Conglomeration #2

Glaring at the wall hangings in my living room I remain bewildered at my choice to decorate with these paintings. Each is abstractly unique telling a story in my mind. One named “Equilibrium” shows a couple standing on opposite ends of a long board balanced on a big ball perfectly depicting the reality of marriage. Expertise in marriages presents polarized views of what could have been, what should have been and what is and the question of “equilibrium.”  Love, hate, betrayal, passion, comfort, peace are emotional manifestations of the balancing act. Career, character, communication, convictions are choices contributing to the “equilibrium” plural affect or effect on marriage. The balancing act can be an act of self-survival or a coordinated effort for salvation. Enough about that marriage malarkey.

Back to the wall hangings in my living room. Conglomeration was my first writing about one of the pictures above my couch. The other painting above my couch is of a big tree, perfectly shaped with little red, blue, and yellow birds making the leaves. The mega roots are those of musical string instruments. Those roots tug at the “strings” of my heart especially when I listen to the birds chirping family love songs.

My grandaddy, William Homer Keaton, was extremely proud of his Cherokee roots. His mother was half Cherokee. Since Grandaddy was the most loving and accepting male in my life his love of ancestry intrigues me. Who are we? To which family of God’s creation do we belong?

The roots of that tree composed of musical instruments brought me back to my grandaddy. Grandaddy had partially missing digits of which is another story. He could still play the piano. He taught me at an incredibly youthful age to play “Jesus Lover of My Soul” on the piano. Later in life I learned the only hymn that followed every rule of music theory was “Jesus Lover of My Soul.”   Grandaddy instilled in his children and grandchildren a love of Jesus, a love for the land, a love for all of creation, a love of family and a love of music. “When They Ring Those Golden Bells for You and Me” is what I sang at his funeral as he had requested.

Grandaddy loved my Granny, Ruth Bragg. Granny, orphaned as a ten-year-old, struggled with depression much of her life. But she could sing and play the piano. Granny and Grandaddy fought like cats and dogs, but they did love each other despite their tempers. Grandaddy would say “Ruth is the purdiest little red head I ever saw.”  Granny and Grandaddy were special and remain special as evidenced by my referrals to their positive influence. Fortunately, I have outgrown their tempers! What I do have from them is their love of all creations including the gift of music. Granny, Grandaddy, Mama and Aunt Billie instilled music in my soul. Granny in her delicate head tones would fill the air with “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling” and “My Wild Irish Rose” as she claimed to have Irish roots. Vocalists and pianists were they. I cherish those musical roots. I remember Mama singing in church “Oh to Be Like Thee” and “All That Thrills My Soul Is Jesus.”  For her ninetieth birthday celebration we recorded her singing “I Love You Truly.”   On her death bed she continued to sing new songs from Glory.

On a different note, a low note, are the roots of my paternal family. Pop, William Tilden Roberts, never sang anything. He certainly did not share affection with his grandchildren. Maw, Ethel Lee Shivel, would hum or sing around the house or at church. She often sang when her siblings would visit.

A few of her favorites were “Precious Memories,” “Suppertime” and “Amazing Grace.”  The house would fill with music when all the Shivels gathered. Daddy loved to sing although his teacher refused him voice lessons due to his lack of talent. He sang loudly and offbeat. He would sing “Peg O My Heart” to Mama. Daddy could dance and gloated about the marathons he danced. Sad, once he became a “Christian” he stopped dancing. His Uncle Luther loved to sing. He would entertain us when he was around. I especially remember his animation as he clapped, danced, and sang, “I found that rock that was hewn out the mountain Lord, I found that rock that came row-ling out of Babylon.”    

And so it goes, our family of musicians continues. My brothers and I learned at an early age to direct music and sing. That learning was a gift from Mama and Dad’s gift was the demand to perform. Thanks to our musical roots, family careers thrive, and the regeneration of inherited roots continues. The sounds of music, the sounds of silence, the sounds of joyful noise, the sounds of moaning and groaning hearts vibrate with the anticipation of hearing “those golden bells.” 

Generations come and go. Our remembrances are handed down to our children and our grandchildren. As I recently heard in a sermon, our great grandchildren may not even know our names. In our family they will know music. Grandchildren writing music, playing musical instruments, dancing, singing and incessantly humming while growing musical roots finely tunes the chirping of the songbirds on the branches of our family tree. Their children will sing songs of the era while their great grandmother will sing a New Song.

Ecclesiates 1:4  Pass It On

Janie Roberts Davis 09/06/2024