Blue Shadows (On the Trail), 1986

Buckle up, partners, for this sparkling rhinestone and soothing lullaby brought to you by The Three Amigos! Actors Steve Martin, Chevy Chase and Martin Short show their stuff as they harmonize at the nighttime campfire. Yes, the three actors are the ones singing, lip sync, of course. Song written by Randy Newman, one of America's favorite song writers.

Lilting melody, smooth harmony and delightful animation of the animals. One video that warms my heart and makes me smile! Enjoy! 😊💗😊🎜🎝

Yours truly,

Cindy Lou

Blue Shadows (On the Trail), 1986

@Copyright 2024 Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Let Me Call You Sweetheart, Sweetheart...

Nostalgia jumped right in front of me and popped a grin upon my face! It's  Alfalfa & his cohorts known as "Our Gang", and this episode is delightful! Sit tight with me for a couple of minutes and enjoy this blast from the past. 

The links below take you on a time travel trip, all the way from an Edison cylinder recording from 1911 (Note the scratchy sounds.) to a tender duet with two of my favorite singers, Dean Martin & Kate Smith. Snuggled right in the middle is a New Orleans jazz rendition which is a toe-tapping, non-waltz, wake- up number featuring a banjo solo! 🎵😊🎵

Now that you have this tune rattling around in your head, you might as well go ahead and sing it out loud. I did! LoL 

Have a great day! 😊🌷

Cindy Lou

Let Me Call You Sweetheart, Our Gang

Let Me Call You Sweetheart, Peerless Quartet, 1911

Let Me Call You Sweetheart, The Halfway House Orchestra, Jazz Version, 1925

Let Me Call You Sweetheart, Dean Martin & Kate Smith, 1969

@Copyright 2024 Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Thanksgiving Again

The following story I originally posted three years ago, but it still stands true this Thanksgiving Season.  When I wrote it, my life was simpler.  It was easy to take my own advice.  But now that I am a worn-out care-giver for an elderly parent, and a giddy grandmother of a gorgeous two year-old grand daughter, my stretched emotions blur the "urgent" and the "important".  My confusion bothers me, and this tug-of-war is constant.  How does one balance the two extremes?

It was good for me to read this today.  Perhaps it will help you, too...
Cindy Lou, November 20, 2013


Today is Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, and as I awakened food was on my mind:  ham, turkey & dressing, gravy, vegetables, cranberry sauce, pies, and desserts.  As I dressed for the morning, I kept thinking about all the food that would be here at the house tomorrow, wondering if we had enough, but I knew I had to turn my thoughts elsewhere.  I had to quit thinking about food and focus on my job, but even as I drove past the local Walgreen's Drug Store, their electronic sign flashed "Krispy Kreme donuts available here!"   More food to think about, but it had to be tabled and pushed to the back of my thoughts until after the 11:00 o'clock funeral service.

Friends and family were gathering at the church to celebrate a loved one's life, and I was to be there early to play the piano for the service.  The dear departed soul was unknown to me.  We had not been friends;  but after hearing about him, I wish we had been.  Mr. J (that's what I'll call him) was a World War II Veteran who had been stationed in Guam.  Pictures were shown of him and his sweetheart as they held each other closely, and pictures of their following sixty-two years together flashed onscreen before us.  We saw weddings, new babies, anniversaries, and more new babies, dinners, parties, and then even more new babies.  It was a love story for sure, and the pictures revealed a vibrant personality plus strong dedication to family, friends, and of all things... chickens.

Mr. J liked chickens.  Now, I have to admit, that I, too, like chickens.  Some of my fondest memories as a child are with my neighbor, Mr. Beal and his chickens.  He would let me fill the water bottle and turn it upside down (that's what you do with chicken's watering systems), and sometimes he allowed me to feed the chickens.  And, as baby chicks hatched, I could watch the miracle happen, and then when the chicks were all fluffy, he would let me love on them and squeeze them... but, not too tightly for fear of crushing them.

Some of the grand kids at today's service told their stories of helping their Grandad with his chickens, feeding and watering them, and I certainly identified with them and their love for the man that introduced them to a new, feathery world.  They lovingly and admirably told of experiences they had shared with their Grandad, and it was obvious to me, an outsider, that Mr. J had left a big part of himself inside each grandchild, and that what he believed in will be carried on and will be lived through his children and their following generations.

Already touched by this man's legacy, I knew that this memorial service would stand out in my mind as one of those special ones.  As a musician, I play for many funeral services, and they all are dear.  However, some are much more memorable than others, and this one definitely fits into that category.  This one was sweet, tender and loving, and one I hope I will always remember.  In my heart I thanked the Lord that I could be there and be a part of this circle of family and friends, and I thought the best had already been shared, until the last grandchild spoke and told this simple story, one that centers around, you got it... food.

