I have a ball gown to return today so I will again
attempt to attend a yoga class. This
weekend was the Groundhog Prom, an irreverent response to Omaha’s high social
pageantry known as the Knights of Aksarben Foundation Coronation Ball. I wore my gown from last week and added bunny
ears.
I was told the Groundhog Prom came about as a party “for
the other folks,” the ones not included in the Coronation Ball festivities. Class warfare in Omaha I guess.
My mom was an Aksarben princess in the late 50’s because
grandpa was an Executive at First National Bank of Omaha. Daughters of prominent Omaha men are selected
for princesses, one of whom ascends to the role of Queen. One prominent man in Omaha is selected as
King. I’ve heard comments that the age
range between in the King and Queen is nearly statutory. The Princesses attend the festivities with
escorts, there is some sort of coronation pageant featuring a royal court made
up of other men, women, boys and girls related to someone prominent and then Coronation
Ball. I don’t know who gets invited to
that, certainly not me. Anyway, for the
high brow and civically minded this is quite the deal in Omaha.
In a previous blog I posted my encounter with mom’s
Aksarben princess gown as I was making room in the downstairs closet for my
clothes. Never mind it had wicked up
basement flood waters over time, it still had its vibrant yellow color. And true to the fact that all trends aren’t really
new, this gown was totally blinged out and strapless – ideal for today. I must suggest to my vintage loving girlfriend
to whom we gifted the dress, to wear it to next year’s Groundhog Prom. Seems fitting somehow.
My girlfriend Carole from Delaware was in town this
weekend to check in on her mom who lives in Lincoln. We spent Super Bowl Sunday together on the
couch, by the fire, with junk food and some red wine. Thirty years ago the scene would have been a
bit different – beer bongs, cheese dip, loud bar or party. Age is humbling, isn’t it?
Carole is one of the few I am comfortable having over to
mom’n dad’s house. She doesn’t even lift
an eyebrow because she witnesses the same at her 85-year-old mom’s house. She knows to inspect glasses, plates, forks,
etc. for dried on crud missed by old eyes.
And when we pulled out the couch to take better advantage of the
fireplace, she uttered no squeal seeing the dust bunnies, cob webs, old piece
of toast and the mummified squirrel. We
just look at each other with that knowing smile.
Madonna performed for the half time show and I just
couldn’t behave myself. What is it about
me that wants her to be done with performing?? She lacks the on-stage energy and, while in
fabulous shape, I could tell the cameras used filters to soften her features. Madge, honey, at our age we counsel, guide
and mentor the up and comer’s – we don’t perform with them. And now I hate myself. I like to hang with younger set myself. Age is a state of mind and Madonna and I are
similarly youthful. *sigh*
I want to get comfortable and be accepted with my feet on
both sides - young, not-so-young - Aksarben, Groundhog. I shall meditate upon this at yoga class.
I was told once you are as old as you want to be,, right now eating my Captin Crunch for lunch I feel 10 yrs old,, I told stories to the Grandkids how I walk to the store in the NE blizzard because it was the fun thing to do.. my grandson response oh you couldn't get Poppi to do what you want I see.
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