On a near perfect day this past October, I spent a near perfect afternoon with 26 girls from the MCA class of 1972. It was delightful and unpretentious.

Much has changed, in our lives and in the world, since we shared those pews in St. Peter’s Church in May 1972 as we listened to Martha Hoover and Genie Segura give the baccalaureate speeches.

The year 1972 seems like a time encapsulated and protected, when going to Duck’s after the game and decorating the Mount Carmel gym with a giant cardboard sun for the “Age of Aquarius” was the only thing that really mattered. 

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Our world was small, where things never changed and we believed they never would. Our parents would always be there, Mrs. Belanger would coach the MCA Cubs forever, we would never see Mrs. Davis without her ballet shoes, Mrs. Burton would be at the piano and Sr. Rose and Mrs. Manes would always be in the office, Dr. Eugene Dauterive would come each year to teach the marriage course to the seniors, Suzy Shea would always  be Miss Merry Christmas, Pluto was a planet and the old wooden gym would continue to lean a bit while holding safely the memories and history of the Mount Carmel Cubs.

Of course, everything has changed.

People have gone away and places have closed. All the while, a new group of young people was decorating their stage with a giant cardboard sun getting ready for the “Dawning of the Age of Aquarius” when “peace will guide the planet and love will steer the stars,” hopefully.

 The most charming thing happened in Church Alley to Elizabeth and me during the art walk. As we approached the alley, we could hear Cajun music, seemingly real stuff, like a washboard and an accordion. I knew Gwen Voorhies and her students were showing down the alley, so we ventured in and, once there, made the most delightful discovery, Bobby Michot and his Cajun Band. They were positioned in the alley where the street light shown on their faces and their instruments and the dark sky was the backdrop that created something mystical and of another time. Their presentation was so authentic and it was evident that their music came from their hearts. They were, to me, the embodiment of our culture, a genuine and precise representation of Cajun musicians. I don’t know them, except for this chance meeting in the alley, but I felt so inspired and impressed with the way they chose to listen to their hearts and play music from their souls.

The Full Beaver Moon was out on the 13th and this remarkable fall weather makes me want to sit outside and watch my garden grow during the day and in the evening, make a small fire with sticks and branches fallen from the summer storms.

Soon, I will stock my kitchen with cinnamon and nutmeg for pies and a bottle of sage for my grandmother’s cornbread dressing. I have 175 strawberry plants in the ground, 12 cabbages, just as many broccolis and a healthy scattering of lettuce, turnip and carrot seeds in my modest little vegetable patch.

Each morning the bird bath my mom and dad gave me one long ago Christmas, fills up with yellow leaves that have fallen from the tulip magnolia. Most mornings I scoop them out, but the little warblers and house wrens don’t much care either way.

I love this time of year; the coziness, the warmth, and the smells. Have a thankful Thanksgiving.

 

PAM SHENSKY is the mother of five and a teacher at New Iberia Senior High.