When she was a small girl, and a  member of the Brownie troop, she sang the Brownie song to her Grandad.  He asked her if she knew the last verse to the song, and she didn't, so with a twinkle in his eye, he sang it to her.  She shared it with her troop leader who also had never heard that verse and taught the last verse to all the girls.  They all loved it, but somehow throughout the years, the memory has faded, and now, years later, the granddaughter can't remember the tune or the words to the Brownie song.  That memory is gone, but  she can still remember the main thing about that verse, the last line that her Grandaddy taught her. 

It's a profound statement; very plain and simple, and I thought about it all the way back home as I drove past the post office, the school, and the Walgreen's with its "Krispy Kreme" sign still flashing.  I thought about my life, and what I'm doing with it, and what I'm not doing with it.  It made me wonder about my priorities, and what really is important to me, and with it being the Thanksgiving season, it caused me to consider my gratitude.  Am I really aware of my amazing, abundant, incredible blessings?  Do I have a clue as to how blessed I really am?  And, then... am I thankful for them?  Truly thankful?  Or, have I slidden into the trench of  ingratitude and dug my ruts so deeply that I'll never see more than my own selfishness, my own greediness?  I pray that's not the case, not my future.  Heavens, I pray not so.

I tell you, friends, even though I was at a funeral today, today was a good day for me.  I enjoyed remembering my childhood friend, and I was blessed to find new ones.  My eyes were opened as a new friend's closed eyes helped me see something about myself.  It's not a pretty picture, the glimpse I saw of me, and it isn't one I'm proud of.  But, it is one that can be changed.  Starting right now, I will pay more attention to, I will be more aware of, and I will be more grateful for all that I have and for what God has given me.  I will focus more on what I have, and focus less on what I don't have... or as she told us today, just as her grandaddy, Mr. J once told her, his precious little granddaughter, and as I am now telling you...
"focus on the donut, not the hole."

Sincerely looking for ways to express my gratitude,
and ways to stay focused,

Cindy Lou

p.s.  Thanksgiving is more than just a day, isn't it?




@ Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved.

@Copyright 2011, 2012, 2013 Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

And She Was Born, Chapter 3

Chapter Three - "Be Still, My Heart"

With "baby's heart beat dangerously low .. dangerously low" running through my head, I desperately prayed for the safety of my loved ones.  Our baby was in danger!  My daughter-in-law, too, and my assignments were plain:  find her parents and pray!

"Run, run!"  I hurried up and down the winding hallways until I found them, and it was a mutual joy to see each other at last.   Hugs, words, and hand motions filled the empty air as anticipation and worry hung all around us.  We mothers talked back & forth as women naturally do, while the maternal grandfather translated Vietnamese words into English, and English words into Vietnamese.  Tears and facial expressions were totally  understood, and sighs of angst needed no explanation.  We were there for our kids, and we were there for each other.  No translator was necessary to express the clash of joy and fear we all felt. That was a given.

We talked, translated, "hand gestured", laughed, cried, sat still, paced the floor, prayed, sighed... then repeated it all over again and again until... at long last, at 1:30 a.m. December 2, 2010...  the closed hospital room door burst open!  In came a caravan of feet:  all covered with blue booties.  Heads and faces wore the disposable caps and masks, and arms of blue pushed the hospital bed back into place.  I tried my best to find my son in the parade of scrubs, but my eyes were fixed on the beautiful vision that lay before me on a cloud of white.

Never had I seen my daughter-in-law look lovelier.  A sense of calm and peace surrounded her giving no hint to the trauma her body had just experienced.  She glowed with beauty and grace as she lovingly cradled her new born child.  Never had I seen so clearly through tear-soaked eyes.  And, of course, never had I seen my very own grandchild.  But, there she was... finally... she was born!  She was here. And she was exquisite!!!  Tiny at 5 pounds, 15.5 ounces, her little lungs worked on their own, and her steady little heart had already melted all the big hearts in that room.

As I tried to memorize the moment, my eyes lifted and amidst all the patches of blue masks, I found those eyes I've known and loved for over thirty-three years.  So tender, so puffy, so sweet.  The new daddy, my courageous son, stood proud and strong!  Like a soldier on guard, he commanded the room.  No one could tell that his knees shook.  No one could tell that his heart trembled.  No one knew how close he came to passing out during the emergency C-section. No one, but me his Mama... and, well... the surgical team.

