Jigs

I have only one memory of my Paw-Paw, my paternal grandfather, Albert "Jigs" Sandridge.  I have also only one artifact aside from the headstone he shares with my Granny in our family plot; and my memory does not include that artifact.  The item which had belonged to him was his legendary harmonica, a now-ancient M. Hohner Tuckaway whose box's aged tape from numerous attempts at preservation belie both its preciousness to my late father and its delicate state.

As a child, I would - as stealthily as possible - spirit away with the magical musical instrument, attempting at its chords discordantly.  I'd had training with choir vocals, piano/organ, and the coronet; but this wee bit of metal and wood elements eluded mastery, probably likely to the secretive and seldom opportunities of experience with it.  It seems a family legacy of musical pursuit would be best served in the simple-seeming act of utilizing this heirloom..but it will require time and discipline to focus on its practice.

I've not only tried to play Paw-Paw's "mouth-harp," but bought "trainers" with the intention of ridding myself the novice mistakes on lesser instruments.  My time playing acoustic guitar seemed to hold promise, as the same chords relate to both the stringed and sighing implements of music here mentioned paragraphically.  Yet, the Tuckaway sits mocking me as I type.

Also, I might add, do the shelves of books whose bits of wisdom I had hoped to apply to this meager blog in content, contentedly contributing to the Wellness Scripts of her readership.  Why do we collect things and then allow them to collect tolls on our souls in such manner?  I think we have great intentions, those of us whose creative and compassionate hearts seek to do good in the world with the writ available and the wit afforded us by our Creator...it's that the follow through is less thrilling than the pursuit, perhaps.

Knowing the tendencies of the mortal mind, then, 

what shall a harmonica-owning, book-blessed meaning maker do 

to master the reviews, the recital, and the real-time realization 

of dreams so easily made evident in her home office?  

Deadlines can be lifelines in such instances.

My grandfather, "Jigs," as he was known in his youth, was capable of leading a squaredance, playing his Tuckaway, and participating in the squaredance himself at once.  I did not witness this, as I was the latest part of his life, beyond the breathing of music and magic for which he had become known; but enough have attested to the truth of it to hold me accountable to a calling of fitting capacities.

As for my solitary, serenely vivid memory of Paw-Paw?  I was on his lap in the home he shared with Granny on Wheeling.  His weathered and dappled hands turned the pages of what was to my toddler perspective an enormous storybook.  The story was Puss in Boots, complete with illustrations.  I recall feeling safe and content in that tender embrace, a man whose hands had driven school buses, troweled cement, laid bricks, and done all manner of work to provide for his family...  Those same hands cradled the Tuckaway as its music soothed souls likely sharing struggles that would cause modern folks to shudder.

As my father was born in 1930 and his sister in 1934, the Dustbowl and Depression had marked the lives of my grandparents well before they reared their two offspring; yet they played the organ and harmonica, sang hymns, and thrived.  My grandmother had been a nurse, and at over six feet in height, she had paid the price of years on her feet by the time she died a few years after Paw-Paw.  They knew hard times, but also obviously valued the arts despite the austerity they had faced, moving from Oregon County, Missouri to Tulsa, Oklahoma in search of opportunities not afforded them in their hometown.

We are all gifted in a way to reflect the image of God individually unique to all other humans - that's my belief anyway.  Be it music or medicine or more practical work, each of us has a part to play.  One cannot dawdle when the music is playing.  Even amid mistakes and missteps, the beat carries the musician forward as a Muse brings forth words to these pages...

Jotting with Johnna:

• Do you have unfinished tasks calling to you?
• How does the business of belated follow-through make you feel?
• What actions might you take today to overcome inertia and invest some work into these tasks?
• With whom might you contract to ensure you involve your mind and energy on a regular basis in the fruition of your stated aims?
• Are there tasks and items or activities you wish to simply put to rest and riddance in favor of others; and if so, what stops you?

Remember:  it has been said that we needn't hold onto a mistake simply because of the time we have spent making it.  If there are obstacles impeding your progress, you are so very worthy of the thought and effort - even the discomfort - of releasing those things so that you can live your very best life now.  Whatever your interest or instrument, you were not born to bear it as a weight around your neck, but to juice the thing for what it has for you (which is entirely subject to individual needs, desires, and calling) in the time for which it is for you.  Not everything - nor everyone - in your life is for all seasons, save the Savior.