As a girl who grew up in Virginia with yes ma'am, no sir, Miss who and big Sunday dinners, I'm not a stranger to tradition. However, as I was not that far South of the Mason-Dixon line, I had never been to Cotillion or anything of the sort, so was in for a real treat when I was asked to accept an award from the West Coast's version of the Daughters of the American Revolution.
It was a four hour drive down the coast of CA so had plenty of time to switch my XM stations to listen to my favorites...from Sugarland to Black Eyed Peas, I sang my heart out. Avoiding all deep thoughts along these 250 miles was my number one priority as I was still feeling a little raw from the whole 365 days and he still hadn't figured out what a dope he was realization. So, I listened to comedy radio, sang and mentally spent the millions I'd win from the lottery I never played.
After enjoying a night of a walk on the beach, a pomegranate margarita and a secret snobbish laugh at the expense of some visitors in the lobby who thought hearing Target said with a French accent was the funniest thing they had ever heard, I was ready for my visit to the days of yore. Dressed in my daytime version of the little black dress and heels, I went downstairs to the ballroom to admittedly, get this award so I could go back home! As a veteran of more political events than I care to count, I knew the drill...go, smile, give the courtesy laugh, sit with the organizers, accept and leave with another pressing engagement you just have to attend.
I could not have been more mistaken...I entered a lobby surrounded by women in their Sunday finest who had definitely had probably never heard of Sugarland, and the only Black Eyed Peas they knew were the ones you ate on New Year's Day for luck. I introduced myself to the woman who looked like she was in charge...red suit, pearls...and figured we'd go in and wait for the program to start. No! I was to wait in the lobby to be escorted in by the "boys"...definite misnomer as these gentleman had not been boys since around the time of the Great Depression. However, I found myself starting to get caught up into the moment (while occasionally having to bite off a laugh) and lined up with the boys and their wives. We were escorted into the ballroom and paraded along the center of the room to the applause of the 150 women standing at attention with big smiles and even bigger hearts. I took in the grandeur of their displays, the love of history and days gone by and realized, while I was still not quite a convert, I understood the hesitancy to leave the old world and enter the new. While I couldn't imagine my life without Starbucks, the internet, my XM radio, a part of me could appreciate the romance of days when women did stay home with their children, making dinner for their husbands, and aspired to be Mrs. somebody.
We have definitely come a long way, baby, as the slogan liked to say, but I'm not sure the journey was completely in the right direction. As I drove back home, still listening to my music, but not quite in such a hurry to re-enter the 21st century, I allowed myself to just be. While I won't be filling out my application to join the native daughters any time soon, I also won't be so quick to snicker at their love of home, their insistence on pantyhose, and their sense of the way things used to be.
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