Relief and joy must be side by side on the emotional scale, because when there is doubt that joy will occur, and it finally does... the joy is magnificient!  It explodes upon arrival!  And, I'd say that the emotional Richter scale in that hospital wing was so high it reached clear into heaven. I felt that heaven and earth connected, once again the very same night, and the proof was our little baby girl, Evelien Claire Hodges.  As I touched my cheek to her soft, warm, tiny face, my soul better understood the miracle that I held.  The lyrics of the song that I had sung just hours earlier came alive as never before:  *"And when you kiss your little baby... you've kissed the face of God..."  What an incredible feeling! 

Just like I said at the beginning of my story, it was a star-studded night.  It was a glorious night, a glorious sight to see my kids shine like the stars!   My children, our children, became what we once became.  And we became what our parents had once become.  The awe of the miracle of life filled my soul, and I will never, never be the same.  I am now Grandmother, yet I am still me.  I don't know how to put the two together, but I will do my darndest to be a good Grandmother.  Friends tell me that it comes naturally.  But, I don't know.  I've never been a grandmother, and I am walking into the realms of the unknown.  It's times like this that it would be nice to have a friend, a girlfriend.  Someone to talk to and someone to hold my hand and tell me "do this... go this way... go that way, say this, be smart... don't say that".  You know, a buddy... we all need one, especially me.

So, I will be calling upon my mother, "Nanny", who offers wisdom and love:  my cherished friend so dear to my heart who fought tenaciously for over a year to still be alive, and who now says it was all worth it just to see our new little life.  I will also call upon my friends, and I will gladly welcome their advice, which they freely will offer.  But, you know... there is someone else... someone to walk with me me... someone else to hold my hand.  Oh, joy... be still my heart... rejoice my soul!  The hand I hold is so tiny.  It's so soft, and it is so beautiful.  It's a girl!  And her name is... Baby Evelien!!!

Halleluja!  Hosannas!  And hugs!  Here I go into this new phase of my life, holding hands with my established friends and with my new little friend, and wondering,  "at what point will the grown up act more like the child?"  Hmmmmmm..... I think that's already happened.  Yes, I have turned into a silly old Grandma, one with rhinestone bling!

Guess you better, "Look out world!"   Here I come with my marching orders and my Grandma boots on.  Dolls and dishes, are packed in my back pack, and lots of pink fluffly things are in my purse.  Tissues & wet wipes, diapers & bibs, phone numbers, and a direct line to heaven that's available all the time:  they're all a part of my entourage, and it feels so good!  I am blessed to be a Grandma, blessed to have been a part of this thrilling adventure, and I am so blessed to be at this stage of my life.

Guess you can call me "Blessed among women".  Or you can call me Cindy.  You can call me Cindy Lou, or you can call me Grammy.  But, as they say... just don't call me when I'm babysitting.  I'll be too busy to answer! 

Sincerely,
Me, still me, whoever that is.


Evelien & Grammy, first embrace...

p.s. #1  Remember the pink cakes from Chapter One?  Well, the extra pink cake was the perfect way to celebrate the arrival of our baby girl!  We all enjoyed the pink, fluffly, strawberry cake decorated with all the foofoo on top.  It was Evelien's very first birthday cake!  Who would have thought she would come so early?  Isn't it amazing that I made an extra cake?  Isn't it great that I made pink cakes?  Ahhhh... sweet times! 

p.s. #2  You may wonder where my husband was during this memorable night.  Well, he was in Oklahoma with my mother, caring for her.  What a great guy!  I kept him and "Nanny" informed all evening via text messages and phone calls.  He loaded up all of Nanny's things the very next morning, and with a fully-packed van, they hurried down to Texas to meet our new baby girl.  Ahhhh... the family was all together!  Sweet, sweet times, indeed!


p.s. #3  Thank you, God!  Thank you.



*"Mary, Did You Know?"... song lyrics by Gary Lowry

@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

The Piano Lesson

The piano movers are coming tomorrow, at noon.  They are coming to move my beloved Kawai from one room to another, and I can honestly say that I am greatly relieved that this is finally happening!  It's going to end up right back where it was about a year and a half ago:  in the living room, right in front of the big mirror, visible from the front door entrance, smack dab in the center of the house.  It's moving back to its original place, and something inside of me finds great comfort in that.  It's as if a loved one who has been away for a very long time, has now come back home to stay.

It seems like such a long time ago that I initially hired the movers to come, and at the time it seemed a logical change.  But, once I saw my piano set in place in the other room, stuck in the corner, I knew I had done the wrong thing.  Because the money had to be paid and the decision had been made, my brain, as well as my husband, told me to live with the situation for awhile.  "Oh, you'll get used to it," he said, "give it time".  Others said they liked it because now the den was a "music room", and it looked like a studio.  I thought maybe they were right, and I was too emotionally involved with a piece of furniture.

