There are many dates in one’s life that are significant.  Birthdays, anniversaries, engagement dates, and many others are the usual suspects, but there’s one that has a unique significance in my life.  April 7, 2024.

On April 7, 2024, for the first time in 60 years, I got to decide if I was going to church or not, and, if so, where I would go.  

Now, in case you’re wondering, there is a back story.  I was born in 1964, and raised in a Christian (Southern Baptist) home.  My mother was, and still is at age 88, the church organist at the same church she was raised (she began in 1950) and that we attended.  She and my father are the oldest members of the church.  Barring vacation and serious illness (colds & coughs didn’t count), we went to church every Sunday.  I used to get in trouble regularly because I couldn’t sit still, and my daddy had no tolerance for misbehaving in church, but nevertheless, we were always there, sore backside and all.  When I was 14, I began playing the piano for church.  First as a substitute, then for Vacation Bible School, Wednesday service, and things like that, but I soon became the full-time pianist.  A position that I loved and cherished, and I figured that would be where I stayed the rest of my life.  

I’ve always heard that if you want to make God laugh, make a plan.  My plan was completely changed in 1995 when I left the church of my childhood and early adulthood.  I became the Music Director and Organist/Pianist at a United Church of Christ, where I remained until March 31, 2024.  I loved that church – I always had an incredible choir, and I love each one of them.  But the church changed (that’s another very long blog post), and I decided it was time to move on.  Not to another church job though.  Even though I “quit” my job at that church, I decided to make it my retirement from church music.  I still fill in on the piano at local churches, when needed, and I enjoy this immensely.  

So on April 7, 2024, most would think that I would get up, take my Gunther outside, then crawl back into bed.  That wasn’t the case.  I knew that if I broke my 60 year run of attending church that it would be very difficult to restart it.  So, I got up, took care of my Gunther, got ready and went to church.  

I had developed a list of churches I would like to try.  Friends’ churches, ones I’d seen on television or heard of, these types of churches.  I am grounded in my beliefs and convictions, and I wanted to find a church with which shared my heart.  My first Sunday (April 7), I went to a Presbyterian Church where my dear friend Bob and his family are members.  It was a very nice church and great service, but just not for me (lots of mom/dad/2.4 children families).   So onward I went on my list.

The next Sunday I attended Christ and St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in Ghent/Norfolk.  I quietly slipped in and sat at the back (which was a real treat since I had sat on the front row for 60 years).  I absolutely fell in love.  The music, the reverence, the sermon, the Eucharist, everything about the service  – I was completely impressed and felt so welcome.  When I got home,  I threw away my list of potential churches, I knew I had found the right one.  I had coffee with both the rector and associate rector and found them to be warm and welcoming, as being patient with my barrage of questions about the church, and the sharing of my “back story” of where I had been in life and where I was now..  The Episcopal church’s theology mirrored mine, even though I was raised in a Southern Baptist church, I believe God wants us to be loving and accepting of all people, and makes them feel welcome and wanted in fellowship with other believers.  I believe He wants us to reach out to all people and to help take care of their needs, regardless of their circumstances.  All things in which I believe faithfully.  

It’s a few months over a year now, and, quite frankly, it’s been a helluva year.  My mother being hospitalized, both my parents’ aging as well as aging myself, 4 surgeries, the loss of 3 very special friends, and, most recently, the loss of my beloved Gunther after 12 wonderful years together.  The love and compassion from my church clergy and church family has been incredible.  I’ve never felt anything but welcoming and love at Christ & St. Luke’s.  I’ve joined the Flower Guild, and that has been a wonderful blessing – I’m using my floral talents for the Lord now instead of my musical talents.  And that’s okay with me.  And I think that makes God smile, too.  

While April 7, 2024 is quite a milestone, April 14, 2024 is an even greater one – I found my way home.  

Dear God, thank you for an incredible life of music, flowers, and worship.  Thank you for leading me to Christ & St. Luke’s, and for the wonderful people who make up this great church.  You lead me home, and for that I am eternally grateful.  

I think it goes without saying that I love dogs.  Everybody knows that.  Except for the three years between Peaches and Gunther, I have had a dog in my life since I was about 2  years old.   Love from a dog is like no other, and if you listen closely and pay attention, they have many life lessons to share.   Even when it requires a Milk Bone, size large, of course.

Every morning, prior to leaving home, I offer Gunther a large Milk Bone (he scoffs at the medium ones), as well as placing 2 additional ones in his bowl, which already contains his dry dog food.   Sometimes when I give him the first one he will take it, and other times he’ll just drop it.  He most always walks over to his bowl to check for additional Milk Bones, but he never touches them.   He follows me to the door for his farewell pooch smooch, then returns to his bed (my Victorian settee) in my bedroom, where I have no doubt he spends most of his day.   

The fascinating part of this whole daily routine is that when I return in the afternoon, usually around 5:30, the two Milk Bones in his bowl are still there.   He hasn’t touched them all day.  When we return from our expedited “potty walk,” Gunther goes straight to his bowl and gets one of the Milk Bones, and takes it to “his rug” in the dining room to begin enjoying it.  He will get the second one shortly thereafter.  They’ve sat in the bowl all day, but he hasn’t touched them.  He was waiting for his Pops to get home.  

I remember Peaches had a similar routine.   Because of my hectic, and often unpredictable, schedule at that point in my life (aka staying out past 9:00 pm), I kept food in her bowl at all times, not just at a specific “suppertime.”  The bowl would most always be full when I would get home at night, and often, after I went to bed, I would hear her in the kitchen eating.  She wouldn’t eat when I wasn’t there, to her, it just wasn’t the same.  

Although these actions may seem a bit odd for a dog, I get it, and I also find a great life lesson.  To them, it’s just not the same when they’re home alone. It made me think of many things in my life, particularly as I get older, things just “aren’t the same” now than they were in the past.   I love going to church music conferences, but Talmadge isn’t there – it’s just not the same.  Occasionally I try to make a “Lady Baltimore Cake” like my Mema used to make for my birthday – but it’s just not the same.  I used to spend Sunday afternoons visiting my Second Mama Kathryn – Sunday afternoons still come and go, but it’s not the same.  

