The Lure of Harbour Cay

Sunday, 14 March 2010

Recently I have been having a series of compelling conversations with a somewhat-mature (okay, older) man about a daydream we both-- quite innocently-- discovered we share. I do not remember which of us brought it up first, but it's gone on some three nights or so now and finally I mentioned the gist of it to my parents.

Of course anyone knows I do not chat about anything inappropriate. It's not that kind of daydream! But I do often indulge people's imaginations, like to say, 'If you could live anywhere, where would you live?' --or 'If you could do any job, what would you do?' --and then, of course, ask why. And that evolves into a sensible, interesting discussion. (It's certainly more respectable than asking, 'If you could touch me anywhere, where would you touch me first?' --right? I mean I really don't need to know THAT kind of daydream from anyone!)

The daydream we discussed was about finding a private tropical island somewhere and then what one's life would be like if he or she had the opportunity to live there. I learned that a woman's fantasy about that is very different from a man's. For one thing, the man dreams of having some shack that requires no maintenance at all, a lazy man's retreat, if you will. Most men would probably like to avoid all forms of work, like home maintenance, personal hygiene, laundry, shaving, and so on. Also, a man would probably like to go fishing all day long, whenever he wants to. And, of course, he dreams of having some beautiful young (female) thing there to share it all with.

As a woman I dream of having some small but beautiful house for which I don't have to do all the work (that's the fantasy part). I don't like fishing and would rather eat fruit, or cultivate an orchard like we had at Lewes, and just pick whatever I want to eat whenever I want to eat it. I think that walking, swimming, and climbing trees along with a mostly-fruit diet would probably keep me strong and slender. I'm pretty sure I would shave at least as much as I do now, and I cannot abide my hair at all once it's been a day or two since a good shampooing. But as far as laundry is concerned I think I would be pretty happy with not having to worry about any of it (beyond what nature makes absolutely necessary for a week or so each month of course).

And just maybe, if he were the right choice, I would like to have a special someone to share it all with.

My friend online actually looked up 'Islands for sale' under Google and discovered a whole web site from some estate agents in Belize advertising about a dozen whole islands as well as parcels on slightly-larger islands. The islands are mostly small-- under 15 acres. Once I saw a few pictures of them I was infatuated and browsed them all till very late one night. I decided upon Harbour Cay. It's five acres and is for sale at $550,000. Honestly.

Harbour Cay has a natural lagoon, sheltered on almost four sides, about 6 or 7 feet deep. The whole island is to the north of the lagoon with only a narrow spit south of it, and the entrance to the west-southwest makes it perfect for sheltering a yacht in a hurricane. The interior is lovely, all soft green grass populated by small trees that have grown back since the last time some dreamer cleared it and left off the project. The advert says it might need filling to be high enough above the tide levels, but if one were to dredge the lagoon to about 8 or 9 feet, to accommodate a decent sailboat, there would be enough from that to fill a building site quite well.

I studied it (for at least an hour into the night) and decided where I would put my house. Now, my house would not be a low-maintenance shack. It would be an elegant little low-maintenance pirate's retreat, the kind of place an 18th-century sea captain would retire to when he gave up his ship to settle down, full of Oriental carpets, tile fireplaces, wooden panelling, mahogany furniture, and all (much like a small version of this house, and simpler). It would be of block, like this house is, with the local sand providing about half the concrete ingredients. It would have a three- or four-storey tower surrounded by lower wings, two bedrooms on the second floor, a ballroom, dining room and small parlour on the first, a semidetached kitchen and pantry, and then at the end of a long cloister bridge, a guest room. The first storey would be about 6 feet off the ground in case of flooding. Across the lagoon there is a knob of land jutting out where I would have another tower, only two storeys, with a guest room on the bottom floor, really just as a kind of landmark or lookout point as though to protect the harbour entrance.

That made me think of protection. Maybe, being a woman, I care more about this than some people might. But I can't imagine the southwestern Caribbean to be profoundly free of crime. I started thinking about black-powder guns mounted on the parapets of the towers, and then thought maybe just a good World War II machine gun. The problem would be in getting actual ammunition. I don't suppose World War II machine-gun bullets are very easy to come by even in Belize. This is why I fall back on my typically 18th-century idea of black powder. I just don't know how or where I would like to store it, since it's very volatile. (Daddy does not keep all of his in the house, only what will fit in the small safety niche he has in the kitchen fireplace stack. That's actually the traditional way of storing it at home.)

