Skip to main content

Pomp and Circumstance

The pomp was provided by the bagpipe. The circumstance? Three small letters that represent hundreds of thousands of others written, pages and pages of prose boiled down: MFA.

But there was no "Pomp and Circumstance" at this graduation. There was "Scotland the Brave" instead. There were the dozen brave, the members of S3Q2 who took the long walk down the aisle, smiling, smiling, around the fan, up the center, a squeeze of a hand, love tangible. Chairs to the right of the ornate organ.

There was the heat of the full chapel, the walk to the microphone. "Tis the gift to be simple, tis the gift to be free. Tis the gift to come down where you ought to be. And when we find ourselves in the place just right, 'twill be in the valley of love and delight." Words of gratitude for the givers of the gift.

The speech, the readings, the hooding, the hugging. The diploma. Ginger Johnson, MFA. "O frabjous day! Calloo! Callay!" She chortled in her joy.

Comments

  1. Stop! You're making me cry all over again! It was a wonderful ceremony - truly the best graduation I've ever been to. I'm so proud of you! I also can't wait to read more of your stories...the reading was wonderful, but not nearly enough. :)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Congratulations, Ging. It was a lovely speech, and a lovely day.

    ReplyDelete
  3. I'm sad I wasn't there. I had to chose between the graduation and WTHS, and being the selfish bugger than I am, I chose the latter. But I am ridiculously proud of you. And if I don't get to read something you have written soon, I might burst.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Days 6-8: Moving

If you were to choose the elements of a perfect place to live, you might be like a deer caught in headlights. Sometimes, you have to go somewhere else to see what there is to see, and know what there is to know before you could ever say, “This. This is where I want to live.” Or maybe that’s just me. I’ve traveled many places, but I see the elements of what makes a good life here: Safe, reliable, convenient, and clean public transportation. (Hello, beach day) Small grocery stores on every couple of blocks. (Not a lot of processed foods, either) Many green spaces. (I saw a guy standing on his head during one of my walks through the park) An appreciation for the arts, making them affordable for everyone. (10 euro opera tickets) Courtesy for other people. (I’ve seen people give up their seats for older women a few times) Cafes where you can sit for hours without anyone batting an eye. (Sacher torte, anyone?) And, there’s IKEA (accessible from public transportation, of c...

Days 23-29

I’m eating Doritos right at this very minute because last week, my Austrian friend took me shopping. We went to a place called The Snack Shop that sells all kinds of American junk food. I succumbed, but I hadn’t broken into them until today, probably because there’s so much amazing regular food that who needs junk food? So, yes, I ate Doritos today, but I also listened to parts of Mozart’s The Magic Flute.  That must cancel out the Doritos, right? Better yet, I got a library card! Which has absolutely nothing to do with either Doritos or Mozart, but it makes me happy. Anyway, since the last time I wrote, I have attended a Back to School Night and met all the teachers and got all the forms and signed all the paperwork. I took the gingerbread boy to Prague last weekend solo because the Gingerbread Man was presenting at a conference in New York. I navigated Prague—there, around, and back. Are you impressed? I am. Especially because my data didn’t work while we were there. A...

Hot Chocolate with Whipped Cream

Each morning, you stand by the window watching your boys until they're on the bus or picked up. You watch them leave your circle of safety and hope for the best. You can't know what that day will bring. Nothing, maybe. Or maybe a bomb threat. Maybe a math test. Maybe a lockdown drill. Or maybe a real lockdown. But on this day, there is something different. A rally. A walk-out. A demonstration. Your oldest son asked if you'd call to have him dismissed and bring him downtown to attend the demonstration. You want your voice to be heard, and even more, you want your son's voice to be heard, so you call the school, you pick him up, you drive downtown. You don't know what to expect, but the reality makes you weepy. A crowd of teenagers, many carrying hand-drawn signs stand gathered in front of the church, chanting. Adults congregate around the edges. A band plays, keeping time for the chants. Horns honk as their drivers show support. One man in a truck wags his fi...