But what is the same, and what makes it all bearable, are the precious memories and the hearts of love that grow within us all as we remember these.   Even though the music conferences aren’t the same, I always smile thinking about the wonderful times there in previous years.    The Lady Baltimore cakes aren’t the same (flour and I don’t get along well in the kitchen), but it reminds me of a special memory that when it was my birthday she didn’t use raisins, since she knew I didn’t like them.  I enjoy my Sunday afternoons following the traditional family lunch, but it just isn’t quite the same.  I loved being the Assistant Principal at Elephant’s Fork, but school politics got in the way – I continued my career as an educator, but it just wasn’t the same.  

God knew when he gave us such wonderful folx in our lives that one day they’d go away, and the places & things we love wouldn’t always be the same. Life is a journey, and the people, places, and things He gives us are constantly changing. But the one thing that won’t change is the love that He pours down on us daily. He loves us unconditionally, even when we miss the parts of the journey we loved the most. He gives us great and powerful memories, and He always reminds us that the best is yet to come.

Especially for dogs who save their treats and suppers until their human gets home.

It’s not the same, it’s better . . . and, as always, I am a blessed man.

Dear God, Thank you for wonderful memories and precious gifts you’ve given me through loved ones that you’ve loaned me over the years, and places you’ve allowed my heart to hold.   Thank you for my Gunther who, even though he can no longer see, knows how much he is loved and will always be.  Thank you for the gift of Jesus, who makes things not the same, He makes them better!! As always, I am a blessed man.

Sidney A. Neighbours

May 8, 2023

. . . Nope!!!

If you’ve been around me very much, you’ve heard me say “I don’t believe in coincidences.”  And I don’t.  But let me clarify – if you and I turn up at church one Sunday morning both wearing red shirts, yeah, that is a coincidence, not particularly a God-directed event.  But when it comes to big stuff, no coincidences – things happen as they are meant to happen.  I was reminded of that this weekend – not once, but twice.  

Saturday was a reasonably normal day.  I went to see a play in Windsor (which was very good), and then commenced the usual Saturday errands.  Including the grocery store, which is my least favorite errand.  As I was heading into the store, walking down the sidewalk, an older couple had pulled up to the curb, and the lady in the passenger seat asked if I lived around here (in Harbourview).  I told her I did, and she said they needed help.  She and her husband were trying to get to Route 460.  Of course, given that 460 goes directly in front of where I grew up, that wasn’t a problem.  These folks had gotten completely turned around and

couldn’t find their way.  So I spent a few minutes giving them directions (they were going to the Virginia Diner).  It took a few minutes as the gentleman driving was having difficult hearing.  But I am used to that.  I finally got them on their way, and they were so appreciative.  I thought that my schedule must have put me in the place that I was needed by this elderly couple.  I thought of my parents as I was talking to this couple, and hoped that if they were in the same situation someone would do the same for them.

Then came Sunday.  As usual, I was pushing time to get to church.  Not late, but none too early.  When I got on the interstate, my car dashboard, instead of telling me how much I was over the speed limit, was telling me that the engine was about to overheat.  Now, given my level of automotive and mechanical expertise, I had no clue what to do.  So I pulled over and pressed my trusty OnStar button, where a nice service advisor recommended that I put in coolant as soon as possible.  So I revved him up (my car’s name is Steele, btw) and got off the next exit with the intention of pulling into a convenience store on the right.  But instead, for some odd reason, I

turned left into a different convenience store/gas station, one to which I’ve never been before.  I go in, buy a $20 bottle of antifreeze, which nearly freaked me out, and came back out to attempt my hand at refilling my car.  After some effort, I got the hood up (yes, that was an ordeal), and started looking for my intended target for the expensive antifreeze.  Low and behold, to my horror, there were two places that looked just alike, and neither were labeled as to which was for coolant.  I was horrified.  It was an ordeal for me to get the hood up, let alone to now be clueless about where to pour.  I looked over and next to me was a young man, 30-ish maybe, possibly military, who seemed to be traveling and had stopped for his family to make a pit stop.  So I asked him if he knew anything about engines, to which he responded that he didn’t, but that he might could help with identifying the coolant cap.  He came over, and wasn’t sure which cap either, so he looked it up on his phone (I would never have thought of that), and pointed me in the right direction.  I thanked him as he went on his way, and after pouring into the right place, made it to church on time, even though I didn’t have time to stop at Mama and Daddy’s to get my Sunday morning toast.  

Coincidences?  Nope!!   I think God puts us in the places we need to be, and whether it is to help someone, or for someone to be at the right place and time to help us, it is his will.  We often speak of the “golden rule” – do  under others as you would have them do unto you.  I am so thankful that I was able to help the elderly couple that were lost, and that the young guy was at the right place when I needed some assistance too.  

I’m reminded of another story.  When my Aunt Alma died in Connecticut some years ago, Mama & Daddy and Aunt Betty & Uncle Berkley drove up together for the funeral.  I’ve forgotten if it was going or coming, but somehow Daddy made a wrong turn in

Baltimore.  A kind gentleman stopped them and told them he didn’t know where they were going, but he knew they were going in the wrong direction.  We’ve never known what they were about to drive into, but we figured this kind gentleman knew these four white-haired folks in a bright red Buick were about to be in major trouble.  Was it a coincidence that this man graciously redirected them, that he went out on a limb to help my parents and my aunt & uncle?  Nope!  Another example of God putting us where we need to be.  

