"JAZZY THE ROOSTER"

Some of you have commented on my blog name and I have said, "There's a story about that."  And here is the story.  The original tale is in my cookbook, "Praise the Lord and Pass the Biscuits and the likeness of a Jazzy in all his regal plumage graces the cover of my cookbook. 

Just about the time I think I have attained a certain level of wisdom, I am challenged to learn more.  And nothing can inspire me like my granddaughters.  They are so confident in my love and adoration of them; of my experience about all matters of life as well as my desire and ability to make any situation a little fun.  Don't you just love it when the offspring of your very own children,  who not so long ago thought you didn't have sense enough to come in out of the rain, think that you are indeed brilliant?! Lord you validate me in so many loving ways!  Let me say this boldly.  Macy and Katy think Nana knows all and can do all.  And yet, just as I start to believe that they might be right, my knowledge and patience are tested.

You see, my summer doesn't really begin until I have made a three hour road trip to Guthrie, Texas.  And not to offend the residents of that little west Texas hamlet, but the only significance of the journey there is that it is the halfway mark between where my granddaughters live and my house.  This trip usually means that Papa Bodie and I meet Matt, Kayla and the girls at the Texaco station where we load suitcases, CDs, DVDs, skate boards and whatever necessities they may require from Matt's pickup into our pickup. Before departing Kayla and I exchange pertinent information (the last of a round of antibiotics to clear up a sore throat are in the small ice chest; they had lunch at McDonald's in Lubbock; their church dresses may need pressing before Sunday).

However, this recent exchange was a bit more complicated.  For one thing, Papa had to work so I was alone in this venture and now I was to have an additional passenger on the return trip.  As fate would have it my afore-mentioned skills were about to be tested.  Macy, our oldest granddaughter was the proud "mother"/recipient of a baby chicken.  This came about as the result of a third grade science project.  She so sweetly explained to me, "Nana, I'm now Jazzy's new mother and I can't leave him while he is still so young.  I know you and Papa will just love your new great grandchicken."  Is that not just the sweetest thing you've ever heard?  How could I not want this new great grandchicken to come to my house for 10+ days?  So into the front passenger floorboard goes Jazzy in his box with feed and water.  We kiss and hug their parents goodbye and begin the trip back to our house in Lakeside.  Macy and Katy and I are having our usual visit about the important things in their lives and about what fun things I had planned for them while they we staying with me and Papa--ride the train from Palestine to Rusk, make cookies and fudge, paint with tempera on the back porch, build tents with sheets in the den and eat grilled cheese sandwiches and drink hot chocolate in Nana and Papa's bed.  (The bed where they slept was set up at the foot of our bed but each morning as soon as they awoke they climbed in bed with us.)

Our conversation is sweet but all the while we are hearing Jazzy's peeping increase in volume. Katy, my little one, says, "maybe if we play a CD he will hush."  We try one of their Granbury Live CDs.  It doesn't work.  Macy suggests something softer so I play Josh Groban's "You Raise Me Up".  The little chick peeps even louder.  Now desperate, I push a button for the next CD to play, just hoping to drown him out.  It's an old Buddy Holly tune.  Miraculously, the chick quits peeping so the girls and I resume talking.  We are making good, almost to Seymour where I plan to stop for gas, water, ice cream bars and a Slurpee. As we stop we notice that the "precious" grand chicken is going at it again--peeping at the top of his lungs.  Attempting to see what had caused this we discovered that we were now listening to a George Jones gospel CD.  Macy says, "play Buddy Holly again Nana".  I press button #3 again to return us to Buddy belting out "Peggy Sue."  I'm thinking this is too much!  Surely this is some kind of weird coincidence.  But NO!  We listen to "Peggy Sue" and the chick gets quiet.  We listen to "True Love Ways", "Oh Boy", etc. over and over again for two solid hours before we arrive back to our house.

Upon arriving, I tell Papa Bodie of our new family member, Jazzy, our great grandchicken, and of his discerning taste in music.  He gets a good belly laugh out of the tale and turns and whispers in my ear, "Nana, you are a clever old gal, convincing those baby girls to listen to your old Buddy Holly CD instead of "Veggie Tales."  I assured him that this was not the case, but I could see that he was not convinced--not until two weeks later when he rode with me to return Macy, Katy and Jazzy back to their parents at the Texaco station in Guthrie.  Needless to say, we loaned the Buddy Holly CD to them (although they were skeptical of our claims) so the could return home in "peep-free" comfort.

Later, my daughter-in-law, Kayla and I were discussing this phenomenon and we concluded that Mrs. Jones, Macy's third grade teacher, must have bought the hatching eggs, for the science project, in Lubbock.  Since then I have asked myself, "What is the lesson or lessons this small but memorable event has taught me?"  My answers are as follows:

     1. If I'd known grandchildren would be so much fun I'd have had them first.

     2. If your grandchildren love it so will you. (I actually miss Jazzy's soft nightly peeping).

     3. Music really is a universal language.

     4. God often brings children and little animals into the lives of adults to remind us that small          miracles of love happen everyday if we have our eyes and hearts and arms open for the gifts        in front of us.

 

      

Whatever else life holds, I am privileged to have spent the first two weeks of that summer with Macy, Katy and a Buddy Holly music lovin' grandchicken, appropriately named Jazzy.  Lord, I know that Buddy is playin' and singin' in your band in Heaven and could you please let him know that his legacy still lives on Earth in another generation of music lovers, be they human or one of our feathered friends.

So this is the tale of Jazzy!  I hope I have brought him to life for you and that this puts a smile on your face as you read it.  This is a special memory for me and it definitely brings a smile to my face and to my grandmother's heart.