My Musical Heritage (Happy birthday, Dad!)

[My dad, ever the English teacher, enjoys anecdotal stories more than any gift. Well, that and hearing/seeing his three kids sing and play instruments together. Here's a little of both for his birthday]

Take a load off Fanny...

You're my blue sky; you're my sunny day...

No, no, no, it ain't me, Babe...

I can't see me lovin' nobody but you for all my life...

Lord, I was born a ramblin' man...

You can't always get what you want...

Let it be, let it be...

Such was the soundtrack of my childhood.  Dad would be in the kitchen with his patriotic apron singing into his spoon/microphone as he whipped up a batch of snickerdoodles or beef stew or "meat, corn, and potatoes."  I've often wondered how the three of us kids could've ended up so musical when our dad's musical prowess didn't make it past the kitchen or the confines of the van (with a good ol' tape deck).  Two things come to mind: we were around music and we were supported in our musical endeavors.

Music, from the Byrds to Bob Dylan to Buddy Holly to the Beatles, filled our home.  It was the marriage of Mr. Tambourineman and Mrs. Robinson.  Dad was a teen during the 60's and finished college in the 70's, and, as a family, we never really moved on to anything from the 80's or 90's.  This lines up with what the New York Times found when they analyzed Spotify data: the songs you like as a teen set your musical tastes as an adult.  Dad belted out the tunes; we sang along.  I still remember many of the lyrics -- the nostalgia runs deep. Being around music doesn't in and of itself lead to becoming a musical person, but it definitely set the foundation for us.

Rock 'n Roll wasn't our only influence. The other way Dad created an environment of music was by writing songs to the tunes of hymns.  I still remember how he changed the words of "Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee" to "Marsha, Mommy, we adore you, wonder of the Kinser clan."  He even created two musicals with other hymn-tune-adaptations and witty lines to bring the narratives of Genesis to life.  We have a video of us singing "O Come, All Ye Faithful," one of Dad's favorite Christmas carols (and he insisted we learn and sing all the verses).

When it came to learning an instrument, that was more down Mom's alley.  She has played the organ at our church since she was a teenager.  Dad was more of an air guitarist (especially in the kitchen as he danced around belting out "Like a rolling stone" pronounced just like Bob Dylan did it).  Still, he supported us as we showed interest in playing "real" instruments.  We all began with piano but eventually all added guitar (Jon's purple electric as a 7th grader was the gateway for all of us).  We all joined band class (Matt on saxophone, Jon on percussion, me on trumpet), which turned into nine straight years of marching band.  

How did Dad support our musical endeavors? Let me count the ways... 

• paying for music lessons (and driving Jon a half hour away for guitar lessons because that's where the best teacher was), 
• buying instruments to add to our growing collections,
• being a proud member of the Pit Crew (he had a shirt made that said "My job's the pits"),
• writing articles for the local newspaper about our marching band performances,
• supplying Pez pick-me-ups for us and our friends after long practices,
• dealing with the noise and unpleasantness of practice times (the drum set in the garage had to have been annoying at times), 
• showing up at our concerts, gigs, performances, and recitals over the years (and still to this day! He loves making the drive to watch Matt play in any venue).

I don't know if Dad had the foresight decades ago to know that his investment would lead to songwriters of his own who matured from "We are the Lundquist brothers" to "Sunny Day Blues" and from "I Love to Paint" to over 300 Scripture songs to help kids and adults memorize Bible verses.  Who would have thought that he would have one son still happily playing gigs in his 40s, another son who studied classical guitar at the collegiate level, and a daughter who taught music at a Christian school for four years?  One of the greatest results of Dad's investment, though, is that whenever the three of us siblings get together, music is involved. Our styles and preferences and abilities may vary, but we enjoy jammin' and improvisin' and harmonizin' together.  If that's the end-in-mind I want for my own boys, I need to follow Dad's model of having music in the home and supporting their musical endeavors.