I can think of so many things in my life that affirm that there are no such things as coincidences.  How I went to the wrong church for an NA meeting in 2014 and was then directed to a different

meeting where I met my sponsor who became my dear friend (and, just in case you’ve forgotten,

I was the best man in his wedding).  Being able to leave the bank early to attend an arts function and introducing two friends who have now been together almost 30 years.   And many other moments in time that I’ve been in the right place at the right time.  But it’s not my mind and my hand that put me there – it was God’s loving and protective hand that takes care of me, and His will for our lives.  Things like this are a reminder to me that He’s here everyday, he’s with me.  Psalms 23 says, “. . . for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me . . .”   I am thankful for His protection, and, as always, I am truly a blessed man.

But when it comes to wearing red shirts on the same day, I’ll let you decide that one.   

Dear God, Thank you for your love and protection.  Thank you for all the non-coincidences in our lives, and for making sure we’re in the right place at the right time.  Help me to always be mindful of the needs of others, and to stop and help folks when they need direction, and help me to be thankful when someone does the same for me.  Thank you for the “non-coincidental” folks sent to help my family and friends as well.  Amen

I’m sitting on my back screen porch, shivering because it’s December, and acknowledging that I should have better sense than to sit out here when it’s chilly – but it’s a beautiful day, I have on a sweater, and I enjoy watching my dog as he observes all the mysteries of “his kingdom,” and waits for the neighbor’s dog to come out to play.  The Christmas trees are decorated.   The shopping is all done, thanks to online ordering and the small businesses here in Harbour View.  Nothing is wrapped yet, but there’s plenty of time for that.  I’ve been through my recipe books and found the recipes I want to try between now and Christmas.  I wouldn’t put any money on the success of any of these, flour and I have a hostile relationship in the kitchen, but I am going to try.  Christmas cards are mailed.  It’s time to sit back and relax and enjoy the season.

But somehow, that never seems to be the case.  All the shopping is done; however, I’m reasonably sure that I will find a few things to add to the gifts already purchased, especially for my wonderful niece.  You know – “just a little something else.”  There’s still house cleaning to do, lots of it, and dealing with the string of lights on my 9’ tree that have stopped working.  So there’s still stress to be experienced, frustration to be had, and tasks that just “have to” be done.  Rituals, protocols, traditions – they all have to be coordinated!!

I am one of the unique individuals in the world, or I think it’s unique, to say that I have done pretty much the same thing each year for Christmas.  Well, the same protocol, with a few tweaks over the years.  I’ve lost family members through the years, as have we all.  Even without these faces and wonderful souls at Christmas, the love has never changed.  My thoughts today, however, as I shiver on my back porch,  are on Christmas Eve.  

I began my Christian life and liturgical music career at Tucker Swamp Baptist Church, starting to play piano at the ripe old age of 14.  During this time, our church called a wonderful pastor to be our spiritual leader – Rev. J. Waverly Horne.  Rev. Horne had been the pastor of the church in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s.  In fact, he married my parents on April 19, 1959.  He was already a beloved figure within our community and our families when he arrived.  As with all spiritual leaders, he made a few changes as he arrived, all good changes as I recall.  My favorite change, however, was when we began having a Christmas Eve service.  

When this service was first mentioned, our responses, as one would expect from good Christian folks, were how wonderful this would be, and we spoke of how this was the whole reason for Christmas anyway.  But if all those folks were being honest, they were also thinking about how they were going to squeeze one more thing into a day already overwrought with stuff that just had to be done.  When that first December 24 service came around though, I think we all put those thoughts thoughts behind us and added a wonderful new tradition to our lives.

The Christmas Eve service wasn’t a long service – 30 minutes tops.  It involved a few Christmas carols, scripture reading, communion, and a brief reflection of the season by Mr. Horne.  The service always ended with the church filled with light from individual candles in an otherwise dark sanctuary.  It was quiet, reverent, and reflective.  It became the “veil” of Christmas to me.  It was a veil between the craziness of Christmas that we create, and the reality of Christmas as it was truly created to be.  Everything had been done, or at least if it wasn’t done it wasn’t any reason to worry about it.  The ham was sliced, the ambrosia was made, the coffee was brewing – Christmas was here.  Not just the lights and tinsels and Santa Claus gifts, but the real Christmas.  The birth of Jesus.  The true spirit of giving and love that was given to us that first Christmas.  

Christmas Eve will be different for me this year.  I’ve always had a very strict protocol of wonderful “errands” that have to be done.  This year I lost one of my very special friends, who I called my “second mama,” and a visit with her  was always a part of my Christmas Eve travels.  Covid has caused some other changes in the traditions and protocol, but that falls under the “is what it is” category.  The thing that won’t change is that I’ll be sitting on the organ/piano  bench at my church, playing Christmas hymns, and enjoying the peace that will come over me as I realize that Christmas is here.  No need to fret.  No need to stress.  No need to worry.  Peace has arrived.  The peace of Christmas, the peace of knowing that Christ is born.

We’ll be having our annual Christmas Eve service at Windsor Christian at 5:00.  I’ll be playing the organ & piano there on that night for the 27th year.    Other churches in our community will be having Christmas Eve services as well.  Even if you don’t think you can possibly fit it in your schedule, make it a priority.  You’ll be thankful for the veil that will separate craziness from comfort & joy.  

“Dear God, thank you for Christmas.  Thank you for the love and happiness that comes with celebrating the birth of your son, Jesus.  Thank you for Rev. Horne, who brought the concept of a Christmas Eve service to a little country church in Zuni many years ago.  Thank you for the many services since that has brought my heart to the manger.    Please be with our families and our community as we celebrate.  Amen.”

Twenty-five.  Twenty-five years.  Twenty-five years ago.   A long time.  But is it really?

Twenty-five years ago, September 1, 1995 . . . I became the Director of Music and Organist at Windsor Congregational Christian Church (United Church of Christ). 

I was brokenhearted spiritually when I arrived at WCC.  I had been playing the piano at the church where I was raised, and suddenly they didn’t want me anymore.  A visitor had commented that they “couldn’t believe this church would allow a homosexual in a leadership position.” This random statement led to me being forced to leave.  But that’s all another story that’s covered in another blog post – check it out when you can.