So, I "gave it time", but I never did get used to it.  Never.  It always felt wrong:  kind of like a shirt with a scratchy tag in its neck, or a coffee cup with a burr on the lip edge.  It just never felt right, and I had no one to blame but myself:  it was my own doing, a "doing" with regrets.

Here it is about eighteen months later, and I can boldly say that I am older and much wiser, and that I have done my time.  Guess you can say that I paid my penance.  It's time to set things straight, and get my life back in order.  Yes, I have to pay the movers, again... but, that's okay.  I consider it money well spent.  It's people like me who help people like them pay their bills.  And, it's people like them who help people like me get their lives back in order.  That's how it works, isn't it?  I help them:  they help me.  We need each other. 

Well, this is not your typical piano lesson, is it?  But, it is a lesson well learned.  There is no place like home sweet home, even for pianos.  My baby is coming back home, and when I pay for its ticket, I'm gonna' breathe a sigh of satisfaction and sweet content.  You know, sometimes, I am just a lot of trouble for myself, not to mention those around me.  Yes, I have just completed a circle, another circle in my life:  my piano, too.  The good news is that now, we both have each other where we belong, plus we both have a couple of new friends.

If you ever need good piano movers, call me.  Most likely I'll be sitting on the bench, in the living room, right in front of the big mirror, visible from the front door entrance, smack dab in the center of the house with a great, big smile on my face. 

Going in circles and wondering, "Why?",
Your friend...

Cindy Lou

p.s. Where it was...

Where it is now... after its journey.... home, sweet home!

@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

And She Was Born, Chapter 1

Five years ago... Happy Birthday, Evelien Claire Hodges!

Grammy's & Evelien's First Embrace

This story has taken a long time to put in text, and I can't explain why it's been such a challenge for me to document, other than I feel that my words are totally inadequate to express the wonderment and joy of the unfolding events.  I finally decided that someday, maybe I'll get to tell you in person, and that the joy on my face will tell it all.  I would love to tell you face to face and can't wait until that happens.  But, in the meantime... this written story will have to do.

There will be more than one chapter to my story.  How many?  I don't know yet.  That's to be determined.  But, I decided that I must get busy, for new adventures are happening everyday, and I'm already behind on sharing them.  So, here I go, as best I can, telling this story that is so near & dear to my heart.

Chapter One - Grammy's Night Out

There were over forty of us entertaining together that night, and we ladies of the Performing Arts Department beamed with pride that we "mature women" had managed to attract a "full house".  Tickets had sold out, hours of rehearsals were behind us, and our new black outfits with rhinestone bling defined our newly elevated status as "bonafied performers".  December 2, 2010 definitely was a star studded night, and we were a part of the glimmer and shine, and I... I was about to begin my long awaited, long hoped for, long dreamed of role as "Grand Mamah", or as we say here in Texas... "Grandma"!

Now, you're gonna' have to give this ol' girl some leeway here.  'Cause you see, I'm gonna' tell you this story as it happened, and I'm gonna' enjoy telling it.  So, you just need to sit back and relax and let this new Grandma "splut" a little...

Desserts & coffee were the planned menu.  Most of us ladies baked our favorite, prize winning recipes.  We wanted our guests to feast with their eyes as well as with their taste buds, so, I did my part.  I baked my famous strawberry cake.  Actually, I baked two of them.  Why not, since I was dirtying up the kitchen, anyway?  Well, my cake, uh-hum, cakes had a hard time in the oven, and the layers baked terribly unlevel.  Guess my house had shifted a little on its foundation, or I had the shelves in kind of crooked.  Still don't know what happened. 

So, to improve my dilemma by giving me extra icing with which to work, I improvised and tried adding marshmallow creme to the frosting.  What a great idea, huh?  It would make the cake extra gooey and rich, and everyone would wonder what the magical ingredient could be.  All would be clamoring for my recipe, and I would be the talk of the Women's Club.  Why, I would become famous, all because of a pink, fluffy, melt-in-your mouth mystery known as marshmallow creme frosting. You got it...  I added more!

Famous, indeed.   My pink strawberry cake turned out to be one of the biggest flops from my kitchen, ever!  It was a "lop-sided", "sticky icing oozing out", "layers stuck together", "pink" kind of mud pie.  A three-year old could have done better than this.  It definitely had a difficult life:  so did I right about then.  But, I salvaged the best looking one of the two cakes and provided toppings of whipped cream, strawberry glaze, fresh strawberries, and mint leaves to garnish and cover up the blob of cake beneath.  This was one of the most expensive cakes I'd ever put together:  money, yes... time, astronomical... worry, unbelievable!  The kitchen crew saved it for last, if that tells you anything about its appearance.  At least I tried... really, really tried, and I'm happy to say that the musical performance that followed out shined my cake, and that's a good thing!

