1960. A small, white clapboard church, with a loft where we in the choir sang the Magnificat and the Allelluia Chorus, dressed in our finest. I had a flouffy skirt, kitten heels, a wide-brimmed beige hat with streamers, white gloves.
It was a sweet and gentle time in small-town Kelowna, surrounded by apple orchards and the lake - lake-scent on springtime mornings, the thought of summer, swimming, freedom from school ahead.
We girls checked out each others' clothes, saw who had small heels, new attire. The gloves were mandatory then, yet for decades now I have refused to wear gloves even in winter. Or hats. Or dresses, for that matter. Don't fence me in.
The night before, we slept with our hair rolled onto bristly rollers, very uncomfortable, but my mother always said, "You have to suffer to be beautiful." I was driving with great-grandson Damian once when he was little, and I said that to him, then added, "But I have suffered a lot, and I'm not beautiful," and he replied, stoutly, "No. You're not." Cracked me up.
I remember Easter morning. Our voices soared to the heavens from the gallery above the congregation. Life was lived between the lines back then. There were morals, and good behaviour from fellow humans beings was expected and taken for granted. When the first hippies arrived in Kelowna, the alarmed city fathers drove them out, and told them never to return. LOL. Guidelines were strict for young people, and there was much talk of sin, that kept us terrified and compliant. Ultimately, many of us rebelled.
Who could ever have imagined then how darkness would triumph? I have to believe it will be stopped, because more of us believe in kindness and human rights than don't. We live in hope. But this Easter morning and that one so long ago could not be more different.
Dear Sherry, our young woman church experiences mirror each other, oh those kitten heels!!! My father's best friend owned the small town only shoe store therefore my sisters and I were the envy of our peers! I have a sneaky feeling our shoes were 'free' .. our Mother's as well. Thank you Norman Bendel. We also sang in the choir and by the time I turned 17, I directed the Junior Choir. My best friend Julie on the piano. [ Where have all the good guys gone? ]
ReplyDeleteYes I remember those days but reflecting on those times how lucky were our parents...it was a doddle for them back then compared to being a parent today. Been busy but after April will return to normal. Having written poetry for so many years now..I don't find it difficult ,it's sort of second nature but the technical part of blogging will always be a challenge. Happy Easter !
ReplyDeleteWell you *are* beautiful, in a grandmotherly way. If I were a teenager I'd be proud to say "Yeah, the one with the stick, that's my Grandma!"
ReplyDeleteWe are not all meant to look like 19-year-old models.