moss the mom 4U

Someone wishes me to write on.  As I thought on, three things became prominent  1) The larger part of my life story took place after your Dad and I were married. What kind of elephant is that to ignore.  2)  In addition, I realized I did not mention my school years.  Thank you someone, for teasing my memory.  3) When I dip back into the school years, it is stunning what  and how my friend memory chose to archive.

Memory has chosen to exclude most things about school though I know upon reflection there were many trials and delights, but memory highlighted only music and perhaps a Journalism course in high-school. My parents did not pay much attention to my interest in Journalism or my rather good vocabulary.  They had lived through our Country’s depression, the death of an adult child, my Dad’s ongoing heart condition and the raising of seven other children through some of the toughest times our Country has endured.  They just wanted me to be ‘good’ and I was, much to my detriment.  That does not mean it is good to be bad.  It means suppression denies the ‘self’ creation process.

Music at  Catholic High for Girls was rich and I’ll tell you why.  There was a Franciscan Nun on staff at school who entered into her vocation later in life than usual.  She had been around the world more then once in a secular life.  Under that Habit (her nun’s power uniform) one could see an easy, yet serious gate as she sailed by.  Here is what’ friend memory’ is dishing up.  The aforementioned Nun  arranged for a bus to take our grade level to see, Dr. Zhivago, which was on the prohibited list for Catholics.  Her powers of persuasion with superiors must have been eloquent in advocating for our deriving the benefits from a great piece of literature made into film.  Her courage at this time also taught us about freedom of conscience. The war was still going on and this same Nun was our Choir Director.  We were invited to join, The Arch Diocesan Choir, for a huge  musical event. Here is the thing– among other musical pieces, we were rehearsing, Siboney , a powerful song musically–  with fire and excitement and of course originating in Cuba.  Castro had made a political move that was, let us say ,unfavorable to the United States.  I have no idea whose decision it was but at the last minute we were forbidden to sing our beautifully rehearsed, Siboney.

This same Nun chose me along with three other girls to dance the Nutcracker Suite on stage for our Christmas presentation.   It was exciting and beautiful and my mother once again was pleased. This same Nun ,who could be strict, was explaining many things about her travels to enrich us.  Well she enriched me because in front of the whole class,  she said that the Mediterranean was the color of  Martha Wood’s eyes.  It did tons for my fragile early teen ego.

That ‘suburbs thing’ took me away from the Girls School to a suburban high-school that was very much closer to our home and there was no tuition.  All I can remember from that experience is: le pere, la mere, le papier and le livre along with some other oft heard French words.  Memory rules.


to be con’t


~ by mosswood on July 12, 2012.

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