Welcoming guests to our bed and breakfast in 1998.
Seventeen years ago, Mim and I created a new business called Korth-Jacobson, LLC. Within that business structure we have done lots of different things – from being a bed and breakfast to selling real estate; from doing strategic planning and project management for small businesses to providing music in churches and a pub and other venues; from hosting spiritual retreats to caring for the elderly in our home. All of these businesses have been based out of our home. For the past 12 years, one of our businesses has been Country Comforts Assisted Living. We currently care for two 94-year-olds in our home, and we also coordinate the care of a third almost 94-year-old who lives with a neighbor.
By the very nature of this caregiving business, we are working 24/7. Whenever we are at home, we are responsible for being sure the needs of our residents are met. Whenever we are not at home, we need to be sure another caregiver is present to meet these needs. We have finally realized that to meet our own need for a break, we must take some time off, and that means we need to be away from our work environment – away from home. Lately we’ve established the schedule of taking Tuesdays and Thursdays off from about 1:00 or 1:30 pm till about 8:00 pm. Our most usual destinations on these days are Woodmans, Costco, and occasionally Trader Joe’s for groceries; Menards for hardware items; Farm & Fleet for dog treats and toys and for clothes when they go on sale (really!); and resale shops for books, clothes, gifts, and other bargains we “need.” Occasionally we’ll go to a movie if we don’t have any shopping that needs to be done.
A couple weeks ago we redeemed a gift certificate from a good friend and went to see the matinee performance at the Fireside Theater of “All Shook Up.” We had a wonderful time listening to all those Elvis songs from the 50s and 60s, and laughing about the inter-racial mix-ups and mistaken sexual identity antics. Hearing those Elvis songs from our grade school and high school years brought back one of my childhood memories.
Lowery electronic organ, state of the art using vacuum tube technology in 1957.
My sister Nancy (11 years older than me) started giving me piano lessons before I started school. I’ve enjoyed playing the piano ever since. When I was nine, my mom bought a Lowery electronic organ. She had grown up playing a reed pump organ, and she missed playing an organ. A piano wasn’t as much fun for her, although she played it some. When the new electronic organ was delivered to our house I was as excited as I could be. I got to take the ten free lessons that came with the organ from Ward Brodt in Madison, and then I continued taking lessons from our church organist – both piano and organ. But from my first organ teacher at Ward Brodt I learned that any kind of music can be played on an organ – not just hymns. I had to walk through the print music department at the store to get to the lesson rooms, and I always browsed the music on my way out of the store. Most of my allowance was spent on music books with titles like “The Best Hits of 1962 for Easy Organ.” I acquired quite a collection and learned to play songs as varied as “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” to “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini.”
One Thursday morning when I was about 10 or 11, (I know it was Thursday because that was my mom’s day off) Eleanor Jarlsberg, one of my mom’s friends from church, came over for morning coffee. Mom and Eleanor were sitting at the dining room table drinking their coffee, and I was in the living room playing the organ just for fun, not practicing. I was going through my latest “Greatest Hits…” book. I was playing mostly the slower and quieter songs so that I wouldn’t disturb their conversation in the next room. When I finished playing the Elvis’ hit “Love Me Tender,” Eleanor asked me what hymn that was – she really liked it. When I told her it was an Elvis Presley song – not a hymn, she laughed and laughed, and I felt kind of embarrassed.
That’s when I began to put two and two together to understand that my destiny was to be a gospel pianist/organist, regardless of the type of music I tried to play. I’m not the gospel pianist that my Aunt Edith was who added all kinds of embellishments all over the keyboard. I’m not very good at that. I’m the kind of gospel music player that can play very expressively by varying volume and where on the keyboard I’m playing – high or low – and by sometimes holding a note a little too long to build the tension. I do simple stuff to draw the listener into the emotional message of the song.
Over the years as I learned more classical music on the piano and more traditional hymns and hymn arrangements on the organ, I tried to become more classical in my style of playing. But that was never as much fun for me. But then I noticed that Debussy’s “Clair de Lune” can easily morph into “Jesus Loves Me.” And that “Seek Ye First the Kingdom of God” can weave itself into Pachelbel’s “Canon in D.”
One morning last week I had a musical breakthrough. A few years ago, a friend of mine was planning her funeral, and she asked me if I would be willing to play for it. Of course, I said sure. Then she said she wanted the funeral to be a joyous time of celebration. One of the songs she wanted me to play was “The Beer Barrel Polka.” I happen to know the song because that’s one of the songs my first organ teacher at Ward Brodt taught me. But, I’ve felt uncomfortable with that song for a funeral ever since she made the request. My friend died last week. As I was mulling over whether nor not I should play the song, it suddenly dawned on me – if I can morph “Clair de Lune” into “Jesus Loves Me” I certainly can morph “The Beer Barrel Polka” into “Jesus Loves Me.” So I did.
Yup. That’s my destiny. Regardless of what type of music I try to play, gospel is what’s going to come out. God made me that way, and I’ve finally come to whole-heartedly accept it.
Thanks, Nancy, for helping me learn that lesson.
Nancy Koplin, a good friend who helped me find “Jesus Loves Me” in “The Beer Barrel Polka.”
One of the first shows I went to see when I lived in Chicago was, “Don’t Bother Me, I Can’t Cope.” It was a musical review with songs about major themes of the 1970s – student protests, ghetto life, black power, and feminism. The musical style was a blend of gospel, jazz, soul, calypso, and soft rock. The show won several Tony Awards in 1973. That’s about when I saw it – almost forty years ago. What I remember most about the show is the rhythm of the title phrase, “Don’t Bother Me, I Can’t Cope.”
Growing up on the farm in southern Wisconsin, I quickly learned to become a problem-solver. When the hay baler broke, my dad fixed it. When a gadget in the kitchen broke, I figured out how to fix it. A career in business management may seem like an unlikely fit for a farm girl, but it really was a natural. My approach to any organizational problem was to figure out how to fix it. That approach carries over to my personal life, too. Whatever challenges face me, my immediate instinct is to figure out how to overcome the challenge, “to fix it.” I’ve learned to be quite patient with this approach. If my first solution doesn’t work, I look for another one. Killing someone rarely comes up as the solution.
In our case, the local building inspector, who had to approve our plans in order for us to get a building permit, fought us tooth and nail, along with most of the state regulators in Madison. They were all committed to following the letter of the law rather than the intent of the law. We eventually worked out a compromise that permitted us to build the addition, but we had to conform to commercial building codes rather than residential codes, significantly increasing the cost of our addition. The negotiations took several weeks. We enlisted the support of the Wisconsin Bed & Breakfast Association, which gave us a louder voice. We continued the battle further after completing our addition. We worked with a state legislator in northern Wisconsin to get the law changed again so that no other B&B owners would have the same hassles we had. Additions on B&Bs are now legal – if the house is at least fifty years old. To get the votes needed to pass the new law, another one of those crazy compromise provisions had to be inserted. This one will probably have to be fought by someone else at some other time – a necessary evil of our contentious legislative process.
The whole process of working with state regulators was the most irrational and frustrating experience I have ever had in my life. I couldn’t believe how unreasonable the regulators were and how powerless I felt. I can remember saying to Mim in the middle of the negotiations, I now can understand for the first time in my life why someone would actually resort to killing a person. I was that mad. Fortunately, I didn’t have a gun. And, fortunately, I have been blessed with a lot of patience and self-control.