Our ladies sang the wonderful Christmas songs we all love, as well as romantic standards from the 40's, while I played the keyboard and directed them from out front.  As musical director I felt a sense of pride, and our drama director smiled approvingly.  Our ladies had worked hard to memorize their music and to learn the art of singing as a choir, and all the hard work had finally turned an "almost good" choir into an "outstanding" choir.  Yes, the PAD ladies were great!  The audience responded enthusiastically to each of our songs; clapping and laughing and the holiday spirit glowed on each and every face.  Even when Santa's visit stole the show, we carried on our musical number as if his upstaging us had been the planned agenda.  It was fun to see Santa!  It was fun to sing and laugh!  Yes, it was a magical evening, for sure.

As our program segued to the sacred portion of the evening, a wonderful hush fell over the room.  The Christmas story from Luke was read while I softly played "O Holy Night" behind the narration.  The true meaning of Christmas was being revealed:  the reason for our joy, and I sensed a feeling of wonderment as I began to sing, *"Mary, Did You Know?"

Accompanying myself on the keyboard, I stood before the audience as the words flowed, "Mary, did you know your baby boy has walked where angels trod?... and when you kiss your little baby, you've kissed the face of God... Mary, did you know?".

When finished singing, I felt like God had been in that very room, and that He was still there with us.  A holy hush hung in the air, and I felt  totally surrounded by peace and calm and stillness.  Even the candles' flickers seemed to stop in motion while no one coughed, no one chinked their water glass, and no one whispered a word.

Some moments are just too intimate to talk about, and some moments are just indescribable because words are mere echoes of the emotional well within.  Then there are those moments that are to be pondered and dwelled on and thought about.  So it was with these.  Here it is almost six weeks later, and I'm still lingering there in my mind and still in awe that I was right in the middle of something very, very special.

The program soon ended, and I'd say that most were blessed by our gathering together, and that everyone enjoyed the evening.  We had a grand time.  We ladies in our new black outfits nodded approvingly to each other as we kicked off our shoes and  hugged and congratulated ourselves.  After all, we had put long, hard hours into this one performance.  Time and effort had paid off.  Funds were raised for scholarships, friends & families enjoyed the evening, and friendships grew even stronger.  After cleaning up... it was finally time to say good night and to leave the festivities behind.  So on Thursday evening, December 2, 2010, at 9:45 p.m. I gathered my musical notebook, tote bag, purse, the sticky cake carrier thing, and rhinestone earrings in hand.  It was time to go home and call it a day, or a night... or so I thought.

Driving away from the building, I turned on my cell phone to check any missed calls or messages.   The new text message from my son read:  "We at hospital.  She may be early..."!

"Oh, my gosh!  She's not due until three weeks from now.  Oh, my gosh, my gosh, gosh, gosh...!"  With suddened teary eyes  and with trembling limbs, I boldly executed a cock-eyed, wild-ride, illegal U-turn... right there in the middle of the street, in the middle of the city, right there in the middle of the big old state of Texas!  This Granny-to-Be was on her way to the hospital... rhinestones, pink sticky icing on her clothes, and all.  As I floor boarded it, I kept chanting  loud and clear, clear across Texas... "I'm comin' kids... I'm comin'...!  Hold on, Grammy's coming...!"

(to be continued...)

p.s.  Never, ever add Marshmallow creme to your regular powdered sugar frosting!  Big mistake!!!

Repaired cake.  Yes... those are straws sticking out of it!  Sigh...

Salvaged cake... Pink Strawberry Cake ready to be served!  Viola'...
Strawberry Cake Recipe: http://yoohoocindylou.blogspot.com/p/food.html


@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

*"Mary, Did You Know" song lyrics by Mark Lowry

The Daddy Bear Hug

Written three years ago, but it seems like yesterday...

 I sit on the bench, a lot, and I have a bird's eye view of people.  They don't know that I'm observing them, and sometimes I'm not even aware of it myself.  But, this particular instance gripped my heart and still pulls on my heart strings, and I feel compelled to share it with you.

Saturday morning's dress rehearsal called in the entire cast:  orchestra, choir, drama team, media team, and even the children's choir.  We all felt the excitement of the next day's performances.  Christmas music filled the sanctuary as it flowed through our fingers, through our voices, and from our hearts, and I felt extremely good about the music because this year I was prepared.  Or, so I thought.

