Shakespeare?
Eleanor Roosevelt?
We’ve packed away our Christmas pretties, turned the leftover turkey and dressing into frozen dinners that will warm us on cold evenings, boiled up the carcass for yummy turkey and rice soup, and eaten all the cookies. However, thoughts about Christmas still keep popping into my mind because I devoted several weeks to it. Christmas is a double-sided coin. I’ll finish my attack of warm fuzzies and write about the other side of Christmas next week.
Sometimes everything that’s good about Christmas comes together in one splendid mix. We went to Irvington’s lovely 1873 Benton House on the 23rd. People helped themselves to mulled cider and goodies and then were treated to an evening of old-time Christmas music, the like of which is rarely heard these days.
For over thirty years, the beloved Gerry Gray and Friends have performed at the house, followed by a coterie of admirers wherever they appear. These are real pros, and their love for the Benton House is reciprocated by the audience.
When I call Gerry “beloved” I’m not exaggerating because she’s a charismatic, warm-natured being with a delightful laugh whose zest for life is contagious. She’s one of those people whom you wish you’d known all your life.
She has a long history as a musician, including several years when she sang with the Indianapolis Symphonic Choir. Her group performed at various Indiana parks. Her band, The Family Reunion String Band, played for many years at the State Fair’s Pioneer Village.
She said, “Here my career was at its height in 2010, and I had to quit.” She told her physician, “If I’d known I was going to live this long, I’d have taken better care of myself!”
Music is in the very soul of these people. Gerry, whose voice is still perfect at age eighty-two, plays the autoharp. Tull Glazener plays a hammered dulcimer for which he writes complicated arrangements, and a push-button accordion as well as other instruments. Jim Sperry’s voice has a gentle, honeyed warmth. He and son David play guitars. The awesome thing is that they are all self-taught! Their repertoire runs from toe-tapping, jingly-jangly tunes to quiet carols dating from the Middle Ages and some that were collected in Appalachia.
This was also the night of the Irvington Luminaria which has dwindled in recent years, but is still lovely. I first saw it at my mother’s home in New Castle. I took bags and candles to a meeting of the Irvington Community Council’s Board and proposed that we start it in Irvington. Its origin is religious, but my fellow directors and I believed that the Luminaria would draw people together and also enhance Irvington’s community identification.
That first year, Patty Hawkins and I went to Potter Materials to buy sand for 1,200 bags. We guessed the quantity by measuring how many teacups of sand were needed per bag and bought three tons of sand. It didn’t look like much, but sand is dense. The Presbyterian minister let us dump it on the church parking lot. A few weeks after Christmas, Dr. Hilton called. “You have to get rid of that sand. Kids are throwing it at people’s cars.” I called Irvington resident, Keith Otto, who was Deputy Director of the D.O.T. “Keith, couldn’t you use some sand for slippery intersections?” “All right, Rose Mary, where’s the damned sand?”
One of the nicest evenings of my life was when teeny-bopper Vicki and I dragged a wagon through the snow-covered streets of our neighborhood, delivering candles while singing, “Christmas is coming, the geese are getting fat . . . “ and other carols. Sledders were out on Ellenberger hill, and the scene was lit through the swirling snow by a full moon. It was as if we were inside of one of those glass balls or as if Clement Clark Moore’s poem had come to life. Next week: Sometimes the candle flame flickers. wclarke@comcast.net