This is the story of 25 wonderful years at Windsor.  I had played there a few months prior to being hired officially, and I knew I was in for a wonderful ride.  I had a talented and committed choir to direct, and we sang anthems and cantatas that tested the limits of our abilities.  Sometimes they would say that they just couldn’t do it, but we pushed onward anyway.  Our pastor at the time, who also sang in the choir, always said that I had a knack for picking out music, knowing the perfect levels for our choir.  

I have so many wonderful memories about these past 25 years, and there is no way I could begin to write them all.  I hope that you’ll enjoy the ones I salute today.

• I remember our first Christmas cantata.  It had been purchased for performance the prior year, but that hadn’t quite happened.  It was 40’s music, and the narration was surrounding a soldier in World War II.  We put a picture of a former pastor, who was also a WWII veteran, on a table in the front of the church as we sang.  
• I remember working hard to perfect songs for our quarterly “Fifth Sunday Night Sings” with other local churches.  It really wasn’t a competition, but . . . we did enjoy, or maybe I should say I enjoyed, the many compliments about our choir, and my “Whoopi Goldberg” style of directing.  That was the style of directing of my youth.  Those days are gone.  The sound of joints creaking would overpower the music.    
• I remember the retirement service/celebration for our beloved Pastor Buzz.  Buzz was notorious for skipping something in the service, but this day, with a packed church, was my turn.  I left the CD of our accompaniment orchestration in the rehearsal room, so when we stood up to sing, the AV tech didn’t have itl.  So, as calmly as I could, I turned around and said “Buzz, we’ve laughed at you for 14 years, today it is your turn to laugh at me,” and I told the folks I’d be right back.  Remember, a packed church, now laughing.  I went to the back of the church and got the CD, carried it to the AV tech in the back, returned to my director position, and we sang as if nothing had ever happened.  A member of the church told me afterwards that he didn’t know how I could possibly have remained so calm.  It is what it is, I told him, just as well laugh as cry.  
• I remember directing the music for the church’s 125th anniversary celebration, and the town’s 100th anniversary.  We rehearsed every Sunday afternoon for months for the town celebration, and performed while praying the rain would hold off.  
• I remember looking into the congregation and wondering why my parents and sister were there, only to find out later that I was being honored for 20 years of service.

• I remember the wedding where the bride wasn’t ready when I started playing “her music,” but the mistresses of ceremonies had given me the high sign to start.  It seemed like forever before she started down the aisle, and the poor groom was starting to get nervous.  
• I remember after a particularly gruesome error in playing a church member telling me “you rarely make mistakes playing, but when you do, it’s a doozy.)  
• I remember bus trips, and even a cruise, with my church friends.  Traveling together became great fun, and brought us all closer together.  
• I will always remember how, during a pandemic, I played music on my grandmother’s piano to be posted on the church’s Facebook page, and the many accolades I received for doing this.  
• Bringing flowers for the altar, sharing my floral design talents with our congregation. This is one of my favorite things to do.
• Our September 16, 2001 service, the first Sunday after the terrible 9/11/2001 terrorist attacks on our country. I remember playing our National Anthem prior to the service, and being able to “hear a pin drop” when I finished, except for a lowly spoken “God Bless America” from someone in the choir.
• “Rolling with the flow” with 4 pastors and 4 interim pastors. One of the key parts of being a church musician is flexibility.

Not all of the memories bring back smiles,  I remember playing for many funerals, often through tears, for beloved church members.  I remember a few conflicts through the years, but always being thankful for the wonderful people that “had my back.”  I remember frustrations over particular music, but in the end it all worked out okay.  

I can not write about memories of WCC without remembering some special people that are no longer with us.  Betty Alphin, our biggest cheerleader, is the first one who comes to mind. Every Sunday, she’d tell me after church how much she loved what we’d done, and her favorite thing was to tell me, “you’re just so good.”  Okay, maybe that was MY favorite thing she told me.  And if I needed something from the Finance Committee, I always talked to Betty Boop (what my sister, as a child, started calling her and it stuck in my family), and she made sure it all went okay (I’m sure the other members had to wonder how she already knew about everything that came up, but then I suspect they had a good idea).  I remember Grace Ballard, who only recently went to be with the Lord, telling me that she thought God had given me her talent as well as my own (she really was quite talented herself, though). Her favorite songs were “Amazing Grace” and “Precious Memories.”  I remember Daphne Vaughan Dunn, who loved one particular song so much that she played the recording of us singing it over and over at home (Still Feelin’ Fine).  Daphne told me one time, after I’d played “The King Is Coming” for the offertory, that I played it with such passion that she thought Jesus was going to be at her house for lunch. 

I remember Harold Taylor, who would beep the horn on his power-scooter chair when we’d sing something he especially liked.  I remember Richard and Jean Holland, folks I’d known very well throughout my life, but seeing them in their service roles in the church and having a new-found love and appreciation for them.    I remember Elaine Griffin, who sang in our choir up into her 80’s and still able to bring the alto line to life in her own way.  I remember Chad Byrum, who left us far too young; a young man who had an incredible talent for the piano who filled in for me occasionally. I remember Marjorie Keeling, who called to me across the cemetery following a funeral, telling me that she wanted me to help her plan her funeral, which we did right then and there.   I remember Larry Willis, my Scoutmaster, who sang in the choir for a season, and loved teasing me big time, especially about my years in the Boy Scouts, and my camping experiences (I hated camping then and hate it now, probably the only Eagle Scout in the world that hated camping).   I remember Everette Scott, another one taken from us far too soon, and an ardent supporter of the church’s music program.  I was told that, after a particularly harrowing Sunday with a substitute on the piano, that he told a group of folks that “we’re not paying Sid enough.”  I remember Mabel Grissom, who told me each week how she enjoyed the music and how talented 2 of her 3 daughters were.  And many, many others.  I thank God for the church members who are now in glory with the angels, and for the impact each one had on my life.  