  

A year ago, we couldn't get together to play and sing in person, so we decided to put together a quarantined song for Mom's birthday (and surely, she's part of our musical heritage, too).  After the fun of that, we thought we'd do one for Dad's birthday, too.  When Matt e-mailed me his rendition of "The Weight," I was afraid that the song would be unfamiliar.  It may be called "The Weight," but I know it better as the "Fanny" song -- one of many that Dad sang from the kitchen.  It's about taking the load off someone else and carrying it ourselves.  Dad carried many-a-load for us over the years to set the foundation for three lifelong musicians.  Thanks, Dad!  Here it is (with my inspiring performance on the toy shakers and with a cameo at the end from the next generation of musicians in the family line):

Aunts and Uncles and Cousins, Oh My!

Do you have a brother? Do you have a sister?

The questions were simple enough. My three-year-old Chinese student had already answered the questions herself (although she was a little confused and said she had one sister in her family because she is a sister). To practice asking the questions, she asked me, half a world away, as I stared at her lovable face through my computer. And then I had her ask her mom, who was sitting beside her.  "Mom, do you have a brother? Do you have a sister?" Nope -- she's an only child. I interjected and asked if her husband had any siblings. He doesn't, either.

And what that means is that my sweet, smiley student doesn't have any aunts or uncles or cousins.  That's hard for me to imagine. I am blessed to have... 

• 11 aunts and uncles [Grace, Ron, Dan, Loni, Lois, Paul, Lisa, Doug, Jennifer, Dennis, Jenny] 
• 19 first cousins [David, Mark, Nathan, Sarah, Annie, Liliet, Jacquie, Alex, Daniel, Lauren, Rachel, Phil, Alex, Ben, Peter, Michelle, Beth, Steph, Chris (and let's go ahead and count Josh, Emily, Caleb, and Hannah although they are technically "first cousins once removed")]. 

Our connections, during my childhood and in the present day, vary. I spent every Sunday night of my growing-up years with my mom's side of the family at Grandma's house. These memories are filled with jell-o and Little Debbie snacks and a Schwinn exercise bike. On the other hand, I would see my dad's side of the family on the yearly road trips to Chicago or the less-frequent trips to New York. Possibly my favorite memory from these visits was the ever-popular White Elephant gift exchange (What treasures had Grace and Lois collected for us this time?). I'm grateful that both sets of grandparents were able to have more than one child and chose to give ME (years later), the gift of aunts, uncles, and cousins.  It's something I assumed everyone had.

The most I see of any of my relatives these days is via Facebook. The cousins have grown up and are all as busy with their lives as I am with mine.  So, what remains? My four grandparents are all gone, but they've left a spiritual heritage.  They were faithful to each other and faithful to God. They laid a foundation for me to one day live out my own faith in Jesus.  And now I'm doing my part so that my grandchildren have the gift of aunts (well, maybe through marriage!), uncles, and cousins. More than that, though, I pray that they, too, will walk in step with their grandparents and great-grandparents and great-great-grandparents as they choose to follow Jesus themselves.      

So, aunt, uncle, cousin of mine...whatever connection we've had, whether close or distant, whether we've even had a conversation as adults, each one of you has played a part in shaping my sense of family, and therefore, me. To all of you... THANKS!

Dad and his two sisters and two brothers

Mom and her brothers and their wives

P.S. I also hit it out of the park to add 16 aunts and uncles and 20 first cousins to my family when I married Lucas.  I love you all, too!

Grandma - Crossing the Finish Line

(I don't think this was her last Christmas, but it was one of her last)

"Alzheimer's is a terrible disease for such a wonderful woman." That's how my oldest brother Matt began his remarks at Grandma's funeral in January 2009. My grandpa had switched to Heritage nursing home before his death in January 1999. Grandma eventually followed -- first, selling their home (so, so sad to say goodbye to that house of memories!); then, at an assisted living facility on the other side of town; finally, at the same nursing home where we said goodbye to Grandpa. 

