I went to the library today and saw the books, the display books, about women. In honour, the sign said, of International Women's Day, which is coming on Friday, March 8. I was reminded of the pictures of dancing and celebration that Kaitlyn shared with us from South Sudan. Pictures of women celebrating International Women's Day. I have never been to a celebration like those depicted. This weekend Collingwood will have a celebration of International women's day, according to some reports the first celebrated by the town, the first with a flag raising. I will not be able to be here, I will be picking up a grandchild for grandma week, or spring break as it is called by some.
All this got me thinking about the women in my life, my daughters whom I celebrate with pride and delight, and the granddaughters, words do not give justice to the many ways in which I celebrate them.
I think of the the women standing for justice in our government in these days, and the women who have stood in protest, speaking for change through out the years.
The women in my life who sought change and made change by acts of courage and kindness. The women who worked in the fields and the gardens and the kitchens and the nurseries and the factories. Those women who were my mother, and my grandmother and my aunts. Those women who longed to go to school beyond grade eight but instead went to the factory or worked on the farm.
Today I am thinking of my aunt Florence. I spent many hours in her home with my cousins, my friends. I spent many hours watching her work. She married at 18, bore 7 children (that I know of) one who was buried before she was able to hold him in her arms and share her love with him.
I think of my aunt Florence whose doughnuts are still a relief sale staple even if she is no longer making them. Her quilts likewise have raised much money for world wide relief. Her beautiful quilt The Underground Railway, which she made in her eighties, was the highest seller at the Mennonite Central Committee sale in 2012.
My aunt Florence would have liked to go to school, but she could not so she took herself to school, reading and learning and sharing her knowledge, on a recent visit with her not only did she want to hear of my latest travels, but she also shared with me some of the knowledge she had recently acquired about the underground railway in Canada. It was not just a quilting project for her.
Aunt Florence was my Vacation Bible School teacher when I did not yet have short grey hair. She was my Bible School teacher in the old horse sheds at East Zorra Mennonite church. The church both of our families attended. She expected attention from her students, and she expected her students to learn, and I think I did learn maybe all the books of the old testament and stories from each too... BUT what I remember most are the peonies, the beautiful scented peonies that she brought in that curtained room in the shed, the peonies and the snacks she always brought both.
I am grateful today for my aunt Florence for the times she pointed out on the world map in their house where they were going and where the missionaries were. For helping me find that same place on the globe, for being willing to take me along to expo 67 ( as if they did not have enough kids of their own) for the many hours in which I was welcomed and fed in her home.
Today, as I reflect on International women's day, I give thanks for her and the so many other aunts, mothers of others and grandmothers and my own mother who did ordinary things to make an extraordinary difference in the world, especially in my world.
gkn March 2019