With the exception of being Director of Music and Organist at WCC, everything in my life has changed drastically in the past 25 years.  I changed primary careers, from banking to education, and became both a teacher and administrator during this time.  I went from 31 years old to 56 years old, with all the aches, pains, creaks, and moans that accompany aging.  I moved from Windsor to Norfolk, to another condo in Norfolk, to Portsmouth, to another house in Portsmouth, and to northern Suffolk, where I play to stay for the duration.  My beloved Peaches was a puppy when I arrived at WCC, and she has now crossed over the rainbow bridge and is waiting for me in Heaven.  I found Gunther, or Gunther found me, and still gives me a reason to rush home at the end of the day.  I barely made it through 2014, spending 4 weeks in drug rehab for an extreme drug addiction, and having a heart attack due to a 99% blockage in an artery.  I suffered a 2nd heart attack 4 years later as well as a pulmonary embolism.  I’ve had jaw surgery, knee surgery, heart surgery, and several kidney stones.  I look in the mirror sometimes and I swear that it’s my daddy, not me, that’s looking back.  But we either have to get old or die young.  I’ve passed the timing for the 2nd option, so I push hard everyday.  One day at a time, one foot in front of the other.  

I have to include my appreciation for the kindnesses I have been shown the past 25 years. Only 3 weeks into my 25 years, I lost my aunt in Wisconsin and had to miss a rehearsal and a service – no problem, do what you have to do.  I lost my best friend in 2011, and was 1 of 3 friends who took care of him.  I missed a lot during those weeks, and again, the church said it was all good, do what you have to do.  I particularly remember the Sunday after he died but prior to his funeral, when I lost my place in the music when rehearsing the choir and burst into tears and had to start over (I made it through the actual service performance).   I missed 4 weeks when I was in drug rehab, and numbers of weeks from 2 heart attacks and knee surgery.  My mother broke her hip in 2019 on a Saturday with surgery on Sunday morning.   In each event, everything was fine, do what you need to do.  Never docked a penny from my salary for any of these things.  To sorta-kinda quote a song that I love,  “things on earth that seemed so little, but in Heaven (and in my mind & heart) mean so much.”  I may forget where I put the television remote, or my car keys, but I will never forget these acts of kindness and support.  

I thank the Lord that he led me to Windsor Christian Church (UCC).  I don’t know if there are 25 more years in my future, only God knows that, but with the health issues I battle, I suspect not.  But I remain thankful everyday that God called me to be their Director of Music and Organist, both now and in the future.  

25 years of blessings.  Thanks be to God. 

Sidney A. Neighbours

September 16, 2020

. . . a family milestone occurs.

     What an interesting time in which we live!!!  I could never have imagined, years ago or even a few months ago, that we would all be on “lock-down” in our homes due to a pandemic.  Things that I have always taken for granted – not so much anymore. Trips to the grocery store, Starbucks, visiting with friends, church, choir practice, and the list can go on and on.  Zoom has become a household word, PPE is an abbreviation we all know well, and daily briefings from Richmond and Washington are the new norm. But as Queen Elizabeth II of England so eloquently said, we will get through this and we will once again be together.  

     I’ve been very derelict in my blogging the past few weeks.  It seems that now that I have plenty of time to write, my creative juices just haven’t been flowing.  Today, however, I realized a family milestone of which I hadn’t previously thought. It got the writing portion of my brain moving, so here I am, and here’s my story for today. 

     The piano in my living room has been in my family for 100 years.  

     The beautiful Shaw upright piano has been with me since 1988, when I inherited it upon my grandmother’s death.  It has been in 2 houses and 3 condominiums since it left the farm. It was even in storage for a few months. I’m sure if the piano could talk, it could tell some stories.  So here’s the story of the piano.

     My piano initially belonged to my grandmother, Eunice Munford Umphlette, whom I affectionately named “Mema” when I began talking.  She was born September 26, 1917, in Zuni, Virginia, to Benjamin Arthur Munford, Sr. and Josie Joyner Munford. Her father, Benjamin Sr. (known in the community as Arthur), purchased the piano for her when she was a little girl.  That’s as specific a date as I have ever known. 

     Arthur Munford bought the piano from Mr. Columbus Washington Bailey of Windsor, who was the father of Mrs. Martha Frances Godwin, a long time and beloved teacher at Windsor High School, as was her husband, Davis Lee Godwin.  Mr. Bailey was a funeral director. Now here’s where the story gets a little murky. I had always heard that the Bailey home on Church Street in Windsor, had at one time been a funeral home. It has unusually wide doors on the front of the house, which perpetuated that story.  In later years, however, I have been told that not to be the case. Mr. Bailey was a funeral director, but that house wasn’t a funeral home, and Mr. Bailey, in fact, worked for R. W. Baker & Sons Funeral Home in Suffolk for one of the original Mr. Bakers. At any rate, my “Mema piano” had been used in a funeral home and was being “retired,” which is why Mr. Bailey sold it to my great-grandfather.  

     The piano remained in the family farmhouse for many years, as my grandparents continued to live there after they were married in 1935.  My mother was born in the farmhouse in 1937. At some point in the few years afterward, Mema & Granddaddy Sidney relocated to another house “across the field” from the farmhouse.  And then several years later, moved back to the original farmhouse, where my grandmother lived until the early 70’s (Granddaddy Sidney died in 1960). I have heard my mother tell me many times about the day that the piano was moved back to the farmhouse, and Mema watching out the window, crying, and saying “my piano, my piano . . .” as it bounced across the field in the back of a pickup truck.  My grandmother built a new house in 1972, and the piano once again moved across the field to the new house, where it remained until 1988 when Mema was reunited in Heaven with her beloved Sidney.  

