It Was The Best Of Times
“It was the best of times. It was the worst of times,” wrote Charles Dickens as he began his novel, A Tale of Two Cities. It was June 13th, 1964. I was to be married to my high-school sweetheart. I was giddy with love. I was breathless for a new life with the man of my dreams. He was kind, full of love, and devoted to me. My dress, silky white satin with embroidery and beads, was the most beautiful thing I had ever owned. I was thrilled with the thought of walking down the aisle to the organ playing “Here Comes the Bride.” This was going to be the loveliest day of my life—the “best of times.”
My father, on the other hand, was in the worst of his cantankerous of moods. I worried about what he might do. In the weeks before the wedding he had become even more violent and unpredictable. When my wedding dress was delivered, he shouted, “You can’t wear that. You’re the bride of the devil, already married and a demon yourself—you good-for nothing excuse for a person! I’ll be setting fire to that as soon as I can find my lighter.” This was “the worst of times.”
When he stormed out of the room, my mother told me to hurry to the car and have the dress stored at the dry cleaners until we could sneak it into the house and hide it before the wedding. Each day brought more anxiety and stress regarding my father. I tried to stay out of his way. The day before the wedding, he announced he would not be walking me down the aisle and would not be at the wedding. Mom and I decided it might be better without him and my Uncle Aaron agreed to walk with me.
When we arrived at the church the morning of the wedding, my father peeled into the parking lot and jumped out of his car. He was wearing the tux he said he never picked up, and with smiles and charm held my hand and said, “Linda, it’s time we go in.” He greeted friends and relatives with charisma and friendliness. This was his “company personality.” He was a handsome man and loved being the center of attention. Few had experienced his sinister evil side.
The ceremony is a blur in my mind after 56 years, but I still see my beloved’s expression filled with love and tenderness. For the reception, the ladies of the church made a luncheon for the bridal party and guests. We ate scrumptious dainty sandwiches that seemed too pretty to eat, along with Jell-O and fruit cocktail in decorative cups. And, of course, there was a beautiful wedding cake with all the pomp and circumstance that went with it. Throughout the ceremony, and reception my father maintained his “company personality,” but my mother and I kept him in sight in case we needed to take quick action.
My sweet grandmother, Aiti, about whom you may have read in previous blogs and stories, was seated at our table. Beside her plate rested a small potted plant with thick green pointed leaves. When everyone was saying their good-byes, she pulled me aside, handed me the plant, and told this story summarized here: When I left Finland in the winter of 1918, during a terrible civil war, people were starving and freezing to death. I left with one small suitcase and very little money. I wanted to bring something that would remind me of home. I took a cutting of a plant we had in the kitchen window and hid it in the diaper bag of a friend who would be on the ship with me. I knew the authorities would not examine a bag of dirty diapers! Over the next 56 years, the plant grew new shoots that I cut, potted, and gave to family and friends on special occasions. I want you to do the same. Cut the shoots your plant makes. Start them growing in a new pot and give them to friends and family as a remembrance of our Finnish roots. It’s a tropical houseplant, but it came from Finland where there is sisu, a word that means, courage, stoic determination, tenacity, grit, bravery, resilience, and hardiness. When you look at this plant it will remind you that you too have sisu.
Today my “Finnish plants with sisu” are now the 103-year-old offspring of Aiti’s plants. I do just as Aiti suggested: I plant the shoots of “mother” plants in new pots and give them to friends and family. Thank you, Aiti, for helping to make my life “the best of times.”