The Florida doves must have been on vacation....

by Pat Laster

         …and knowing how much I appreciate their native habitat—at least the Florida panhandle—thought they would give me a thrill by stopping by (“Stopping by Couchwood on a sunny June day”—apologies to Robert Frost).
         And they certainly did that. I wonder where they’ve gone. Should I walk through the neighborhood? Up and down Samples Road? I think not; other things require attending to, you know.
        One of those other things was preparing to attend a Catholic funeral in Searcy. Stereotype (tradition?) had it that women eschewed the pant suit in favor of a dress or skirt-and-top. And a head covering—a handkerchief or scarf, if I remember. (Turns out, neither of these traditions was in vogue.)
        Before I headed north, I had to find something to wear. I thought I had two skirts, but I must have put the long brown one in the winter-clothes closet (portable: I put it together myself!) upstairs.
          The other was a black gored one with a flare at the hem. I bought it at a Macy’s in Virginia several years ago while shopping for a sister’s performance dress. It didn’t fit my not-walking-for-exercise body then and it certainly doesn’t now.
          But in the meantime, against emergencies, I had purchased some undergarments meant to slim and hold. Or hold and slim. Now was the time to test them. I got into one that I didn’t think I was going to get out of, short of cutting the expensive garment. But I gathered my upper arm strength and managed to extricate myself.
          With all the girdling pieces underneath, the skirt and a shiny gray overblouse suited the occasion. I bought some dark knee-high hose––I threw a boxful away when I packed the winter clothes––and added a scarf that I could pull over my hair. I was comfortable. Well, probably not comfortable, but satisfied that I looked okay. One stranger, a hostess at lunch, complimented my outfit.
         An actress friend said that dressed for a recent play she was so trussed up that if anything snapped, she’d probably go flying through the air. I now know the feeling. 
         I made it through that occasion without mishap, so I donned the same outfit for church the next day when the handbell choir performed the offertory. Yes, you heard me: this was a performance, not a presentation.
        Other musical groups involved were the church choir--with imported voices from Hendrix and Grace Prez in Little Rock, a brass quintet imported from UCA, a piano player—the director’s piano teacher, and the new organ. The occasion: the recent-Hendrix-graduate music director’s last Sunday at this church. Talk about pomp and circumstance. It elicited a standing ovation.
          Speaking of graduates—egads! This musician is Kid Billy’s age!?!—most of KB’s classmates graduated from college recently. Not KB. He’s in summer school as I write, taking biology. Because he changed his major three times, he’ll be a six-year student. And it he doesn’t get a job, and should Social Security and Teacher Retirement go kablooey, he’ll be in big trouble. 
        By the way, I heard the Florida doves in Beebe that weekend. Hmm and harrumph! #