     Mema learned to play the piano on this musical treasure, as did my mother and her 2 sisters.  Mema didn’t play a lot for church, but she was often the pianist for Wednesday night services or other times when needed.  My mother, however, has been the organist at Tucker Swamp Baptist Church since 1950 – this year will be 70 years as the organist.  All beginning with lessons from Mrs. Sarah Whitley in Windsor, and many hours of practice on the family piano. When I came along, they had a hard time getting me off the piano stool when I was at Mema’s.  We had a piano at home, but Mema’s piano played a large part of my music education. I have been playing for church since I was 14 years old, beginning as accompanist for Vacation Bible School. And I practiced a lot at Mema’s.   Precious memories     

      I’ve played a lot of pianos over the years.  I’ve played overlooking a glacier in Alaska, and on a cruise ship in Hawaii.  But there’s no piano I play that comes close to the feeling of warmth and love that I treasure when I play Mema’s piano.  I never refer to it as my piano, it’s always “Mema’s piano.” A treasure in my family for 100 years, and a blessing to me for the past 56, and hopefully a few more years to come.  In these days of uncertainty, I have been playing and posting a hymn on Facebook each day in the hope of being a blessing to others. “Unto whom much is given, much is expected,” and that is my heart for sharing music with others.  As always, I am a blessed man.

 

     Dear God, thank you for Mema, and for my great-grandfather Arthur Munford, who had the wisdom c. 1920 to buy a piano for his little girl.  Thank you for the memories this piano brings back to me and to my family of happy times in the farmhouse and in the “new house” with Mema. And in this pandemic crisis, God, please keep us safe and help us to remember the words of the great him, “God Will Take Care of You.”  Amen

 

Sidney A. Neighbours

April 6, 2020

. . . a little late.

 

Happy New Year!!!  Yes, I’m a bit late in those wishes, and I’ve been most derelict in my duties as a blogger.  It’s been a crazy couple of months, but, thankfully, life is about to settle into the new normal for which I’ve been longing.  No more working part-time for the school system after next week, I’ll have completed the epilogue to my career in education and will qualify for the better insurance deal.  Life is good.

I have lots of ideas for blogging, so you’ll probably see lots of posts in the next couple of weeks.  But I thought that a good discussion of traveling would be fun today.  

I went to Orlando, Florida, a few weeks ago, January 5 – 11.  I went to a great church music conference – “Music Florida” – put on by Kempke Music and Lifeway.  Lots of new music, great fellowship (especially in getting to see my dear friend Jay), good food, and a great reminder of how much I truly love being a church musician.  Along with all the good stuff, however, came a sinus infection and a horrible cough. I had it a bit before I left, but it got much worse while there. So Wednesday night of my Florida week, I ubered over to an Urgent Care.  I just knew it was going to be a horrible experience, but nothing could be farther from the truth. They treated me like royalty, my insurance kicked in so I didn’t have to pay the whole bill up front, and they were so kind. No complaints whatsoever, and I gave them a great review on google.  God was watching over me that night (and always). I stayed close to the hotel the remainder of the trip and rested, which was okay. The meds kicked in, and life moved on.  

I remembered as I was on my Florida excursion about all the traveling I have done over the years.  As I’ve blogged before, my parents were quite ahead of their time in many ways. Traveling was one of those ways.  When I was growing up, folks around home didn’t regularly take “vacations.” Now don’t get me wrong, they’d often go somewhere for a week in the summer, but it was usually to Nags Head or somewhere like that.  But not us. I remember trips to Florida, the Smoky Mountains, historical places, and many others. In addition, we often traveled to Wisconsin to visit with my aunt and her family, and while there, Mama, Daddy, and I would “escape” for a day and go sight-seeing.  Great memories.  

As an adult, I have traveled extensively as well, including Hawaii, Alaska, numerous trips to California, at least 7 cruises, lots of trips to Myrtle Beach and New York City, the list could go on.  I’ve loved every minute of traveling. No Europe travel yet, but planning to take care of that in a few months. Travel with friends, and lots of precious memories, have certainly made my life richer, and I am grateful for these experiences.  

However . . . one would think that an experienced traveler, from a very young age, would be a good “packer.”  Oh no, not me. The 50 pound limit for airlines usually calls for a 48 pound suitcase. Driving trips – no problem, shoes (as in 5 or 6 pair) don’t have to go in the suitcase, they can stay in the car and I can change shoes from there.  Carry-on bags – must have every pill I take regularly (a non-negotiable idea), but also every o-t-c medicine I could possibly need. Along with clothes, several books, a computer or tablet, and on & on. Thank God for rolling suitcases, and thank God, at this point in life, for handicapped services in the airport that get me and my luggage where I need to go.  If I need 3 outfits, I take 7. I take enough underwear for at least 2 pair a day (which I know is far too much information). And dirty clothes at the end of the trip? Often they are mailed home to help in the weight issue on flying trips.  

Baggage.  I have a lot of it.  Literal baggage when I travel, and figurative baggage in my life.  The expression “I come with a lot of baggage” certainly applies to me.  So many issues, so many problems, all a part of my life and my baggage. Health issues, addiction, aging issues, sexuality confusion growing up, not knowing where and how I fit in –  fill up that baggage.    But, thank God, I don’t only have one suitcase when it comes to my baggage. I have a second piece of baggage full of all the good things in life. I have a wonderful family that loves me unconditionally and friends to lift me up and keep me going.  A wonderful sponsor and support group that keeps me clean and sober. Access to the very best health care to deal with health issues. A heart that keeps ticking and lungs that still expand, even though it’s difficult at times. A great dog that gives me a reason to come home in the afternoon.  A good sense of humor to deal with aging issues.  Having a settled and open mind as I’ve dealt with being gay, and knowing that John 3:16 doesn’t have the word “except” in it, no matter the version of the Bible one is reading. That suitcase is full – far beyond the 50 pound limit!!!  

I am thankful that God gives me 2 suitcases.  And that he doesn’t charge me $50 for the first one and $75 for the second one like the airlines do.  Jesus took care of that for me.  

