CHANGING  SEATS &   
   KEEPING  HEART
(please excuse spelling errors and grammar - author has a visual impairment)

In the process of honouring those earlier life events
that have best prepared me for what has become a rather colourful personal journey, I would have to
acknowledge a monumental collection of experiences and observations gathered from my childhood seat in the church.

In those former years, my siblings and I joined our grandparents each Sunday in the unofficial family pew of a small town place of worship.  From that station, I was presented with a memorable variety of worldly studies - the least of which I must confess was religion - not from lack of access or opportunity but by selective in attention.

The extraordinary variation of shapes, sizes, behaviours, practices and fashion, a church congregation presented, was indeed an ambitious picture of the human condition for a curious and imaginative young mind.  An immense variety of colour and diverse architectural embellishments all added to a child's fantasy.

One church-going mystery that remains with me to this day pertains to a seemingly innate ability an elderly blind lady possessed.  This individual sat directly ahead of me and somehow knew when I was about to pat the fox wrap around her shoulders.  My entire body would jolt with surprise as she shrugged her shoulders just as my hand was about to touch the fur shawl.  I expect my obsession to stroke the apparition was to ascertain just how dead or alive this form really was.  Surely, I thought, if this was indeed a remnant of the real thing, she at least could have shown the poor "life-like" creature some respect and left its head and feet at home.

Only a glance away from that inanimate object as a magnificent display of nature's balance .... the lush green branches of a holly tree and the graceful boughs of an apple tree privileged me to an on-going picture of each season's progress through a mosaic of stained glass --- it was my own magical kaleidoscope that was ever-changing.

Hat-pins worn to anchor lavish hats of all descriptions were another fascination - how on earth did those dear ladies manage to introduce those gigantic weapons into their hair and had without injuring themselves? - surely an accomplishment beyond my imagination !

I suspect my creative nature was what often drew my attention to how my brother, Gerald, occupied his time.  Pieces of a Meccano set that were stowaways from home kept his undivided attention.  That is until he accidentally put a piece in a collection plate.  The church elder who stood by as the plate passed through the hands of those in each pew intercepted it on hearing the sound of the unusual metal.  To his surprise it was not some foreign currency but metal of a very different kind. 

 Gerald, the oldest of the Elliott clan, was a protective and sensitive youngster and when in church would often take our younger sister, Debra, under his wing and entertain her during the morning's sermon.  On one occasion he presented Debra with his treasured cat-eye marbles.  Her face beamed as each marble was place in her little hands.  Just as he was about to bestow her his last one,  she squirmed with excitement causing her bounty to fall to the church floor --- each glass marble seemed to acquire its own momentum as it found an eccentric down-hill run over the old, stressed and warped wooden floorboards.

 Just as the intrusive sound seemed to come to an end, a marble that had come to slow stop would find more vertical drop, pick up speed and roll off noisily in a new direction.  What was probably minutes seemed like hours for the racket to settle and the minister to resume his role at the pulpit.  Without doubt, a second sermon was heard from Grandparents on the drive home.

 About the only physical activity we had to look forward to at a service was the process of kneeling on a low platform just in front of our feet.  My twin, Melodie, and I would always take that opportunity to survey the soles of those kneeling in the row ahead.  We challenged each other to find the largest feet and in doing so would find a few giggles in this exercise until one event brought us more than giggles.  A spirited church-goer, who sat in the pew in front of us, had listened to our fun during each service.  He cleverly joined our game by painting a face on each sole of his shoes, and as the congregation knelt in prayer he listened intently for our reaction as we discovered his artistic works.  Our response was a little more than he bargained for, as our surprise was met with irrepressible hardy laughs.

Melodie was a very active child and in an attempt to keep the lid on her in church our Grandmother made sure she was always sitting at her side.  Gram, as she was so affectionately named, would often keep Melodie busy by allowing her to go through all the trinkets in her purse.  On one particular Sunday, Melodie was a little more adventurous than usual and would not be occupied by the usual purse treasurers.  Gram, being the resourceful lady she was, handed Melodie the church bulletin and encouraged her to write a poem on its back blank page.  Melodie had overheard the minister refer to the term "human being" earlier in the service and received it as a curious term deserving to be honoured in her poem.  She began her composition with "If I were a human bean" and after a stanza or two folded it up in a fan and proudly presented it to Gram.  Upon graciously receiving it,  she frantically grabbed her delicate handkerchief from her sleeve to suppress her laughter.  Gram's quick and hasty movements brought her husband out of the slump of a sleepy fog to a quick upright position.  Gram was not in control enough to calmly describe the reason for her giddiness so passed grandfather the poem with a gesture asking him to read it.  After reading the opening line his laugh could not be contained by a handkerchief - his outbursts were for all to hear throughout the entire church.

 Now five decades later and in the season of Christmas, I look forward to a return to visit to the little church that was once so much a part of my childhood.  On this occasion I will not hear the dropping of toys from little hands, join the choir in song or kneel with kindred "soles" in prayer.  I will, however, find my place in my chair between its frame of wheels and from this seat find joy in the magic and spirit of children as these little cherubs, hand in hand, take their seats to join the pageantry of a Christmas service.

....Nightingale