January 27, 2020 @ 10 AM
Starbucks at Canal and St. Charles Boulevards
French Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana
Nice windows allow one to watch the street traffic, all the interesting people in town for conferences. A conference called the Realscreen Summit nearby at the Sheraton explores the niche of unscripted content. I believe that includes the Bachelor and Survivor, two shows that work as reality television. A few conferences allow people like myself to wander in and at least visit the trade show. I am finding that New Orleans feels hard about access. Washington DC, all the think tanks and institutes welcomed me if I filled out the Eventbrite invitation and showed up on the list. Twenty-two years, the conference has gathered like a Survivor tribe, and I’ve never heard of it.
This morning, the door of Old Saint Patrick’s Cathedral opened at 7:00 AM. The mass held in Latin began at 7:15 AM. Men came inside wearing jackets and ties. Women arrived, including two daughters with a man whose gray beard looked trim if long. All covered their heads with cloths I haven’t seen in a lifetime. I stared up into the Tiffany dome, which could use some sunlight because I couldn’t see the faces of the twelve apostles. I thought of my mother, Joan Elizabeth, who was proud to be named for Saint Joan of France, the virgin warrior burned at the stake. My mother, my grandmother and my aunts all covered their hair in church. In time, my mother let this covering go.
I remember the Latin Mass and the transformation of the mass into English. It wasn’t the only change in the ways of the church after hundreds of years of tradition. The Catholic Church engaged upon a series of liberalizations intended to make the church more accessible. This had to be confusing for my mother, all the change and freedom she was offered, the first generation of women to be offered choice.
Folkways and mores can be chains, but when they fall, other wise guides to action must exist. In one sign of my mother’s overwhelm, I heard her talking with Rona about birth control. Her parish priest forbade it. “I heard that the same priest told my neighbor that it was okay to use it”, said mother, not knowing that I was listening in the next room. I have to wonder if the arrival of Anne-Marie and Edward William Junior became possible because my mother chose to follow the word of her priest.
I know my mother suffered anxiety and pain, feeling different and she looked for role models. Rona, her friend, went deep into the Jehovah's Witnesses, but she also divorced Luke, her husband who didn’t follow her into the faith. Linda lived the life of a country wife and all the neighborhood mothers gathered for cards and healing conversation at her house. Mom and dad watched a lot of the Rowan and Martin Laugh-In, which was a teach-in too. One day, she began singing the anthem, “Let it all hang out”.
I have known five generations of women and I expect the sixth generation of women to appear on the scene in the next decade. I believe the confusion of my mother’s generation, the media broadcasting mixed messages, became more certainty in your mother’s generation. I am only hoping what I see in your generation is true. The certainty of your mother’s generation became clarity for the women of your generation. I feel gratitude that yours and you live confidently in the possibilities you have created for yourself.
Let It All Hang Out - The Hombres 1967
"A preachment, dear friends, you are about to receive
On John Barleycorn, nicotine, and the temptations of Eve"
(Bronx cheer)
No parkin' by the sewer sign
Hot dog, my razor's broke
Water drippin' up the spout
But I don't care, let it all hang out
Hangin' from a pine tree by my knees
Sun is shinin' through the shade
Nobody knows what it's all about,
It's too much, man, let it all hang out
Saw a man walkin' upside down
My T.V.'s on the blink
Made Galileo look like a Boy Scout
Sorry 'bout that, let it all hang out
Sleep all day, drive all night
Brain my numb, can't stop now
For sure ain't no doubt
Keep an open mind, let it all hang out
It's rainin' inside a big brown moon
How does that mess you baby up, leg
Eatin' a Reuben sandwich with sauerkraut
Don't stop now, baby, let it all hang out
Let it all hang out
Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Jeff Paris / Moon Calhoun
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