But I still “need” all those clothes when I travel!!!

 

“God, thank you for a fun and exciting life.  Thank you for my parents who instilled a love of travel and adventure in me when I was very young.  Thank you for the experiences I’ve enjoyed as I travel, and for all of those with whom I’ve traveled.  I pray that I have many great travel experiences ahead. But, most of all, thank you for giving me a “second piece of baggage,” filled with good things and incredible people, to help me deal with the challenges of the first piece of baggage.  As always, I am a blessed man.”

 

Sidney A. Neighbours

January 23, 2020

 

. . . and his royal canines.

 

     I’ve learned through the years that sending cards is a dying art.  But not at my house!! I love to send cards. The ladies at the Hallmark store near my home know me by name, and they’re always very happy to see me come in.  I love looking for cards – finding just the right card to say what is on my heart. I send birthday cards, a few anniversary cards, Valentines, Easter, and Thanksgiving cards.  And the best of all – Christmas cards!!!!  

     I am known for my picture Christmas cards.  And the origin of the legend of the NeeNee Christmas Card – I am now revealing to you!!

     As Captain Obvious would report, I love dogs.  Always have, always will. Cats are okay, but I”m a true dog person.  I can’t watch a movie where a dog is lost or gets hurt, or dies, or has any type of trauma for that matter.  But I can watch Criminal Minds where they cut up people and it doesn’t faze me a bit. I’ve been told that my whole demeanor changes when I see a dog, and will get right down on the floor or yard to pet and play with him or her.  Always, afterwards, I remember how hard it is to get up, but in these cases, it doesn’t matter.  

     In 1995, I got my precious Peaches.  She was a beautiful white cocker spaniel.  It was truly God’s will for me to have her, as another family had chosen her, taken her home, and then brought her back the next day as they decided they’d rather have a male dog.  So I got the white one that I’d wanted all along. Thank God for their decision. Peaches was my constant companion and best friend for 15 wonderful years. Losing her in 2010 was one of the hardest things with which I have ever dealt.  It took me 3 years to get to the point of adopting another dog, and as much as I love my Gunther, I will always love my Peaches and will never forget her.

     Peaches first Christmas was great fun.  We were at my parents’ house for Christmas Eve, as is the family tradition, and I had Peaches with me.  She was decked out in her Santa Claus suit, complete with a hat. She became everyone’s dog that night, very loved by all the family.  By the end of the night, she was exhausted. I had on a Christmas hat as well, and I decided to lie down on the sofa for a few minutes.  Peaches jumped up on my stomach, and went to sleep. She was so precious and beautiful lying there with me. So I motioned to Joleen to get my camera, and I pretended I was asleep as well, and she got a great picture of my baby and me.  

     Fast forward to the next Christmas.  I was card shopping, and I remembered the picture I had of Peaches and me in our hats, asleep on the sofa.  That became the Christmas card for that year. I signed everything “Sid and Peaches” anyway, so the Christmas cards with the snoozing duo were no different.  Thus began a tradition that carries on today. Each year, while my girl was living, there was a picture of the 2 of us on our card. The 3 years I was “dogless” was a boring Hallmark card, but when Gunther arrived in my life, the tradition resumed.  I was blessed to have dear friends to come and take pictures for us this year, too many good ones to decide, so there are 6 pictures on this year’s card. Designing it was so much fun. And they’re doubling as change of address cards as well, as the new address is included on a business card, along with the back of the actual card having the address.  

     Cards are going in the mail December 4, 2019 – 5 years from the date of my first heart attack.   In honor of 5 years of “borrowed time,” and the miracle of heart and drug recovery, I send cards this year to my family and dear friends, with a lot of love and gratitude for the love I receive daily, and the prayers that I know are said on my behalf.   Family and friends are the flowers of life, and at Christmas, and always, I am blessed with lots of “flowers” that bloom just for me.  

     And look out for Gunther and me, coming to a mailbox near you!!!

 

Dear God, Thank you for Christmas, and for your son, whose birth is the real reason we celebrate.  Thank you for Peaches and Gunther, and for the incredibly important role these two beautiful animals have played in my life.  Thank you for my family and friends, and for the opportunity to tell them just what they mean to me and to express my love. Oh, and thank you for Hallmark!!

Sidney A. Neighbours

December 3, 2019

…. but pondering precious memories.

     To say that the past couple of weeks have been stressful would be an understatement.  And yes, I know I have said that several times in several recent blog posts. The rubber hit the road in this one though, and when the rubber stopped rolling, I was out of my house on Riverview Avenue – sold, and closed on November 18 – and moved into the new condo on Palmer Court, closing November 22.  Thus closes one chapter of my life, and opens a new one. Buying and selling real estate has never been one of my goals in life, in fact, I’ve only moved 5 times in my entire life, including when I was growing up, so I’m not very good at it. Especially the packing. And the throwing away. So . . . yes, you guessed it – a storage unit arrived in my world last week.  I’ll do better . . . one day. And hopefully that day will arrive before my free month runs out.  

     As much as I have wanted and prayed to sell Riverview Avenue, there have been some great memories there.  I remember the first time I saw it. My friend, Jerry Butler, had seen it and almost bought it. When he decided not to buy it, he told me I should look into it.  I thought it was the most beautiful house I’d ever seen. The high ceilings, columns between rooms, gourmet kitchen, all incredible. Even the chandelier over the garden tub in the bathroom (which was a bit too froo-froo for even me).  It was too big for one person, but it was a dream house, and maybe one day there would be a husband to join me (yeah, right). So I bought it, with Mama and Daddy’s help, and began to make it a home.

     There’s no way I could list all the wonderful times the walls of 57 Riverview Avenue saw.  There were Christmas parties, including one that got a bit out of hand and a marble-top end table suffered the consequences.  “Schools-out” parties with many teachers excited that summer vacation was about to begin. The arrival of my precious Gunther in 2013, 3 years after I lost Peaches.  Great neighbors, a quiet neighborhood, and safety in my home. It didn’t take long for the house to become my home, and then my home with Gunther.  

