Sandy Supposes....

July Gems

         June 25th, 2020.

         July Gems

         What’s not to like about July? For most of us Canadians, the snow is finally a memory and we can indulge in warmer weather fun. Oh, what a glorious freedom to shuck parkas and mukluks in favour of swimsuits and flip flops. July permits us to enjoy the sunshine and bare our skin. Sure, we all celebrate Canada Day on the first. Who doesn’t tear up when they see the ol’ red maple leaf billowing in the breeze? A few of us may hum a few bars of our national anthem proving it’s unforgettable. Many of us anticipate fireworks and barbecues, but not necessarily at the same time in the same location.

         July stirs memories of my wedding. July 22nd burned bright with a steamy, sultry stickiness, and no, I’m not writing of my honeymoon. The actual day of this most auspicious ceremony featured all that a typical summer soiree could deliver. The sun blared and glazed, or perhaps I blazed and glared. There were not enough words to convey how overheated we all felt. We dripped. We gasped. We wilted. Nary a breeze caressed us.

         We chose a humid day to invite friends and family to bedeck themselves in formal wear. Hairstyles drooped. Makeup melted. Perspiration stains grew.

         The poor parks appeared withered and desert-like. Underfoot, brown brittle stubble snapped. Flowers sagged in defeat. The background of our photos resembled a desert.

         At the reception hall, one and all bravely persevered with the celebrations without air conditioning. All we could do was hydrate. Many swear that inebriation proved impossible.

         Anyway, I’m still married and I suppose this means I can withstand heat and a bit of necessary perspiration. Yes, I know it’s said that if you can’t stand the heat stay out of the kitchen, but I believe this applies to matrimony as well. As of this July 22nd, we will have been cooking together for gasp, forty-two years. Forty-two humid July months!

         A few years ago, the hubby and I chose to get away for a spontaneous road trip. We aimed our vehicle towards Ottawa and enroute we decided to veer off into Quebec. We’d chosen la belle province to be our honeymoon destination, so this felt nostalgic. After a day of exploration, we required a room for the night. At the first hotel we espied, we balked at the exorbitant pricing with my partner snorting he only wanted to rent a room for one night not buy the establishment. We were forced to continue our search, but we came upon a motel.

         To our delight, one room stood available and we snatched it up. My usually reserved husband exited the motel’s office laughing. He swore that he’d just met Phyllis Diller’s clone, a woman with wild white hair, a plethora of facial wrinkles and a deep, throaty laugh. She even threw around the word ‘darling.’ Now, this date was July 20th, close to our anniversary. This final remaining room just so happened to be the honeymoon suite. Our hostess offered to rent it to us for the same rate as the other rooms.

         Was it coincidence that this honeymoon suite had the number 35 at its door and our 35th anniversary would arrive in two days? Oh, it turned out to be quite the room! A raised king-sized bed rested on an elevated platform beneath a ceiling of mirrors. At the foot of the bed sat a gas fireplace with its own remote control. Across the room, a loveseat nestled next to a tiny café table framed by a crystal chandelier. White lace and pink fuzzy material smothered all surfaces. Plastic flowers sprouted everywhere. In the bathroom, a deep jacuzzi tub dominated the space. Of course, we snapped photos of our one-night haven. It had taken thirty-five years, but we were in a honeymoon suite, tacky or not.

          Fast forward to July of 2020 and I’m surfing from the comfort of my computer chair. Oh, it’s bucked me off, but that’s another story. I discover that July 22nd is known as Flitch Day in Great Dunmow a market town in the Uttlesford district of Essex, England. Every four years, or if you prefer every leap year, this town holds a ritual ceremony concerning the state of matrimony. A judge, six local maidens and six local bachelors hold court. Newlywed couples appear before this unbiased panel to proclaim the state of their marriages. If they can satisfy the court that in a “twelvemonth and a day they have not wisht themselves unmarried again” they win a flitch of bacon. What is a flitch of bacon you might rightly ask? It’s a side of bacon or half a pig cut lengthwise. The successful couples are paraded along High Street and cheered. What a fun, novel and positive way to promote marriages! Not a bad deal for the groom, a blushing bride AND lots of bacon.

         Hmmm, could I possibly plead my case and win a flitch of bacon here in Canada? This could prove to be a wonderful trip in the future. The next leap year may find hubby and I presenting ourselves before a British court proclaiming the strength of our union to earn some bacon. I’m sure we’d uncover eggs nearby to create a giant breakfast feast. I can just picture my hubby and I flitching with the natives…