And then came the fateful storm on Saturday, when the power went out for five and a half hours, and (by candlelight, appropriately) I looked into Daddy's now-dated catalogue from that place in Ohio where all the Amish shop that's full of appliances that don't use electricity. (We got our kitchen stove there.) And I got to thinking, that my version of the tropical-island house has too many bathrooms and toilets that wouldn't really work. I mean-- where do you get water pressure to flush if the whole island is flat? And why do you need private bathrooms if the whole island is private? Wouldn't just one composting toilet, maybe in the basement, be good enough?

Anyway I did make the mistake of mentioning this idea to my dad, who immediately poured over the whole website and concluded, as I did, that Harbour Cay is the very plum of the whole selection, and for the same reasons I said. We then started drawing plans on his computer using the home-design programme he has (he designed this house with it). We ironed out a lot of the issues I had and came up with more problems and then solved those too. And then, of course, Daddy had to mention it at dinner.

'Five hundred thousand dollars,' he said. 'Empty lots in South Jersey cost more than that.'

Mother only shook her head, smiling. 'They're improved, dear,' she said. 'Where do we get water? --or power?'

'We make it,' he said, 'or we do without.' Then he and I ranted on about our ideas so far. This got Jessy and Lisa and even JJ all enthused about it and we all went on and on and on till someone, I don't remember which of us, realised that this wasn't such a kooky plan but could actually work. I mean-- Daddy has offshore savings accounts, and, as he said, Belize is as good a place as any to invest. It's politically stable, it's actually enjoying a pretty good investment market, it's got a temperate climate, it's mostly improved with power, cable TV, and Internet, it's full of North American necessities like natural gas, gasoline, fresh water supplies and sewage systems, everyone speaks English and the US dollar is taken everywhere. And Harbour Cay is hardly remote, only about five miles offshore and therefore within sight of a mainland boatyard. Theoretically we lived farther offshore than that when we lived at Long Beach Island!

Daddy said it would be cool to fly down and have a look at it. After all, if they know who he is, it's sure that they'll consider him seriously as a potential customer. Lots of retired rock musicians buy properties in the Caribbean. He could probably even get a good deal on it.

Then Mother said, 'Well, you can't blame me if I think it's a little nuts to just pack up and leave for some tropical island on a second's notice like this.'

We all sighed and looked at her. Mother is as much a daydreamer as anyone, but she's also too intelligent to give over all sense, you know. Daddy sighed too. 'I suppose you're right,' he said quietly.

'I mean,' Mother said, not quite looking up yet, 'I've put away all my swimsuits. You'd have to give me about twenty minutes.'

When she looked up we were all staring back at her with our mouths hanging open. I still have shivers in my spine from it.

...

Four degrees of separation

Tuesday, 5 January 2010

I have to admit I get a lot of friend requests on FaceBook. And I turn most of them down. For those who don't know what this means, it's that all FaceBook accounts are private by default. No one can see more than the first page and your most basic information (name and where you are from) without your approval. If a FaceBook member wants to chat with you, share pics with you, learn who your other friends are, and get other benefits of knowing you in the online world, he or she sends you a confidential request and you are able to approve the contact with the person or not. (AOL's Bebo tries to be like this, but that's another issue-- don't get me started on that).

I just think that I don't need to enter into a whole bunch of online friendships with people I scarcely know, or, in some cases, don't know at all. For example, one of my friend's boyfriend became my friend on FaceBook-- I know the guy at school, I do talk with him in the real world, you know. But since I approved him on FaceBook somehow his cousin in Ohio became my FaceBook friend and then some guy him my friend's boyfriend's cousin's band became my friend on FaceBook too. I mean-- he doesn't even play the kind of music I like (sounds like barf in a bowl to me). Why do I have to correspond with this person?

Two years ago when I was in England I first got a FaceBook account, and I made a rule for myself that if I did not know the person myself, personally, I would deny the FaceBook friendship request. Then someone came up to me at school and told me her boyfriend said I was a snob for turning down a friend request from his roommie and so he (the boyfriend) thought maybe they (he and my friend) shouldn't hang out with me any more. This threatened to blow up into a full-scale social war till I said, 'Can I just approve him so we can move on?' And it did sort of calm things, although that's not really how I really wanted it to go, you know. And then of course the roommie (who was 18) sent me (who was 16 then) some inappropriate photos of himself and passed my then email address on to some friends of his (also at least 18) who did the same thing, till I had to change my email address and block him, and his friend, and anyone else that I had accepted on FaceBook whom I didn't really know... and, of course, shortly after this began my friend broke up with her boyfriend for an unrelated reason anyway. So I had my friend's ex-boyfriend, his roommie, and their friends, all sending sweet little Janine the peacemaker all these messages and emails and photos and friend requests for other sites-- and all incidentally very interested in finding out my current dating status as well (I was dating Henry then, but I digress). All this... and I had never met the guy (the boyfriend's roommie) face-to-face, and he shows me his private parts in photos and then hates my guts for being such a priss because I reject him. What a piece of work is a man!

