Blast From The Past - Gary Rice For Your Amazement!

[Jim O'Bryan]

What a wonderful day that was Gary!


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[Gary Rice]

Thanks Jim. Good memories indeed.

Readers here might not realize that when the Observation Deck first started, there weren’t nearly as many ways that Lakewood residents could communicate with each other as there are now. We really felt like pioneers back then, did we not?

Since we’re looking at past reflections here, let’s think about past Thanksgivings, just for a moment. From the vantage point of seven decades now, I can still remember those old days so clearly...

(What follows is largely taken from one of my old Lakewood Observer columns)

The Thanksgiving holiday was a huge event in the '50's and '60's. The women worked like dogs, starting the night before; preparing the stuffing with their secret family recipes. Their floral-print aprons and their gorgeous dresses accentuated the atmosphere of snow-white linen tablecloths, set with the finest English bone china, sterling silver, and crystal. Although our family was pure middle class, the grandparents always had the linen and the silver, the crystal, and the china. Back then, these items might have been their only valuable possessions, but indeed, they had them.

Oh yes, my grandmother also embroidered her tablecloths and napkins. There were three forks and as many knives at each setting. There were fresh carrots and stuffed celery from the garden, and we each had our own salt dips for those vegetables. The meat had to be able to be cut with the fork only, or it would not be served. We always had one hand in our laps, and no elbows on the table. White shirts and ties were required for the men folk, regardless of age. Passing the food always went from right to left, so that the heavy plates of food were received by strong right hands. As a lefty, I just had to make the adjustment to all this, of course. Our favorite time, as children, was naturally, eating the hand-cranked ice cream; waiting outside on the card table under the old grape arbor. The luckiest kid got to lick the paddles of the old ice cream bucket.

Before all else transpired, "The Prayer" was raised to God Almighty for His bountiful gifts. "The Prayer" was seldom long, or complex. It was, however, "The Prayer". It was the most important part of the meal. The table talk was polite and reserved. Topics that were inappropriate were ignored when brought up, or faced down with a quick and piercing look from Grandfather. All cues came from Grandfather. It's no accident either, that many Native Americans refer to Deity as "Grandfather". The connection could easily be made back then.

After dinner, the men retired to the sun parlor, where pipes were lit and stories were told. The women sat around the dining room table with their own topics of interest. Occasionally the children would go out back in the woods, or up to their rooms for play, at least until the music started. When music time came, Grandmother would go over to her grand piano, and retrieve the music from the bench. Grandfather would pull out his mandolin, and Dad would reach for his fiddle. I’d grab either my old guitar, or an old banjo, and the music would begin. “We Gather Together” would open our little concert, and those classic old songs of praise and thanksgiving would once again raise our roof:

These days, things have changed.

Lots.

"The Prayer", if it's even said, has become a lower-case prayer; an almost anecdotal afterthought in character. Turkeys are often purchased pre-cooked; prepared by persons unknown, and filled with who-knows what, from who-knows-where. Side dishes are microwave-zapped, served with butter-in-the-tub, and with drinks-in-the-can, along with football-on-the-tube. Aprons have gone, as have dresses, shirts and ties, as well as manners, decorum...and above all, happiness. All too often, expressions of profanity, discussions of politics, and opinionated excesses scar and profane the Thanksgiving experience, touchdown after fumble; as does an excess of alcohol. Those of you who've lived as long as I have, remember the old times, and have witnessed these changes. Those of you who are too young to remember will just have to take our word for it.

Not all things get better over time. Not by a long shot.

Way too many “I-ME-MY” messages are spoken these days, and really, aren’t those messages the quickest way to unhappiness?

I digress here.

There is an important lesson that goes with all of this. The oldsters back then had just as many aches, pains, sorrows, and grieving, going on in their lives, as we have today.

Or more...

With this difference:

They thought more about us, than themselves.

These days, we like to gripe and bellyache about everything that we can think of. If we get a stubbed toe, it's off to the doctor and a dizzying variety of tests and medications. We cry, we whine, we wring our hands at nothing at all.

While trying to save whales and seals and end world hunger, we forget about the anguish that's in our own backyards...or worse...we create more for ourselves. Back then, those folks around the table...those people who experienced the worst economic depression in world history...those people who survived the horrors of both World Wars One and Two...they did everything possible to make us happy.

These days, some people talk about America's or even Lakewood’s "decline". Some even fret about having to get by with less. Well, maybe that would not be such a bad thing, after all. Maybe we'd learn not to be such crybabies. Maybe we'd learn to roll up our sleeves and work our problems out, like they did in the old days. Maybe we'd rediscover "The Prayer" again. Maybe, just maybe, we'd try to show our children how to be happy again by thinking of others. That is, if we even remember how to do that.

God help us all, if we have forgotten.

Happy Thanksgiving All, as we ALSO remember Native American Heritage Month.

Back to the turkey baster...

[Jim O'Bryan]

Gary, let's do a new one for the New Year!

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[Gary Rice]

Great idea Jim!

Meanwhile, let's not forget our Observer "Silent Night" holiday project video, available for viewing here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iHCnltfKmQ8

The backstory for that video is poignant. "Silent Night" is often played with the guitar, as many may remember the traditional legend of those little mice eating into the bellows of a church organ, so the guitar was supposedly substituted on that particular midnight Christmas Mass for the debut of that song.

I've played that song on guitar for many churches, oft attired in traditional monk habit, giving nod to the timeless nature of all this.

Another thing: That particular guitar is a "Marcel Dadi" model. Marcel was a great and inspiring guitarist who perished on TWA Flight 800 in the skies over Long Island Sound.

We all play our part in the relay race of life, I suppose. It's been a great honor for me to play my own small part in keeping the relay of music going here in Lakewood.

The musical saw used on that video is also a bit amazing. Formerly a staple on live stages, saw players, or sawyers, are relatively few and far between nowadays. I learned how to play the saw from a dear relative who used the saw to entertain many soldiers hospitalized during wartime.

Passing the torch, yeah.

Of course, he taught me all the saw jokes too:

If I play with a group, I use a band saw.
If I play for dances, I use a jig saw.
If I'm having a bad day, I'll use a coping saw...

As we kick off the holiday season everyone, please keep the music going, if only in your hearts.

Back to the banjo