     Life on Riverview wasn’t perfect, and there were some sad and scary times as well.  I remember lying on the floor of the front bedroom telling myself that I was not going to die on this floor from the heart attack I was suffering.  I remember 3 years later going through a similar experience after cutting grass. Determined I wasn’t going to die. I recall the days Talmadge was so ill and dying, working all day then going to help take care of him and then back home late.  Knee surgery, kidney stones, a few cases of the flu – all of the challenges life has thrown my way over the past 9½ years.  

     Then the day came that I knew it was time to move on.  The stairs seemed to be the source of this news. After heart attacks and knee surgery, along with arthritis and other aches & pains – and, of course, that getting older part – the steps were no longer my friend.  And my only bedrooms and full-bathrooms were up those steps. So I put it on the market, and nearly 2 years later – yes, 2 years – I sold it (I don’t do anything simple). God had a plan for me, and the longer it took made that plan come to fruition.  I’m now living in an incredible condo that I bought from my dear friend, John, and I am loving decorating it, and looking forward to making it a Christmas wonderland starting next week.  

     So as the chapters of my life move forward, I am both grateful and excited.  Grateful that God’s plan is coming together, even though He seemed to take a long time, things worked out that wouldn’t have earlier.  Thankful that God loves me enough to make a plan for me, and that His plan includes Jesus’ love for me, and the opportunity to share his love with others.  And, of course, I am beyond excited about a new home, and making lots of new memories.  

     And blessed.  Always blessed. 

Dear God, thank you for always providing for me.  Thank you for providing beautiful homes and for making a path for me to move into a beautiful condo.  Please help me make it a happy and loving home for Gunther and me, and may the door always be open to family and friends.  I am a blessed man, yet again.  

Sidney A. Neighbours

November 22, 2019

. . . give me something good to eat.

 

     Happy Halloween!!!  The day before the day that every school teacher in the world dreads.  Kids come in all sugared up and ready to go – but not ready to sit still and listen!!  It’s a good day to give a test. It’s the day that people can be anyone or anything they want to be and no one will give them the side eye.  It’s a holiday that requires candy shopping. And purchasing no more candy than needed for trick or treaters, said no one ever. One should always purchase the candy that is his or her favorite, just in case there are leftovers.  It’s also the day that you see every child that you know, and have to guess who they are, which is especially challenging for me, since I can’t remember names even without masks. There are adult-themed Halloween parties. I’ve been to a few of those through the years.  I especially remember one that a guy had on the shortest kilt I’d ever seen, but at least he had the legs for it – that’s a story for another time. It is a fun day for both children and adults, no matter how it is celebrated.  

     When I was growing up, the church always had a Halloween party.  I think the party was more fun for the adults than for the children.  There would always a few characters that would arrive, dressed horribly with masks and makeup, that no one would recognize.  Everyone would spend the party trying to figure out who it was. And later in the evening, there would be an unmasking. Sometimes folks were right with their guesses, sometimes they weren’t even close.  I’ve known of people that would park their cars up the road and walk the last part of the drive to church so no one would see them get out of their car. Or they might ride with their spouse and make them put them out before getting to church.  It was a night of incredible fun for all ages. And these adults all dressed up – the average age was probably 60, and if anything gave them away, it would be their eyes. Great fun & precious memories.

     Fast forward a few years, and I was a youth leader.  The church youth group – or, more like the youth leaders – were in charge of the Halloween party.  The church had a very large facility for a party by then, and there was now room for great “haunted houses.”  Sometimes the haunted house would be outside, or might involve a scavenger hunt. There would be caramel apples and candy corn, miniature chocolates and sour treats.  And there would always be a few adults who would have on costumes that would make a freight train take a dirt road. We’d spend the party trying to figure out who they were.  And, again, sometimes we were right, and sometimes we were wrong. We all had fun, however, and it is a great memory.

     Fast forward again.  The climate of the church changed, and there arrived folks that though that Halloween was Satanic, and that the church was so wrong in celebrating this holiday.  That was the end of the Halloween parties. Oh, there was still a celebration – but now it was a Fall Festival, and “Trunk of Treat” outside. No more haunted house, no more scary costumes – maybe a Bible character costume, but that’s it (I think I went dressed as the devil one of these years – that’s a Bible character for sure).  It was still fun, but not the same.  

     Although I’m no longer a part of that church (yet another story, which I promise to rewrite & post soon), I think about those old Halloween parties with a big smile.  I understand that Halloween began as a Satanic celebration, but that was never the intent of the parties. I think of some of the ones who dressed up and were unrecognizable – my Uncle Ben, Eva Johnson, my cousins Kay, Bobby, & Brenda,  Helen Hobbs, Harold West, Kathryn Jenkins, Hazel Lankford – and many others. All fine, Christian men and women who were just out to have fun with their friends and neighbors. Nothing Satanic ever crossed their minds. What hurt the most in the transition away from Halloween was how those of us enjoyed the old way were made to feel – like we were Satan worshipers.  Nothing was farther from the truth.  

     So no matter how you think of Halloween, just make it a fun day & evening.  Participate in Trunk or Treats at churches (which I think is a great idea – what a great outreach to the community).  Safely go from door to door trick or treating. Go to the mall and hit up all of the stores for candy. Torture your teachers on the day afterwards (now that I’m retired from teaching I can say that, and say it with much love and blissful glee).  The day after is candy sale day – half price chocolate is always a good thing. Just make it fun.  

     Just remember to look closely at the eyes . . . 

 

Dear God, thank you for precious memories.  Thank you for the folks from my past that had such fun dressing up and being somebody other than themselves for one night, and for being such wonderful examples of Christian love even as they had an evening of fun on Halloween.  Bless those who will enjoy this holiday, and keep them safe.  Amen.

 

Sidney A. Neighbours

Halloween

October 31, 2019