Milestone, Saskatchewan. June, 1959. The United Church was not as grand as these Victoria churches. Our small church had white wooden siding, black shingles with large but humble stained glass windows. Piano recitals signal summer and freedom from practice or lessons.
Memories, like clouds that drift across our prairie skies, come in all shapes and sizes, all sorts of weather, and without prediction. Like clouds, if I were to reach up to grab one, the shape would be destroyed. If I fly through too quickly, I will leave only a hole that closes behind me. I’ve missed it’s inner beauty. The award I accepted is a memory I treat with tenderness.
Glamour was limited to Sunday best clothes and coiffure. Coiffure. I can still feel my brand new pageboy as it swung easily each time I moved my head. I had had it done at the local beauty salon on Main Street. And I had a new dress! Apple green muslin with a boat neck collar embroidered in dark green, a fitted bodice and a full skirt. As I write this I don’t recall when or if I knew that I was receiving an award. Mom and Dad must have known. A trip to the hair dresser’s and a new dress at the end of a school year was quite unusual.
The piano recital was held in Milestone United Church. The piece of music I had chosen to play, still a favourite of mine, was Fuér Elise by Ludwig von Beethoven. I’m certain my music teacher, Mrs. Thompson, helped with that decision. I remember practising each bar separately, until dad quietly said I should just play the whole piece. Only the tension in his voice was loud. To this day, I still remember the first few bars of Fuér Elise.
The church had been converted from a place of worship, to a place of recital. On the dais, the pulpit was moved aside and replaced by the choir leader’s piano. Each of us climbed the four steps to the dais as we were called. Each of us played our selection. My fingers stumbled on the keys once or twice. I was so glad to get back to my seat between mom and dad. Then it came time for the awards. My name was called! I politely, without running, walked down the aisle and climbed the steps once more. The Most Improved Student! This is one part of the memory that is too cloudy. I only know that it happened and that I was given a tiny gold grand piano that seems to have vanished as the decades have passed.
That was not the only award I received that day. Caught in the flow of family and friends leaving the church, by my parent’s side, my dad hugged me tight and told me he was proud of me. Accepting this unexpected award is a golden lining of this puffy white cloud of memory. Achieving a goal, being recognized by teachers, friends and family for a job well done is so very satisfying. But the gentle power of dad’s hug and his heartfelt words resonate and sustain with even greater satisfaction.
“Memories, even your most precious ones, fade surprisingly
quickly. But I don’t go along with that. The memories
I value most, I don’t ever see them fading.”
~Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let me Go
