Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

I wandered over to check out the lunch time entertainment of the Polite Jazz Quartet at St. John’s Episcopal Cathedral. It was close, and the price was right—free. I’ve never been in a cathedral before and was awestruck. The old stone structure with elaborate stain-glassed windows and stone carvings covered an entire city block.
I circled the perimeter—intimidated by the ten foo tall wooden doors with bolts and cross-bars that make then look like medieval drawbridges. One door had a stain of liquid that had run down it and dried.
“Who would vandalize a beautiful cathedral?” I wondered.
“Someone who is cursing their god.” I decided.
The interior of the cathedral was as beautiful as the outside, with old brick and wood carvings adorning the walls. Coffee, water and sugary treats were laid out for our consumption. I passed on the treats but made myself a cup of coffee and sat down to enjoy the show. It was awesome. I was, by far, the youngest attendee.
I scanned the small crowd and finally spotted the back of a head with hair that wasn’t silvery white. The gentleman was wearing a black jacket, and his light brown hair brushed the top of his collar. Aha, perhaps a gentleman my own age. I watched him and caught a glimpse of his profile—he was definitely closer to my age. I kept an eye on him throughout the concert. Then he turned to scan the room and I got a good look at him. He was indeed my age. And he was indeed handsome. And, he was indeed, wearing the black and white collar of the clergy….
I turned my attention back to the musicians, and quite possibly fell in love with the bass player, Dennis Ecton.
His gray slacks flowed loosely around his skinny legs as he kept time to the music. His belt was hitched high up on his waist, and a crisply pressed button down shirt, circled by a silk tie hanging from his neck, draped his slightly slumped shoulders. His thick glasses slid down to the end of his bulbous nose, which sat in the center of a round face, topped by a balding, shiny head. He couldn’t be a day under 70, but he was wrapped around a beautiful bass, and passion flew from his fingertips. The deep tones of music that came from the base as he stroked the strings with confident fingers was enchanting.
I was mesmerized. His face, his heart, his very soul was visible in every stroke. With every beat his hips swayed and he hugged that base like it was the love of his life, and they were waltzing through this world together…

April 13, 2011 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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