I would take in my crew of granddaughters assign them each a room and we would work with fury as quickly and efficiently as a family that is accustom to working together knows how. This ritual usually took place on his birthday.
After we would finish cleaning, we would fix him a special birthday dinner with most of his favorites. Then there would be the gathering around and he would fire up his guitar and pull out his music. While we might have been tired from cleaning and not feeling like singing, this was part of loving the old guy. And almost always we came away from the evening glad that we were part of it. Even my rock and roll nephew would sometimes show up at these impromptu jam sessions. It was always interesting to watch these two men mutually respected the other. I think that is the way it is with most guitar players.
But he didn’t really need an audience or a jam session to appreciate his instrument, like most guitar players, it was a comfort and an enjoyment to just sit down and play. Very few people know that after his beloved Betty went home to the LORD, that in his sleepless nights, he would often get up in the wee hours of the morning and play. Music is a comfort to us. I imagine in those hours of the night watches he played more of out of his hymnal than he did his “trash” collection as his beloved called some of his favorite old C & W songs.
My youngest daughter pointed out to me a couple of days ago, “That we always cleaned up Granddaddy’s house for his birthday, it seems appropriate that this is the week that we are painting.” I confess it is these kinds of things that choke me up and bring tears to my eyes when I am alone and working at the various tasks that have been set before me.
So if you all would just permit me to say one final, “Happy Birthday!” I will then be off to attempt to get as much painting done as possible today.