Rehearsed and ready to go, I listened as our director called for the opening orchestral prelude.  Oh, my gosh... I had forgotten all about that one!!!  I had all the choir's music on my agenda, but had totally forgotten about anything and everything else, including the prelude.  When I looked at the score, I knew I was in big trouble, and that this was not a piece I could jump in and successfully sight read.  Even with a week's rehearsal, my fingers still might not be able to move as quickly as the tempo required, so I swallowed hard and tried not to panic or fall off the bench as the director began the downbeat.

It's a sinking feeling when you realize you are about to be exposed... when your mistakes are made public, and all those around you see your inadequacies and your faults.  No one likes to stumble-fumble, especially in front of an audience, and it surely hurts our pride when we do.  But, that's what happened to me.


The orchestra played through it once, then our director gave the call to play it again.  So, I fell flat on my face twice. I was so embarrassed, and extremely mad at myself for my blunder, and I couldn't blame anyone else for this mistake, ah, these mistakes.  This was my fault.  It was one of those moments where you feel like a little kid again, a kid at school who hasn't done her homework.  You know that feeling of when your head droops, and your shoulders drag the ground, and you wish you could crawl under the bed with a bag of cookies.  I felt terribly low and needed a hug or a good cry!  But, instead, I promised my "patient" musical director that I would know it by "tomorrow", and he smiled.  Thank heavens he's a trusting soul!

Things improved from then on, I'm so glad to say, and there were no outstanding glitches in the music.  My feelings of "rattledness" and low self-esteem began to fade away as the music flowed and lifted us all to a "higher" place.  The choir in the loft sang boldly and beautifully, and the celebration of our Lord's birth was proclaimed through the many talents present in the room.  All was well, once again.  

When it was time for the children to come onstage, they enthusiastically jumped up and scrambled up the stairs to their proper places.  One of our pretty girls tripped on the last two steps and did sort of a butterfly flittering with her arms & legs:  quite graceful, actually, for a stumble.  It wasn't that noticeable until she began her giggling and landed with a sort of unexpected "thud".  She handled it very well.  She landed upright, and nothing was injured, thank goodness.  Everything was intact; nothing hurt, except her pride.

Ah, I knew that feeling all too well for I, also, had landed upright, but with wounded pride.  She and I were now kindred spirits, and my heart ached for her.  I knew exactly how she felt, and I wanted to tell her "there, there now... it's okay", but I didn't need to because someone else thought of it before I did; someone even more appropriate than I.  Her daddy was in the orchestra, and he saw it all unfold.  That man didn't miss a beat!  As her giggling continued, he jumped up from his chair and hurried  over to her and gave her one huge bear hug!  He patted her lovingly on the shoulders and whispered something secretly in her ear. Then her daddy walked back to his assigned place in the orchestra and resumed his playing, while she joined in with her choir as if nothing had ever happened.

But something had happened.  Something magical had just occurred, and I witnessed it firsthand.  Her smile told more than she realized, and I breathed a sigh of relief for her. With that one unselfish act of kindness, love had filled the room, and there was so much of it that even I, way over on the piano bench, felt loved.   Wow... it was a powerful experience!  It was precious to watch, and it was a perfect picture of why we were there and of what we were all celebrating.

It's all about a father's love:  the Christmas season.  Isn't it?  We all need it so desperately, and God our Father gives it abundantly to all who receive Him.  We all stumble in our own ways... our pretty young lady, me, you, all of us... and there's nothing sweeter than love picking us back up and wrapping its arms around us and hearing it lovingly say, "there, there now... I love you, baby.  It's okay, and everything's gonna be alright".
 
Mmmm... that's a mighty good feeling, and one I wish for all of us, whether we deserve it, or not. They say that love isn't love until we give it away.  So, since this is the Christmas Season, let's find someone who needs a good ol' bear hug, and let's go out there together and share the Good News. There is a world out there who is hungry for someone to love them, and there is a Someone who does.  His name is Jesus.

Christ is born, and He shall reign forever, and ever!
 
May God bless us, one and all today... and because we stumble, may we all keep a firm grip on our loving Father's hand.

Sincerely,
Cindy Lou

 ³⁰And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God.
 ³¹And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name JESUS.
 ³²He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest: and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David:
 ³³And he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end.
                                    ----Luke 1:30-33  New International Version Bible

                                                

@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges All Rights Reserved.

Fire, Fire... Hair on Fire!

It was the month of December in a quiet neighborhood in central Texas.  It was your typical Sunday morning worship service in this Southern Baptist Church.  Traditional Christmas carols and festive decorations filled the room, but there was nothing typical about things when her hair caught on fire!  I guess you could say, "That's when all hell broke loose!"