I grew up going to nursing homes to visit grandparents and to sing carols at Christmas, so I wasn't bothered by them. As we got older, my brothers and I would even bring our instruments to sing familiar hymns in the dining room. There was power in the familiarity of the music. Long after Grandma had forgotten many things, she could still sing along with the hymns from her past.  It was one of our last remaining points of connection.  

I'm not sure when she was actually diagnosed with Alzheimer's, but by the end of 2008, the disease had robbed her of all the things I had known and loved about my grandma. She even looked different. When I visited her at the nursing home that Christmas, I realized that though she was still alive, I had already said goodbye to who she once was. She passed away not long after in January. 

I'm grateful that her story doesn't end there.  The legacy of how she created community, cultivated "home," and cooked amazing meals lives on in our hearts. And, most importantly, because of how she trusted in Jesus for salvation and centered her life on Christ, she is now healed and whole in heaven with a new body and a new mind "in a land where we'll never grow old."

(three poems, written on 12-26-08)

I visited my grandma today

Or what's left of her

No, she's not dead

but she might as well be.

Is that horrible of me?

   to wish my grandma was dead?

Sounds horrible...

   but not if you know the situation.

The truth is,

   she's not living anymore

She's a shell of what once was.

Even now

   I'm struggling to find closure

   to say good to my grandma

      who is already gone.

--

My only grandma left

    is slowly fading

It gets worse

    each time we visit

First, not recognizing me

Now, not even talking

First, a twinkle in her eye

Now, a blank stare

First, a faint recollection of familiar hymns

Now, not a recollection of anything

It was sad

    and it's getting sadder

        each time

            I see her.

--

The nurses at Heritage nursing home

    haven't a clue

    of what my grandma was like

She was kind

She was patient

She worked hard

She loved much

She opened her home

She opened her heart

She cooked for us

She dined with us

She held the family together

She held me in her arms

She made my bed

She made my day

She prayed for me

She taught me how to pray

She took care of her ailing husband

She took care of me when I was sick

She read to me

She played with me

She sang

She giggled

All these things she did

    are but a memory    

        and the nurses haven't a clue

 --

(written on 1-22-09)

I wrote a poem about Grandma

    the last time I saw her

Who knew that that last time 

    would be

        the last time I saw her

I kind of expected it.

I should have guessed.

The reality, the finality of it all,

    rocked me more than

        I would have guessed.

This was one of our Christmas Eve gatherings. After Grandma moved out of her house, we celebrated Christmas at various houses over the years. I'm guessing it was around the early 2000s when I was in college. Grandma was still able to join us that year.

Playing and singing at the nursing home

Grandma - Cooking

Paring knife in hand.

Slicing up strawberries.

First, the leaves; then, into halves or quarters, depending on the size of the strawberry.

It's one of the "triggers" that always reminds me of Grandma even though I don't do the final step of sprinkling sugar to mix with the strawberry "juices."  Sugared, cut-up strawberries were the strawberries of my childhood.  

Grandma was quite the cook. She worked in a school cafeteria (back when they had the freedom to actually do more cooking), nursing home cafeteria, and the hospital cafeteria . She started as a general cook and moved her way up to Head Baker (or whatever it was called). One of her "famous" recipes was Cherry Delight -- involving Dream Whip, graham cracker crumbles, and cherry pie filling. She cooked for her family and as a career, so I was always a bit surprised that my mom never cooked much after growing up as Dorothy's daughter.

Grandma was thrifty when it came to shopping for ingredients.  I remember going with her from Kroger to Aldi's to Harvest Market to purchase the sale items at each place.

Every time we were at Grandma's house, all the food in the kitchen was fair game. I'd snack on pickles, string cheese, and colby cheese (cut from the cylinder block) from the refrigerator and Little Debbies from the bottom cabinet below the microwave and glassware. I preferred the Fudge Rounds and Fancy Cakes; Jon was more of a Swiss Cake Rolls kind of guy. 

