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Avalon
Painting and Story by Lehan Winifred Ramsay
At fifteen I took a part-time job on Sundays and an unexpected bonus was no longer being able to go to Sunday School. But it didn’t end there. There was still another ritual to get through. After consultation with the Nuns I was instructed to go to the Nun’s house on Saturday afternoons until I had received the necessary instruction. The Nun’s house had a parlour, a close laced-in room that got too much sun.
I was expecting something, I have to say. Sure the Sunday School hadn’t taught me anything startling, but I was still expecting something. I think I thought that they would be giving me some part of the puzzle that I didn’t have, that piece that seems small and without importance but that makes the other pieces pull together. That would make this religion thing finally make sense. The Nun sat down and began. We can see something in you. You should become a Nun. After some weeks – how many weeks I do not remember – they let me go, released me back into the pool. You’re ready, they said.
Wait, WAIT! I was here on my precious Saturday afternoons for this? I thought they were going to teach me something I didn’t already know. That was no miracle.
Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle 
I’ve never thought about the difference between writing accent and writing mistakes. One thing that I notice about myself is an aversion to editing at all. Even back in grade school when I would write a one-page essay and be told to check my work, I’d ignore the last instruction and go ahead and turn it in. Same went for doing math problems or really anything I had to back and review, now that I think about it. I was always a perfectionist, ironically, and think there was a part of me that didn’t want to see that there could be mistakes. I’d rather just throw it out there and pray. Now that I’m working on a writing a fiction book for the first time, I’m realizing I’m going to have to practice taking an (long, hard) honest look at my writing. Eeek!
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Almost a woman of the cloth! Lucky escape Lehan. Mother Lehan would never have sounded right.
Thanks for the Cohen soundtrack Asty. Leonard survived all those years, his music and poetry timeless.
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Lehan, was there even the slightest hint about what they saw in you to suggest that you were of the calling ?
Or, as you are an artist, was it a trick of the light in that overly-sunny room ?
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Yes Therese, there was. Absolutely nothing. But on top of that, I’ve often found myself picked out on the street as one who is likely to be persuaded to buy the ten dollar watch.
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And, in fact, I sometimes do buy a ten dollar watch. Never on the street though.
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Ah, they were good though. Just one miracle, just one, and I’d have been dancing.
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I was fifteen after all. Who doesn’t want a better uniform, when you’re fifteen.
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🙂
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One of my very favourite movies, Asty. McCabe & Mrs Miller by John Huston, music by his sadness himself. The beautiful Julie Christie and the haunting looks of Shelley Duval
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Heavens, Asty. It was almost the eighties, everything was nylon, everything.
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Thanks asty for the music, love this one
Delightful painting and story, Lehan.
Agree with you, Emmjay about McCabe and Miller. And as for the movie A Royal Affair, I kept putting it off because of my dislike of anything costume-drama-ish, it was surprisingly good….
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