the Buick folded all the way down.  Upon this flat surface,  my father placed a sheet of plywood, which butted up against the front seat.  This enlarged space provided a “sleeping berth.”  You see, my parents sometimes traveled at night:  I might go to sleep in my bunk bed in San Antonio but wake up to see the sun rise in El Paso.  Disoriented, I would have no memory of my dad having carried me, wrapped in a blanket, out to the car, in the middle of the night.

After waking up, we siblings threw street clothes over our pajamas and stumbled out of the “sleeping berth” to have breakfast.  My dad’s quest was to find the best locally-owned “Mom & Pop” restaurant, where we heartily ate a Farmhouse Breakfast.  My parents were frugal and we would not eat a meal again until supper. [Although we would have a snack and beverage.]

The boredom of four siblings, cooped up in a car for 10 or more hours, took its toll.  Sometimes, an older sibling read aloud to the younger ones:

Or, the older sibs read silently, while the younger children took naps.

[Image Credit:  Lovely Books blog]

However, we could read only for a short while before nausea set in.

We played card games with the younger children:

Or, we passed around the View Master and re-lived our travels, from the Grand Canyon, the Petrified Forest, Disneyland, and Knott’s Berry Farm:

We took turns drawing on the Etch-A-Sketch:

Or, we played with Wooly Willy or Hair-Do Harriet.

My grandmother taught us older children how to make Button and String Whirlygigs.  This fascinated the younger children:

By mid-afternoon, we had exhausted all means of entertaining ourselves and we become punchy:  We giggled over the silliest things.  My mother turned her neck and head around toward the back seat and warned, “Stop that snickering!”

Yet we snickered even more.  My dad fumed silently as he drove, irritated by the volume of noise from the backseat.  My mother gave repeated warnings.  When  he could bear it no longer, my dad pulled over at the next safe place and stopped the car.  That was all.  He said not a word nor did he turn his head around, in our direction.  We were all shamed into silence and dozed until supper time.

After a sit-down supper in a family restaurant, we climbed back into the car.  As the sun went down, my dad and mom led us in singing.  And this was the best part of the entire day . . .

[To be continued]

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June 27, 2010 · 8:37 pm

Simple Pleasures

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Simple Pleasures:  A True Story

Well, here I was, finished with my Pilates Class and my Nature Walk.  Since I was already on the north part of town, I decided to drive on over to the Tallahassee Camera Center.  Only – I forget — now they call it the Tallahassee Image Center.   I needed to find replacement parts for a piece of equipment that I had stowed in the trunk of the car.

It was a cold morning so I was dressed in baggy sweatpants, a sweatshirt and athletic shoes.  [I gave a good sniff to make sure my shoes didn’t smell — dogs are allowed on that Nature Trail, you know!]  Of course, I had on no makeup and was rather disheveled from two hours of exercise.  And wouldn’t you just know it?  I had forgotten my hairbrush that day!  But, no problem — I just smoothed down the halo of “frizzies” with my hands and some saliva and gathered my hair into a ponytail.  [I always think you should be resourceful and try to look as youthful as possible.]

I arrived at the Image Center and grabbed the handle of the equipment case, hauled it into the store, and heaved it onto the top of the counter.  The young gal behind the counter blinked a few times at me and then her eyes rested on the case.  When I snapped open the case and removed the lid, she held her breath and her eyes opened wide in wonderment and awe, as if I had unveiled a mastodon fossil or the Shroud of Turin.

She was still dazed and astounded, even after I explained that it was only my father’s 1952 Bell & Howell slide projector.  I figured she was too young to appreciate such a fine piece of technology.  Sure enough, she declared that she had never seen anything like it before!  [That filled me with pride when I heard her say that.]

 

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I explained to her that, in the spring, my sisters and I, the Blair sisters, were going to use the projector to go through a thousand or so Blair Family slides.  We wanted to make sure that the projector was “running like a top.”  So, I asked her to plug it in and test it out.  But she vowed and declared that she was not sure how to go about it!  Seeing that she lacked confidence, I gave her a chance to figure it out herself.  I watched her fiddle and faddle for a few minutes and then I offered to help her.  Together, we figured out how to turn on the lamp and the fan.  Everything seemed to run fine.

However, the young gal still seemed quiet, shy, and kind of nervous.  I remembered how Dad & Mom always liked to chat with folks to help them relax.  I thought about how I could make a “connection.”  I wanted her to know that we – the Blair Family — were just “plain folks,” so that she would not be so intimidated.  After all, not all families think such a heap about passing on heirlooms in pristine condition.

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So, I related to her a little slice of our family history:  . . . .

. . . In the 1960’s, on the weekends, we four kids gathered around the coffee table in the living room and watched the The Lawrence Welk Show, while Dad & Mom made home-made Chef Boyardee Pizza in the kitchen.  We kids hurried through supper, kitchen cleanup, and our baths.  We helped Dad set up the slide projector, remove the framed art from one wall, and hang an old sheet on that blank wall.  Then, we each grabbed a Nu-Grape Soda and an Eskimo Pie and settled in to watch the show.

For over an hour, Dad projected slides of family vacations, holidays, and special occasions, all in color and larger than life.  I tell you, when we saw the 1950’s images of our younger selves [say, on Christmas morning, with our “bed head” and our weird, nerdy eyeglasses] we laughed so hard that we snorted soda out of our noses and drooled and dribbled ice cream onto our clean pajamas.

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[NOT my family!]

 

I confided to the young gal that my siblings and I intended to keep up the family tradition and provide that same kind of entertainment for our children and grandchildren.  I mean, why would children need a radio, a record player, or even a TV, when they could have that kind of family fun?

. . . As I related the story, the young gal blinked some more and was rendered speechless.  She was evidently mesmerized by my story and maybe a little envious, too.  She was obviously a stranger to the simple pleasures of family togetherness.  I felt sorry for her.

So, I decided to change the subject and asked:  Do you have any replacement parts for the projector? A lamp and a lens, maybe?   

That was when I thought I saw her eye twitch.  The poor child was slow to respond.  You know, I began to wonder if she was dim-witted!

So, I remembered to be kind and patient.  I prompted her to look behind the counter.  I encouraged her to check the pegs on the wall behind the counter, the shelves, and the storage room, too.  [I was kind of surprised that she had not thought of all the places to search.]

Now, do you know, that in that whole fancy store, there were no replacement parts for the “Bell & Howell TDC Headliner 303?”  This puzzled me because everybody knows that the Tallahassee Image Center is the oldest and best camera shop in town!

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Well, anyway, remembering my manners, I thanked the young gal for her help, as I clicked the lid onto the case.  At this point, she snapped out of her stupor.  I guess my warm friendliness had finally perked her up a little.  In fact, she sprang into action:  She raced me to the door, opened it up for me, and heartily wished me “good luck” in finding the parts I needed.

I lugged the projector back to the trunk of my car.  I drove away and shook my head in wonderment at a world where you could not buy replacement parts locally for a perfectly good 1952 slide projector.  If that isn’t planned obsolescence, I don’t know what is!

~~~Margot Blair Payne

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