As far as a main dish, my two favorites that Grandma would make just for me were "fritters" in the deep fryer and grilled cheese on the stove. That's another Grandma trigger -- whenever I butter the bread and make a grilled cheese sandwich on the stove for my boys. 

My all-time favorite, though less frequent, was homemade chicken and noodles.  When I moved to Kentucky, I realized that my favorite meal was not a staple everywhere else. College friends would be confused: "Do you mean chicken noodle soup? Or chicken and dumplings?"  In my elementary school, the only time I'd eat a school lunch was every other Tuesday for chicken and noodles. (I had to keep track of the week because the other Tuesday was salisbury steak. Yuck.). Dear ladies at my church (Opal and Pat) would bring them to pitch-in meals, but I always loved when my grandma made them (and let me help!). She'd use her rolling pin to roll out the dough on the kitchen table. It was a big flour-y mess. I even ate some raw.  It's been a long time since I've had good old-fashioned homemade chicken and noodles.

Another thing everything loved (and I enjoyed more as I got older) was...

Grandma Dot's Sausage Balls

1 lb. sausage

2 1/4 c. Bisquik

1/2 pkg dry onion mix

1/2 lb grated cheese

1. Mix together with hands and shape into balls.
2. Bake 30 minutes at 350 or until browned (can be turned in pan during browning)

I remember helping her with the Sunday night staple of jello (always red and cut in squares in a big pan). During the times I was sick and would stay home from school with her, she'd let me drink some warm jello before it had set in the refrigerator. I also remember watching her make the old-fashioned popcorn on the stove, usually on a night when I slept over at her house. You'd heat the oil until it sizzled, then pour in the popcorn and put on the lid. I remember how she'd shake the pan back and forth, and eventually, the lid would start to lift up from all the popped popcorn. She'd dump it all into a big bowl and, while the pan was still hot, she'd melt some butter to drizzle on top. She'd also shake a fair amount of salt.

Helping her make food, watching her make food, and eating food aren't the only things I remember about spending time with Grandma. We would often play games together, like checkers or Uno or this Jungle-Book-themed card game (like Go Fish?). She had some toys and a tea set, and she would play with me to my heart's content.

Even though much of Grandma's time was spent preparing food for other people and for our family, I don't have a ton of pictures of her actually cooking. Again, as I reflect on the lack of photos of the "ordinary," I decided to take some "ordinary" pictures. And every time I butter bread for grilled cheese or pour hot jello into a pan or slice up strawberries, I think of my beloved grandma. I may never be the cook she was, but hopefully my sons and grandchildren will remember how I fed them well.

Getting ready to slice up the strawberries

I decided, in Grandma's memory, to add the sugar to the strawberries this time.
The boys loved them, of course!

Grandma - Cultivating "Home"

I say "Grandma's house," but it was really "Grandma and Grandpa's house."  In my mind, I think of it more as Grandma's house because she was a more active part of my childhood. My grandpa was around until I was 15 (first at the house, then at a nursing home), but by the time my memories started, his health was already declining due to Parkinson's. I think he was a fairly quiet man even in full health, but I hardly remember him saying much of anything my whole childhood. He took halting steps and spent most of his time around the table on Sunday nights or in his lift chair watching TV (I was always a bit self-conscious about the shows we were watching when he was in the room).

As I mentioned earlier, the majority of my memories of my grandma revolve around her house. Last night, I looked through old pictures trying to piece together in my mind what the house looked like. These little snapshots jogged so many long-forgotten memories about the furnishings of the home. It really was like walking back in time (green carpet, anyone? orange and green velvety couches?).

I always loved this silly picture. We always took a family picture at Christmas Eve of all the cousins together and each individual family unit. I'm over there on the right with my awesome red sweatshirt and sweatpants. Beth and Troy were probably newly married at that point, and Josh and Emily were little and fun to play with! Note the wooden door with the diamond window. This let out the front door, but we never used this door. We always came in through the side.

