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The Brussels Post, 1972-05-24, Page 2E vok rye o. P. 77409 fp/ c pub fAys: DE OE heP boon t14416,119 Mge/TS WEDNESDAY, MAY 24, 1972 Serving Brussels and the surrounding community published each Wednesday afternoon at Brussels, Ontario 133: McLean Bros. Publishers, Limited. Eiielyn Kennedy - Editor i 'Tom Haley Advertising Member Canadian. Community Newspaper Association, and Ontario. Weekly Newspaper Association. Subscriptions (in advance) Canada. $4.00 a year, Others $5.90 a year, Single Copies 10 cents each, Second class mail Registration No. 0562. Telephone 887-6641. It's clean-up time in Brussels This is the time of year when the conscientious householder gives thought to tidying up his house and his garden ready for the growth of another season. Brussels saw mill , Sugar and Spice by Bill Smiley This natural tendancy towards orderliness in some, but unfortun- ately not all, of us has been en- couraged this year by the Brussels Council and merchants by drawing attention to the need of painting- up and cleaning-up the community. Such a campaign is particularly appropriate this year as the village prepares to welcome Centennial Cele- bration visitors. It is remarkable how an other- wise favorable impression of a community can be spoiled by unsight- ly goods and dilapidated buildings. It is true there may be good reasons for such a condition to exist. But a visitor to town can- not be expected to know this. All the visitor can do is form his impression of the community as a whole. Unfortunately, the good things he has seen - the streets, the parks, the public buildings are weighed against the unsightly things he has seen. The net result may be unfavorable and too often this is the case. Thus the work, the planning and care of the many is spoiled by the don't-care attitude of a few. Well, you can stop holding your breath. The biggest thing since the building of the pyramids, in the opinion of some people is accomplished. Our daughter is married. And off our hands after 21gruelling years. It says here. I hope there's some ancient saying like: "Stormy wedding day, sunny marriage." Not that there was anything stormy about the wedding itself. It was positively seraphic, and some people were smiling with sheer delight for the first time in years. But the weather was something else. The day before was sunny and still. The day after was the same. The wedding day was the worst rotten day of a long, rotten spring. Driving rain and bone- chilling wind. I know. I was there. Out in it, doing all the last minute chores: ice cubes, cream for the coffee, smokes, mix, dry- cleaners, etc. I have neither a hat nor a raincoat and I couldn't find my wife's umbrella, so I was soaked to the skin from the navel both ways. However, I mustn't complain, even though I have my first bad cold for three years. It was KIM'S DAY, as everyone kept telling me for about a month, and what matter if her dear old Dad has double pneumonia. Somehow, as it so often happens, everything fell into place. Her old lady talked her way out of the hospital, then went three solid days and nights without one wink of sleep. She was so nervous and exhausted she was positive she'd have to take to her bed before the ceremony. But from that subterranean depth which most of us don't possess, she not only made it, but came through with flying colours. The rug-cleaning man had been here and everything was spotless. This was bad, because everybody would have muddy feet. But it was good, because every- body wiped their feet or took off their boots. A gang of boys had arrived the day before to rake up the lawn. This was good. But it was bad because everybody was too wet to notice. First arrival was Shelby, an itiner- ant young actor, one of the men Kim had shared her apartment with all year. No, he was not the bridegroom. This was bad, because Kim was still talking and laughing with him, in jeans and T- shirt, with one hour to go before the ceremony. But this was good, because Shelby is a great mixer, and later on, when we ran out of mix, he went out and got some. Next guests were 2 drenched urchins who had hitch-hiked through the torrent some 65 miles. Soaked right through. I didn't know what to do with them. Son Hugh, all the way from Montreal for the day, provided a solution that no middle- aged square would have thought of. He took them downstairs, had them take off their jeans and threw them, (the jeans, not the kids), in the dryer. Then both front and back doorbells started to ring like a five-alarm fire, and yours truly, the only one dressed, sprinted back and forth, accepting gift- wrapped parcels from little boys and delivery men, hanging up dripping coats, and trying to introduce perfect strangers to each other. Chaos. But chaos often works better than logistics. This was to be a Baha'i cere- mony. The bride and groom, with their typical acumen, had not even decided on the order of the ceremony, and were - well, not squabbling, but arguing - until the moment of truth. Kim hissed at me, "Dad, you say our prayer after Marlene. That's all you have to remember." And that's about all I did remember. There is an old cliche: "The bride was beautiful in a . . . " well, I'm here to tell you that the bride was beautiful, in a long, svelte, borrowed dress that looked as though she had stepped out of a Botticelli painting, long auburn hair, huge brown eyes and infinite youth. The groom looked pretty good, too, but his father can write his own column about that. Most weddings are like funerals. This wasn't. There were prayers, short.Mine, perhaps subconsciously, was a General Thanksgiving from the Book of Common . Prayer. Chopin's mazurkas rippled quietly in, the background. Brother Hugh sang a launting song in French and English. Then came the most dramatic and poignant part of the ceremony. Tapers were lighted, without one ember drop- ping on the rug. A single candle was lit from them. The bride and groom faced each other, eye to eye, and,made their personal oaths (not repeating some- thing after a minister). They had kept secrdt from each other what they were going to say. Shelby kissed the rings, put them on the appropriate fingers. The couple kissed. Four beautiful nieces each brought one white rose to the bride. And it was over. I think it was simple, spiritual and joyous. If I ever get married again, God forbid, I'm going to have a Ba.ha'i ceremony. I think my daughter said goodbye. I remember a kiss on the cheek, a deft hand extracting from my pocket the promised cheque, and my son-in-law going down to the basement to pick up the double sleeping-bag I'd bought in case nobody else did. Now, how about some grandchildren.