The Red Dress Club: An Island in Time
Was it my idea? Or did that honour belong to one of my sibs?
Or…was it my brilliant idea that I blamed on one of my sibs?
It really seemed like a good idea at the time…
The sun was shining. We were home from school in observance of the first day of Pesach. Which made a lot of sense in those days. Seder night was always a late night. Once we had our fill of matzah (and soup and chicken and brisket and…and…and…), all four cups of wine had been consumed, Elijah had (not) come and (not) gone, and the seder liturgy was complete, we sang. We sang and we sang and we sang.
I think that was MamaBear’s favourite part, listening to her children and grandchildren sing. Ally Ally Oxen Free, Go Tell It on the Mountain (Peter, Paul ,and Mary version!), Go Down Moses, There is a Man Come into Egypt.
[Really it was a Jewish seder and neither a Baptist revival nor a sit-in.]
Then — The Big Clean-Up. Tables moved out, folding chairs folded and put back on the wall in the garage, couches moved back in. China hand-washed and carefully dried. And the many leftovers put into the fridge.
Some hours later, we’d pile into the car (the Merc and, later, the gas-guzzling, diesel only please, Caprice Classic) and, having changed into pajamas long ago, fall into bed as soon as we made the long journey home.
[OK — so it wasn’t a long journey. More like a twenty minute, straight shot down the 405. But with imaginations fueled by Laura Ingalls Wilder, we pretended to be tucked into the back of the wagon, snuggled deep into fur throws.]
And sleep. Lazy, uninterrupted sleep. Matzah Meal Latkes for brunch. And a relaxing day before us.
Let’s pretend that we’ve been stranded on a tropical island
And every tropical island has a waterfall.
So we snaked the garden hose through the branches of one of the trees in the backyard. And turned the spigot. Instant waterfall.
Some time later, our parents discovered what we had been doing all afternoon. They failed to be impressed with our creativity.
If you don’t get cleaned up immediately, you will not be allowed to attend tonight’s seder.
I wonder. Was it the flooded backyard that elicited that response? Or the sight of three remorseless, mud-covered children?
Remembe(RED) is a memoir meme. This week’s prompt was a photo of a hose, meant to take the writer back in time. In 700 or fewer words, the writer must show where memory takes her (or him). As I learned, the wonderful thing about a photo prompt is there really is no telling where an image might lead. Or, perhaps I just have matzah on the brain…
As always, constructive criticism is welcomed.