Another picture I loved of me and Chris. We always enjoyed playing together on Sunday nights and holidays.

Here we are one Easter. Grandma always had Easter baskets for us. I guess I'm about to throw an egg here. Above that couch was a huge picture of Jesus.

This is the view from the family room into the piano area and then the kitchen. There were several of those cut-away holes between rooms. To the left was an old-fashioned record player in the chest.  I'm not sure what all those trophies were from. Grandma had several nativities out at Christmas time.  Uncle Dennis is eyeing the piano. He used to play every Sunday night once people started to leave.

On to the kitchen. At this age, I often had my mouth open like that. This picture doesn't show much of the kitchen, but behind that chair was the old-fashioned (convection?) oven built into the cabinets. The stovetop was separate and between the counter and the sink.

This shows a bit of the Sunday night food spread, the counter-top stove, and the yellow curtains. 

We've got some lovely fashions here. There's a brown refrigerator with a Garfield magnet that said "Diets Stink." Garfield was pretty popular back then and the cartoonist is a fellow Hoosier.  Steph is standing at the "squeeze through" spot where the person sitting there would have to scoot up for us to be able to go from one end of the house to the other. The wooden door there leads to the room they built on the end of the house before I was born.

This was Grandma and Grandpa's bedroom, where the older cousins would watch TV when we could no longer agree on the same show. The window behind the bed used to lead outside but with the added room, it leads to another room! We always thought this was so cool and would climb through it, especially for a quick hide-and-seek getaway.  Eventually, Grandpa needed more of a hospital bed with better handles, so my last memories of this bedroom were of two beds in this room.

That door was the door that we would always use. Grandpa is sitting in his power-lift chair. The table had those flaps that would fold up. One of the little frames on the wall said, "Do not walk in front of me. I may not follow. Do not walk behind me; I may not lead. Just walk beside me and be my friend."  (or something like that!). I don't know why I still remember that, but I always loved looking at her pictures and collages and knickknacks. 

This was the main hangout spot on Sunday nights. Note the couch, lamp, ceiling-to-floor curtains, tiny TV. What was so normal back then now seems so...old! Does that make me old?

While I haven't rummaged through all the pictures, I realized that there are many angles and rooms that I do not have pictures of.  At the time, it didn't seem important to take a picture of the rotary phone in the wooden box or the pantry with the pull-string light. Plus, this was before the digital camera age, so every picture had to be printed and paid for. I have to rely on my memories for images of...

• the middle bedroom with the accordion doors, game closet, pull-down desk, sewing machine table
• the back bedroom with the cedar chest and mostly a storage room during my childhood
• the bathroom with a power dish that smelled like Grandma
• the basement (which was really like a cellar) with the rickety steps, metal pipe handrail, washer and dryer, pull-string lights, and extra canned good storage behind the curtained-off area. This area always gave me the creeps.
• the large garage that hosted many family garage sales over the years. We'd always eat ham and beans on those hot summer days. Grandma had an extra freezer out there with ever-ready popsicles!
• the old climbing tree and swing in the yard. There was a lilac bush, and that smell still reminds me of Grandma.

I still prioritize people in pictures, but this reflection has also prompted me to capture images of the lesser-photographed areas of my own home. For example, I don't know that I have a single picture of our laundry room! I wonder what my own boys will remember of our home. What are the things that seem normal now that will look "old-fashioned" decades down the road?  

Another wall hanging on one of the walls was "Home is where you hang your heart." Grandma cultivated a sense of "home" for us.  While I never actually lived at 130 N. 23rd, it definitely holds pieces of my heart!

Grandma - Creating Community Every Sunday Night

Sunday nights.

It was a given. 

Evening church, then Grandma's house.

I'll have to check with my mom to see how and when this was actually set into motion, but I don't remember a time in my childhood when we didn't go to Grandma's on Sunday nights. She kept this tradition until she moved out of her house to an assisted living facility.  Since this was such a regular gathering, many of my memories of my grandma are tied up in Sunday night family dinners. And here, on the week of what would have been her 100th birthday on earth, I reflect on the privilege of growing up with Dorothy Kinser as my grandma.

