CLASS

Last Saturday night I played for a fund raiser for non-profit organizations at the Catholic Church in Tehachapi. The huge multi-purpose room had been transformed into a 1920's high class restaurant. The theme was "Singin' in the Rain".  Plain walls were covered with silver fabric that looked like rain. At the back of the stage, from a long curtain rod hung a silver and black swagged drapery, swept to the sides by velvet ropes with long tassels. In the middle space hung shimmering silvery streamers.  On either side of the huge stage stood stately street lamps, replicas of those used a couple of generations ago. The piano I played was backed toward the audience and was covered with a fitted silver and black tapestry fabric with sweeping ropes and tassels hanging from the top of the piano. On the linen covered round tables for eight were silver plates surrounding tall, elegant, feathery centerpieces. The chairs were covered with white "dresses". Class!

Women and men began pouring in, ...the women dressed in black, fringed flapper dresses, wearing high heeled strap sandals that before the evening was over would be causing pain. Stuck in the bands around their heads were tall feathers.Men were wearing black suits; the waiters and waitresses were clad in black pants and white shirts with perky black hats perched on their heads. Class!

Did those Catholics raise a boatload of money?  Holy Moley! I guess so! The woman auctioneer was a forceful chatterer that yanked those checkbooks and credit cards right out of their purses and billfolds!

A very long time ago my musician mother tried to get me to just "play the written notes". I couldn't. I have an aversion to manuals.  My kind of music was going to be just right: Ragtime, Dixieland, Swing and Standards. I was paid well and squirreled it away as I always do to buy something that is not necessary.

Is there any spiritual message whatsoever in this blog?  Of course. Years ago,  I played for two Saturday nights in  the Bear Valley Club bar.  As the drinks went down the tips climbed to the top of the tip jar. On the second Saturday night,  around 10 o'clock as some old smelly geezer breathed down my neck and dropped a  20 in the jar, I fished out my cash,  fled out the door,  beat it up the mountain and home, crawled into bed beside Ted and muttered: "So much for that gig!"

The Lord gives us gifts to use for His glory. We get to choose where and how to stir them up.

    WE GIVE THEE BUT THINE OWN   (SCHUMANN)

We give Thee but Thine own, what'ere our gift may be
All that we have is Thine alone, a trust, Oh Lord from Thee.

To comfort and to bless, to find a balm for woe; 
To tend the lone and fatherless is our great task below.

And we believe Thy Word, though dim our faith may be.
Whatever task we do, O Lord, we do it unto Thee.   I Chronicles 29:14

Love,  Jo