Sometimes It's Gingerbread

A random conversation at the AT&T store last week reminded me of the age of my town and a comment from Karen Jacobs reminded me of how much I take for granted about the abundance within a two mile radius of my house.
-- President George Washington visited my high school which was located nearby in 1781!
-- My church was established in 1798.
-- Our Augusta Museum of History, Sacred Heart Cultural Center, The Morris Museum of Art, the main library, James Brown Arena, and the Ronald McDonald House are an easy walk.
-- There's always something fun to observe on the street.

Sometimes there funny ways that all of this comes together. Sometimes it's in gingerbread.


Daughter Kathryn and I decided to create a gingerbread house for the annual history museum fundraiser. Neither of us had done a REAL gingerbread house before. Neither of us knew what we were in for! The resulting entry had to represent a historic structure, be architecturally correct, be made entirely of edible materials and be no larger than 24 inches high/wide/tall.

We made several excursions around town to determine what to use. We agreed on the St. John's 1822 building -- our own church.

We had ideas; we had designs; we had ingredients and we began . . . . Days later, we made the deadline with about two minutes to spare.

We were not embarrassed about our first-time entry although it was not as polished and perfect as the professional ones. We loved hearing that it made people see new things about the architecture of the church. We learned what to do, what not to do and that we need to buy enough to replace what little fingers sneak away. Next year, we'll start earlier and build smaller.

Yes. History and art come together in strange ways. Sometimes it's gingerbread.


NOTE: Our support is gingerbread; the medium is various edible ingredients:
the cement, trim and snow are royal frosting,
windows are fruit roll-ups and crushed lifesavers,
paths are poppy seeds,
shrubbery is cornflakes/ marshmallows/ sprinkles/redhots, candies and gumdrops;
and towers are ice cream cones and striped Kisses.

BushStrokes (c) AAB

I Wish I Made Paintings Like That

Jim said, "It was a difficult concert."

I agreed.

I had watched the hands and feet moving across the keyboards and pedals as if the organist were weightless. The discordant notes of Locklair's The Aeolian Sonata handled with power and confidence. Ragtime by Diemer which was written for pedals only was teased by the feet. The Bach Toccata was danced through with grace. The three parts of Larsen's Aspects of Glory were strange, yet joyous, and . . . .

"Yes." I agreed. "It WAS a difficult concert.

Then, Jim said. "We usually have only one or two difficult pieces on a program. We're not used to this."

AH. I understood. This was a difficult program for the AUDIENCE. Again. I agreed.

W. David Lynch had had a great time in his performance while we struggled to listen. Indeed, he had said, "This was probably more fun for me than for you!" He did not play down to his notion of who the audience might be in this series of free concerts where his former student is the Music Director. He played what he knew and loved! For many of us, it was "Wow! I didn't understand some of it, but it was wonderful."

I wish I made paintings like that.

NOTE: W. David Lynch was presented as part of Concerts With A Cause at St. John United Methodist Church . The concerts are underwritten by donors and the Intermission offering goes to a local Cause.

Photo: Three Planes
A tickley throat and a cough meant I spent a portion of the concert in the foyer. "Three Planes" was shot with my iPhone through the glass door into the sanctuary reflecting the windows behind me and including the video screen which shows Mr. Lynch's hands.



BushStrokes (c) AAB