The People

On the north side of small town, Indiana, Grandma and Grandpa's house was just down the road from our church. We could count on the service ending right around the hour mark, and we usually didn't linger very long afterwards so that we could go straight to the house around 7:00. My mom was the middle child surrounded by brothers on either end, and they lived locally, too. This meant that it wasn't just my immediate family at our Sunday night gatherings. My uncles Doug and Dennis, both well-respected in our town, were there with their wives Jennifer and Jenny.  There was a bit of an age gap from me to my oldest cousins -- Michelle and Beth both got married when I was young. They each had a boy and a girl, so those cousins joined the mix, too, whenever they were in town. Dennis and Jenny had two kids that lined up with Jon and me. I was two months older than Chris.  His older sister Steph was the same age as my brother Jon. Built-in playmates every Sunday night! I have fond memories of...

• hiding Easter eggs all through the year
• climbing through the window between the bedroom and the added-on family room
• watching television like the old staple "America's Funniest Home Videos" with Bob Saget
• riding the big exercise bike
• playing on Grandpa's power lift chair (even though we probably weren't supposed to)
• going outside to play on the big swing or find cicada shells while climbing the tree
• playing games or making up something to do
• setting off the motion light on the side of the house when it got dark
• looking for slugs on the steps as we left (we'd always pour salt on them to watch them squirm, which, looking back, was pretty cruel)

The Food

Another big part of the gathering was the food! Since she was at church, too, Grandma would have everything prepped ahead of time. I remember...

• a cheese tray with string cheese cut into pieces and slices of colby cheese that she cut from the cylinder block
• cottage cheese and applesauce (often together!)
• a big pan of red jello
• pickles! My uncle used to tell me I'd turn into a pickle because I ate so many
• chips and that wonderful puffcorn
• lemon-lime and orange soda
• fresh chocolate chip cookies. They were always small and slightly crispy on the bottom.

I'm sure there was more, but these are the foods I remember. Hey -- I was a kid! Jello was the type of thing that filled my plate! I also liked it when Grandma picked up a platter of roast beef from the Hardee's down the road.

The adults would all sit around the big table in the kitchen. I rarely spent any time there on Sunday nights. For one thing, it was pretty crowded (we'd always have to squeeze behind the person next to the refrigerator to get to the other side of the house). For another thing, it was hard for me as a kid to get a word in. Sometimes, I would think of something to contribute to the conversation but by the time there was a pause long enough for me to add my thoughts, the topic had already changed. 

My family was usually the last to leave. Dad would always say "Thanks for us!" as we walked out. I never understood that phrase. Thanks for giving us food? Thanks for having us over? We'd look for slugs as we stepped down to the van (and run back inside for the salt if we spotted any). As we drove away, we'd give a "toot toot." I'm not sure where that originated from either, but it essentially means "Goodbye! We love you!" I still do it when leaving a family member's house to this day.

Now that I have a family of my own, I would love for my boys to have the type of "Sunday night" atmosphere that was such a formative part of my own childhood. The boys do have cousins who line up nicely to their ages, like I did with Steph and Chris. We often get together for family dinners, but it's not as consistent of a fixture as every Sunday night. And now with COVID-19 social distancing, we haven't gotten together much at all. Sigh...

As I've been reflecting on my memories of my grandma, I realize that many of them center not on specific words or stories but the atmosphere of "home" that she created and the culture of "family" that she cultivated. She set up the regular time and space for us to gather as a family and have shared conversations and shared experiences. And even though I don't remember a single conversation that I tried to interrupt, I remember the love from that table. And from those homemade chocolate chip cookies. Thanks, Grandma, for filling my belly and heart every Sunday night. 

Enjoying jello with my "cuz"
(probably on a Sunday night)