I was the pianist, and she, Miss M, was the keyboardist.  We were just about four feet apart from each other.  What separated us was a short banister wall, about "hip high", and of course, the votive candles were lit for the morning's service.  All was well, and the congregation seemed to be singing better than usual.  They actually were in tune with our choir, and our minister of music was giving it his all as he lead the joyful sounds of praise and worship.  Our pastor was deep in thought, or prayer, or something, but by the look on his face one could tell that he, too, was enjoying the service.  It was a packed house and joy filled the sanctuary.  Everyone was in their proper place, and as they say, there was peace in the valley.

Then, it happened.  We were in the middle of one of our favorite Christmas carols:  congregation singing, piano playing, keyboard roaring.  And then, she leaned forward with her head tilted down somewhat... ka-whooooosh!  The top of her hair caught on fire! 

Out of my peripheral vision I saw this instant flash of bright, white light.  There seemed to be some very pale yellow, kind of lemon yellow, and a very delicate shade of lavender mixed with some blue in it, too.  I thought it was very pretty, until I realized what it really was!  "Oh, my gosh... it's a fire!  Dear, God... her hair's on fire!!!" 

Now, you have to understand, that at this exact time in space, everything was in slow motion:  very, very slow motion... even though we're talking about just a matter of seconds.  As my fingers kept playing the Christmas call to worship, my eyes saw three or four deacons rushing towards the piano and keyboard.  They looked like linebackers from a football team, but they had this horrid look of fear on their faces.  They seemed to do some sort of shuffle run, then they would halfway halt, then start moving forward again.  It was a strange sight, I tell you.  Frightening, too, because they were running straight towards us...  Miss M and me. 

I don't know what finally clicked in my mind, but thank goodness it did.  I jumped up and started hitting Miss M on the head, patting out the fire.  Wisps of singed hair floated all around us, kind of like tiny dark feathers sifting through the air.  It was as if we were on film, and that the film's shutter speed was slowly clicking from frame to frame.., or in this case, from "flame to flame".  The very distinguishable odor of singed hair overpowered everything:  the scented cinnamon spice candles, the holiday fragrance of the evergreens, and even my gently applied Channel #5.

It all happened unbelievably fast, and then, in a flash, it was over.  Done.  Gone.  Fire out.  Oh, the candles kept burning, and the congregation kept singing. Well, mostly.  The singing did sort of die down, but I'm not sure the folks on the back rows ever knew why or that a ruckus had occurred right there on Sunday morning, in their peaceful little church. 

Our minister of music recounts that everything in that service was going great until he looked over and saw his pianist beating the keyboardist on the head.  Guess he missed the vision of the flames, but he sure as heck saw his two musicians decking it out with each other, and that's what he remembers to this day!

As for the deacons, the men that rushed to the front, they weren't needed after all.  My speed and position allowed me to take care of the "situation", and so, they fumbled back to their pews, shaking their heads wondering what on earth had happened. 

Musically, the song survived.  Only a few measures were without accompaniment, and once the flames were smothered, I went back to the piano bench and started playing again.  Miraculously my hands were not burned.  Miraculously, Miss M was not injured.  Her pride was somewhat assaulted, and her hair needed a few weeks to recover, but she had no burns whatsoever, and what could have been a catastrophe became a miracle and a marvelous, unforgettable memory.

I have to tell you, that this was a highlight of my career.  I have played for church services off and on for decades now, and many stories can be told.  But, this one is tops.  Whoever said being a church pianist is boring, has never sat where I sit, and they have never seen things from my perspective.  I love what I do, and it is never, ever boring... at least not for this gal, and certainly not here in Texas!  I truly consider it a privilege, and I count it all joy to be a "bench warmer".  And just for the record, the Christmas season is definitely my favorite time of the year!

So, here I sit.  I'm watching and waiting for more miracles...  pardon the pun, but they do warm the heart!

Joyfully serving... and, joyfully playing,
this church pianist,

Cindy Lou


@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved.

Fluff, Fluff!

"Two feather pillows sittin' on the bed.
One turned to the other, and it said:
'Do you ever tire, when the folks retire
and flatten your fluff with their big, fat heads?'"
                                     --Cindy Lou

Ah, the weariness of diligence is my challenge today.  Didn't I do all this yesterday?  The showering, the grooming, the hair, the makeup, the cleaning up after myself?  (Well, okay... I didn't do the cleaning yesterday, but I intended to!)  And, today... it starts all over again.  And, that's just all about ME!  Now it's time to get to the important tasks of devotional time, people time, and responsibility time.  Many issues need to be dealt with today, and many miles need to be traveled.  Loved ones need my assistance. Job duties demand attention, and all the while, distractions lurk in every corner and every shopping center. 

