Roun Yon

Roun yon. The first word rhymes with noun. It makes perfect sense to me. Roun yon. Roun-yon-virgin-mother-an-child. 

Gabby (my grandmother) had a gorgeous shiny black baby grand piano (unfortunately downsized to a spinet when she built a new house) and I loved to sit next to her on the bench as she played and sang. She'd been a drama major at Northwestern University in the 20's and during college summers toured with the Red Path Chatauqua. To say she was dramatic and lived life with flair would be as true as saying I dress in drab colors. Gabby's singing voice was that kind that was popular (attractive? Ew...not to me) in the 20's and a sort of quiver to it....kinda like Jeannette McDonald. Her piano playing was good and I loved how she'd cross one hand over the other while she was playing. She had plump hands with long painted nails. I can just see those flourishes as she'd play, cross hands, and never miss a note. 

I love lots of Christmas songs but Silent Night is probably my favorite. I remember sitting with Gabby as she played it and I sang my little kid heart out.  Sigh-uh-lunt night. (Right hand crosses left hand and plucks out a note.) Ho-oly night.  (Another hand crossing.) All is calm, all is bright.  Roun yon vir-irgin, mother and child. She stopped playing.  Roun yon? she asked. I nodded or did something to the affirmative. I was never afraid of her but it was startling that she stopped playing. Roun yon?  Then she explained the song and straightened me out on the lyrics and suddenly it made sense!  Around Mary. Around her!  

Megan and Mark's Christmas card this year (Megan is my cousin) had a vintage picture of someone decorating a tree and someone readily giving helpful "instructions" on where to put an ornament. Megan wrote a funny (and oh, so true!) note about Mom, Gabby, and Aunt Karen rowing up on the couch and giving directions as the tree got decorated and how that had ruined decorating a tree for her. Man, do I remember that!  It was usually just Mom and I decorating our tree (Daddy was typically in the other room g-damning about the mess of the .ktree and how commercialized the holiday had become).  Mom's directing ensued  That spot, there, it needs a red something. That place, just above your head needs a long ornament. The bare spot above that branch needs something tucked in there.  And so it continued. Then it came time for the icicles. That aluminum foil, teeny narrow strips kind. By then I had grown tired of the decorating and had my craw full of being directed (bossed to death!).  Place them on one at a time. They need to hang straight down like a real icicle would. No...just ONE at a time.  Mom would feel like she could leave and stop her supervising duty since it was nearly over and she'd made it clear just how the icicles were to be placed. And once she'd left the room I'd gleefully throw handfuls of shimmering icicles at the tree and watch as they fell in clumps and smile at my secret as some icicles settled in horizontally. 

I don't use those old timey icicles but I do boss myself when decorating the tree. Two many gold ornaments in that area. That's too large and needs to be on a lower branch.  No, keep the ornaments on the lower branches the unbreakable ones as the cat will knock them off or a dog hurrying by may dislodge one from its branch. 

I step back and look at the tree. I need perspective to decide which ornament goes next.  Where more color is needed. It's perspective. It's always perspective. Get the lyrics right, get the words right....and things make sense. Color and pattern and space and repetition and order and disorder....and things make sense. 

It's all about perspective. Always.  And not just song lyrics and Christmas trees.