"Hope is the thing with feathers,that perches in the soul,And sings the tune without the words,and never stops at all..." -Emily Dickinson
Advent will never be the same, after the year that everything went wrong one Sunday in advent. Many moons ago. Of course. First Sunday in Advent. Carol Concert of immense proportions.
To start with, at the dress rehearsal, the wicker archway over the dais, fell over as we processed up in practise. Smashed to smithereens.We had to clean it up.
Our ancient Choir mistress. Miss Port. All of us 15 and under. Giggle Giggle. We had been told we would have to wear Long red robes with big green bows. Stiff wide ribbons, that itched.Hair straight, in ponytails. The boys had to wear red skirts, white choir tops with starched white collars. Buried in frills.
Kings College we were not. Of course we got the giggles.Before and after. And During. Mostly during. It was a dark and stormy night. That night. West coast Christmas weather. My mother got lost. That old car. Driver's door tied to lock it. It didn't lock. Hole in the floor board.
Rain sloshed by. Underneath. I could watch it slick by. Car was old.Falling apart. That green bow flopped about my head. It was first Advent. Supposed to be about Hope. It was more about keeping that green bow from devouring me.Hoping I could keep from sliding through the hole in the floorboard.
We made it to the church. My feet were wet. The green bow survived. We were gathered back in the church Sunday school room. Our conductor, Miss Port, gave us what was supposed to be a stirring pep talk. A little old Anglican church. Doors that rattled in the wind.I could hear the string quartet in the front. Tuning. Then Scraping out a carol.Prelude.
Those choir boys. They took to jumping off chairs. Tryed to fly in their robes. The older girls preened. The younger ones copied. We looked like dolls. The boys hauled at their starched collars. Hot.The church boiler working overtime. We were so hot.Miss Port finally left for the front.
That's when the girls decided to go barefoot . It was all carpet in the church. In our long hot gowns, no one would notice.Shoes and socks were tossed haphazardly on the floor. Mine were soaking wet from the rain coming thru the hole in the floor board.....
We were swiftly marched to the back of the aisle. Get in order. Hurry. Boys in front. Hurry now.String Quartet at the front finished slogging out a tired rendition of "Go Tell lit on the Mtn". First Violin Guy smoothed down his hair. He and his three string players all wore blue frilled tuxeodos. He had taped the program to the back of his violin. He referred to it often. Not having good eyesight. He bowed to Miss Port as she took her place. Miss Port, her voice sounding like Snow White, thanked everyone.
My Mother lit the first Advent Candle. Of Hope.Yes, we all needed a lot of that. Someone snorted. The boys flapped. Girls pulled at their bows. We processed. We were on. "Once in Royal David's City". Someone snorted again.
Boys tripped each other down the aisle. Miss Port made us start again.Our toes wriggled on the red carpet. Doors banged behind us. We reached the front. Wiggle wriggle went our toes. "Past Three O'Clock" . We sang. ""Fum, Fum, Fum, On December 5 and 20," . We bumped into each other at the end. Giggle Giggle.
Miss Port glared.Someone snorted.
First Violin Guy stood up. Miss Port, red as a beet, swung out her baton. Knocked over the music stand, which banged into First Violin Guy, who reeled, his hair piece fell off, landing on his stand partner, who jumped up, spilling their music, and what followed was a domino effect.
String players toppled. Pianist jumped up. Piano bench fell. Choir collapsed in silly heaps of bows. Miss Port fanned herself. Parents rushed forwards to help. And me......
Sitting on the dais. Thinking about how when this was all over I would have wet socks and shoes to wear. All cause of that hole in the floorboard....I watched a couple of choir boys snuffing out the Advent candle. Then my mother loomed other them........
First Violin Guy found his hair piece. We giggled. He stuffed it in his jacket pocket.Miss Port found her composure. And her baton. Rap rap rap. Everyone found their seats. My mother went to light the advent candle again. It was gone. Someone snorted.
We kept going. . From where we left off. "The Rocking Carol". . Minus our socks and shoes. Miss Port had told us to go find them. They were gone. Missing. The boiler had quit.Cold toes all round. First Violin Guy kept looking at the program on back of his violin.
Turns out, during the commotion, some of the choir boys sneaked back and tossed them into lockers. Then locked the door to the room. So we had no choice..Our last carol: "See Amid the Winter's Snow" was quite perfect. Right about then, it started to snow outside.In the aftermath, First Violin Guy was the one who found the key to the locked room.
Watching snow skiff along the road thru the hole in the floorboard....... we drove home in the old car. In my wet socks and shoes.And the lone Advent Candle in my hand. The one my mother had taken from those choir boys, so they wouldn't play with it. No wonder no one could find it .....
“For outlandish creatures like us, on our way to a heart, a brain, and courage, Bethlehem is not the end of our journey but only the beginning - not home but the place through which we must pass if ever we are to reach home at last.”
― Frederick Buechner, The Magnificent Defeat
* All true stories but compounded together to be one story.
PHOTOGRAPHS 2018
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