"Honey, hurry - we've got 5 minutes!" Honey managed to hurry from fresh out the shower to suitably attired in four minutes. In the minute to spare, we were racing down six flights of stairs discussing the intricacies of why he often runs late - "It doesn't start until 10:30". We flew through the foyer and fell onto the sidewalk with everyone else who knew that the Caribbean Days parade started on Saturday at 10am - sharp.The front of the parade was right outside our door - perfect timing. The Caribbean calypso drums were enchanting the neighbourhood with escapism to tropical islands and the hot sun was doing its enticing part. It was cooler across the street in the shade. Honey and I found a gap once the calypso drums moved slowly along, and cut in ahead of the bright and scantily clad dancers.
The dancers were exotic in their short tasseled skirts, high heels, dark skins, sequined next-to-nothing tops and plumed headdresses. The music was infectious. I snapped some shots and found a rhythm start in my heels and move up to my hips. This was good fun. I smiled at M - the race down the stairs was forgotten, as far as western Canada is from the Caribbean. My sidewalk neighbour, a mid-life man of Southeast Asian origin, smiled too, "we all work too hard - this is much better." I had to agree!
I found the voluptuousness of the women appealing. So often,we Western women worry about our bodies, whether it be flaunting our body consciousness or insecurely hiding our imperfections. The Caribbean gals were comfortable with just how they were. No concern was paid to mid-riff voluptuousness, full thighs or any part of the anatomy that would not qualify as being gym-toned or skinny as a rail. There's something to be said for a woman who is sensually comfortable in her skin.
The parade was a good reflection of multi-cultural Canada. Some Caribbean Day participants were as Jamaican or West Indian as I am. Perhaps the Scottish bagpipes were a conciliatory hand out to the British colonialists. But where do the Chinese dragon dancers fit in with the history of the Caribbean islands? Then again, this is Canada where all are welcome.
One Caribbean dancer appeared to be living out her bucket list. Again with a nod to multi-ethnic Canada, her skin was as Caribbean dark as white chocolate. Her Caribbean outfit was a bright combination of shades of blue and touches of hot pink with a flamboyantly large plumed headdress. Her outfit caught my eye, but the rest of her kept my attention. She was on the older side of seventy - no doubt. She was sorely lacking in the suppleness and nubility of her fellow dancers; but here she was giving it a stiff but good go.
I was fascinated by her and by my response. Stunned, do I cheer loudly for her - "go, old girl, go - live out your dream!" or do I continue to wish she would dress and act appropriately for her age. It wasn't a pretty sight but she obviously didn't give a feathered plume what others thought. I settled on "good for you!" as she moved on by in her runners (which offered much needed stability over high heels).
As the end of the parade passed by, M and I moved into the middle of the street to watch it continue brightly down Lonsdale to the Quay. We looked up and waved to our neighbours, Rosie and Ginger who were watching from Ginger's sixth floor balcony. At 80 and counting, I wondered what daring activity either of them might have on their bucket list.