So, I'm wondering, "what makes today different from yesterday?"  Is it:  the people I will encounter? the traffic I must contend with?  the clothes that I wear?  the tasks demanded of me?  the opportunities that await me?  or the surprises that will grip me?  Hmmm... I believe it is all of the above and something more.  It is my attitude, more than anything else:  plain & simple.  It's up to me.

In last night's rehearsal our orchestra director spoke of "excellence", and how we musicians should strive for it in every song we play.  We should not settle for mediocrity, nor should we be satisfied with status quo.  He's right, about many things, and lately I have found myself being grateful for "status quo" & "normalcy".  In this crazy world, familiarity is welcomed.  But, something about his insight slides beyond the boundaries of music and intertwines with everyday living and everyday attitudes. 

Excellence is what we all need today.  It's especially what I need, and what I desire.  I'm tired of compromising quality for quantity and weary of settling for less than my best.  The level of standards that I'm seeking surpasses status quo and causes this worker to aim higher, work harder, and to stay very, very focused.

Now that's a challenge, but, a good choice, don't you think?  If I apply myself, maybe today won't be so ho-hum after all, and maybe my daily tasks will take on new life.  Maybe the people I encounter today will be smarter & brighter than they would have been with my old attitude.  Maybe I can learn something from them, also.  And maybe, when I look into the "new attitude" mirror to freshen my face or comb my hair, I will see beyond the reflection and see something that wasn't there yesterday.  Perhaps I shall see a heart for excellence and the determination to make it happen.  Perhaps I will see even more.  Perhaps I will see another reflection, one of excellence... one that looks just like you!

Guess it's time to get at it again, or as they say, "fluff the pillows", but this time I think I"ll do it right.  I will do it with vim & vigor, zest & gusto... lots & lots of it!  Here goes.... fluff, fluff... fluff, fluff.......FLUFF!!!

Claiming victory with my every "fluff",
Cindy Lou



"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward.  It is the Lord Christ you are serving."  --Colossians 3:23-24  Holy Bible, New International Version


@Copyright 2010, Cindy Lou Hodges
All Rights Reserved

Just Dance

I reached for my fav coffee mug: "Dance as though no one is watching...", so I did. I danced a little jig. The kid in me loved it, then left it there. The adult in me just shook her head. The critic in me said that wasn't good enough. The artist in me suggested to add bkgrnd music, colored lights, and costume. Then the Spirit in me said, "Pay no attention to them, Honey... just do it.  Just dance!"  --posted on Facebook, Sept 7, 2010

Funny how much fun dancing can be if I can just "get over" my inhibitions.  I'm not a good dancer, at all, and no one has to point that out to me.  But, if I'm by myself I can pretend that I'm the bell of the ball, all poised & postured quite capable of gliding the waltz  and even doing the curtsy afterwards.  I can even imagine that I might be the vixen swaying to the bosa nova, and that I can't stop until this hot mama does the dubious tango dip.   I can imagine conquering the cha-cha step and the mambo rumba, as well as swan diving into my partner's awaiting arms.  Ah, yes... I can imagine, but that's about all that I can do.

Once upon a time, though, tap shoes were on my feet.  It was only for a short season when I was in kindergarten, and I can remember the sound of my taps on the plywood board.  Daddy cut the board just for me, and Mama allowed it to be set up in the living room (the only room with a TV).  The sound was muffled compared to the bright tapping sound of dancing on the concrete garage floor, and then there was this funny odor that I stirred up every time I danced on that unfinished piece of pine lumber.

Sometime in that same foggy memory, someone slipped a pair of scruffy silver ballet shoes with their black elastic straps onto my feet.  It embarrassed me.  Can't remember why, but my guess is that I knew, even back then, that I was not a dancer.  And, besides, when I walked in those ballet slippers they made scrunchy noises, and when I tried standing on my tip-toes... it hurt, big time!

Don't know who wore out first:  Mama & Daddy who gave up their living room, the dancing shoes with their elastic & ribbons ties, or me with my short attention span.  But, something happened to the dancing lessons.  They stopped when I started something else. 

So, now when I see my coffee cup that encourages me to dance as if no one is looking, I can't help but wonder if Mrs. Dye, my kindergarten teacher isn't behind the marketing of the slogan.  She saw me dance, and either she saw potential, or she saw disaster...  disaster, most likely.  No one will ever know because that was a very, very long time ago, and unfortunately she is no longer living.  But, either way, I like the saying, and I think I'll do just as it says.... dance as though no one is watching.  And if they are watching, and they don't like what they see, then they can just turn their heads and look the other way because, my friend, it's time to dance, and I can hear the music.  Join me, won't you?  I won't look if you won't!  Promise!



@Copyright, 2010 Cindy Lou Hodges, All rights reserved.