Payin' the Piper

I was blessed to have two wonderful grandmothers who taught me all kinds of lessons as I was growing up. One of them loved to bake. Oh, the fudge and divinity... I can still taste it! The other grandmother liked to cook. Everything she made was from scratch. That's where I learned to make chicken and dumplings among other comfort food. One of the grands loved to shop, especially for shoes (I believe I inherited that gene from her.) The other grand loved nothing more than to tend her yard and flowers and to quilt in her spare time.

Though the two of them were as different as could be, they had one thing in common... their "grandma-isms." If you've ever had a grandmother who shared nuggets of wisdom like that, you know just what I mean. They were constantly spouting these little pithy sayings. The words rolled off their tongues with ease, but the looks that accompanied them told me I had better give a listen and take heed. I have to admit that most of the time my eleven or twelve year old self had no idea what they meant. I was clueless, yet the sincerity with which this "advice" was offered made me want to comply, even if I had no idea how to go about it.

Here is a small sampling of their sage counsel:

"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush."

"You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar."

"Pretty is, is pretty does."

"You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink."

These were the kinds of gems that were shared on a regular basis. One of my very favorites was one my Nana used to say. "You can pay the Piper now, or you can pay the Piper later. Eventually, everbody pays the Piper." Though unaware at the time - and still pretty much in the dark as to its meaning - that little saying struck a chord with me that has rung true most of my life.

I became enlightened a bit to the wisdom behind those words as I approached my high school years. I came late to the game in playing an instrument. Most kids joined band in fifth or sixth grade. I didn't get my trumpet until about half way through the eighth grade. I found an old horn for sale at a thrift shop for fifty bucks, and I begged my mom to let me have it. Mind you, I had no idea if I would even be able to get a sound out of it or not, but there it was... calling my name. I just had to have it!

Enter my grandfather. He was our family's resident musician. He also happened to smoke cigars. (that inclusion is a little ditty that will be made relevant to this story shortly) He said he would go to the thrift store to check it out for me and render an opinion/verdict on the value of the horn and its pricetag. My grandfather looked the horn over, and much to the amazement and curiosity of the lovely women working behind the counter, took a long puff on his cigar and proceeded to blow the smoke into the mouthpiece. Again, no clue as to why this was necessary. He later explained that he was checking the trumpet for leaks which surely would have manifested had the smoke exited anywhere other than the bell. Hmmm... good to know! He gave his approval, and out the door I went, trumpet in tow and fify dollars lighter.

I laugh sometimes when I think about how awful I must have sounded as a beginner. I'm no expert now, of course, but hey, even if practice didn't make perfect, it would at least make better! My grandfather gave me lessons during the summer between eighth and ninth grade. He was a bit tough, but I did whatever he said, and gladly traveled home to "practice, practice, practice," as he'd drill into me.

We lived in an old house that had a crazy number of doors. Doors closed off every room, even the hallways. When I'd go into my room to start my practicing, all the doors between me and my parents were open. When I finished playing, every door between me and them was shut. My parents were too kind to say so, because they always used the excuse that they were just trying to hear the television, but I know the playing must have grated on their nerves a bit to hear my beginner's rendition of "You Are My Sunshine" ad nauseum.

I wanted to make "A" Band so bad I could taste it. That's where the fun was, marching in the half-time shows, being in the parades. I thought about my grandmother's saying. It was clear I'd have to "pay the Piper" and put in my dues if it was ever going to happen... so pay I did. Long story short, I DID make marching band that next fall, though I don't know how Mr. Cranford ever kept a straight face during my audition. The only music I had with me was the hand-written tunes my grandfather transcribed onto the backs of his cigar box tops, but wow, did "You Are My Sunshine" sound F. I. N. E!

When I got to college that saying rang just as true. Classes were hard, harder than I'd imagined they'd be. I made decent grades, but it wasn't easy. I had to work at it... a LOT. When a project was assigned for the end of the semester, I'd get on it right away. Whenever a major test was announced or a final was approaching, I'd assign myself study times. I'd do a little bit at a time, some here, some there until I knew the material backward and forward. I knew the Piper would demand payment, and if not up front, then later with crazy amounts of cramming and pulling all-nighters. I opted for the installment plan.

I think that simple saying holds true for many things in life, whether establishing a marriage, raising children, or climbing the corporate ladder. Rewards will come, but only after the price has been paid and the hard work has been done to see it to fruition. If we want a stronger, happier marriage, we'll put in the effort up front. We'll keep "dating," keep talking and listening to one another, keep time together a priority. If we want children who are obedient and kind-hearted, we'll spend the energy to reenforce those things. When we want to get ahead at work, we'll take the necessary steps to make that happen by arriving early, staying late, being conscientious, and doing more than merely what's expected of us... always.

Having to put in all the work up front isn't easy. Sometimes it takes years to reap the fruits of our labors, but that doesn't mean it's not worth the effort. Anything worth doing, is worth doing well. (Ha, see there, another "-ism" got squeezed in.) Yep, there's a price to pay, but paying up front is always the better deal, because the Piper charges interest!

I was reminded again of this "advice" over the past few weeks. Tom and I have been fixing up our old garage. It's been here as long as the house has, so that makes it seventy-eight years young. It's needed a little TLC for a while now. We've been replacing some of the rotten boards and prepping the surface for a new coat of paint. Oh, my goodness. The scraping. The SCRAPING! Y'all, it was hard. There were times I was tempted to just slap a coat over it all and call it good, but then... then I thouht about my grandmother's saying. I knew if I didn't do all the necessary prep work up front, I'd be doing it all over again, probably sooner rather than later.

I guess now you can probably figure how things turned out.

As I brushed that pristine coat of white over the freshly scraped, caulked, and primed boards, I felt a tinge of pride, and I thought about my grandmothers. Though they are both long gone, their lessons about life and the wisdom they saught to impart live on. They had done their best to teach me well.

As I finished up the last brush stroke I sent up a little whisper, "Granny and Nana, I got it. I really did... and, thank you."