So... I do not share my FaceBook site with people on AOL. AOL is my chance to chat online with no strings attached. I am 'me' on AOL, same as anywhere, only I do not connect AOL to my FaceBook page which has my photos and family photos and family news and favourite music and current updates in my life, and it names names and places and dates, and so on and so on. My FaceBook page is appropriate-- there's nothing naughty on it at all-- it just represents more of my real-world life than my AOL/Bebo page does, and it's for my friends, not the strangers (by comparison) I meet on AOL. If you are one of my AOL friends I'll apologise if that offends our disappoints you, but I won't change my policy on it... and please don't expect to be made the exception.

The other day I received a very disturbing IM from someone on AOL who referred to my FaceBook page. It seems he has been trolling FaceBook recently for any pics that look like me to see if he can identify me, and he finally found me on someone else's FaceBook page and was soon able to identify all my friends on the same page. And then-- you guessed it-- he sent friendship requests to everyone he could find who was somehow connected to mine. And so my friend's friend's classmate approved the friend request from this quasi-stalker, obviously without knowing he had sent friend requests to several other people too. And so, I got an IM on AOL from someone who knows my last name and where I live and what my dad does and what my stepmother looks like (from sites from other people who are friends with me). And he said in the IM, 'Hey Janine! Nice bikini!' --and referred to the photo on the friend's friend's site. The photo is of me at the beach in NJ with my friend, and her friend, and so ended up on my friend's friend's site, tagged with all our names as they are on my friend's site. (As far as I know it's the only one of me she has there. One is enough.)

A lot of people would think this is harmless. Of course I am not ashamed of being on this girl's site-- I am actually on a LOT of people's sites whom I do not know, because my friends have tagged me on their (my friends') photos and their friends get the same photos, and maybe THEIR friends get the same photos too. I am on a lot of bands' sites for being their legitimate FaceBook friend, and as I have said before I have been recognised at some band's shows from being seen on the band's FaceBook page. It is the price you pay on FaceBook for having your face out there. But it's clear that now some guy from Texas who's on AOL now knows how to find me on FaceBook-- because of of these simpleminded twits on FaceBook approved a 25-year-old online stalker, probably because he seemed like a cute older guy (and he's not really that cute, but...).

All right, I am naive and innocent, but I am not stupid. I deleted his friend requests on Bebo and FaceBook without a response, blocked his IMs on AOL and untagged myself (took my name off the photos) on some other people's sites. Already some people have said I am harsh and self-centred and conceited (mostly people on FaceBook, and in places where I can't delete the comments) because of it. So I'm saying this in an open letter to AOL/FaceBook users who like me enough to read my blog. If I don't know you, please don't keep my face and name on your site like we're friends. Not all FaceBook contacts are true 'friends', just acquaintances, and mostly not even true acquaintances since we've never actually met (nor even exchanged IMs or messages on FaceBook). I'm a face to which you know the name, and that's all. I could as well be Taylor Swift or Demi Lovato for all you know of me, really. Don't obligate me like a friend by saying the famous Janine is on your page.

And that goes for AOL Buddy Lists too!

...

No dates on Saturday night

Saturday 12 September 2009

The rain was so bad last night that several of the girls did not want to drove over in it, so we postponed our meeting till tonight. It really was laughable-- I suggested that Jessy just IM everyone and ask if Saturday was all right, and not one of us-- NOT ONE-- had a date tonight. Ha-ha! The good girls' club is not just a facade then! Well-- it is early in the year and the only one who is actually dating-- Anna-- was left home alone because her boyfriend was at work. So with Mother's blessing we gathered down stairs here at the castle.

Mother made snacks and so on, like she would have if we had been in 5th grade. We called the meeting to order and set the dates for some events-- our bikini car wash is next week and the Hey Monday concert is October 19th. We will decide on the exact nature of the Thanksgiving giveaway and the Christmas giveaway at the next meeting (in 2 weeks at Rita's). At about 8.30 we adjourned and ate snacks-- cheese fries (low-fat cheese), celery and tomatoes, pizza niblets and, of course, brownies, and watched the stupid Disney princess movie with stupid Selena Gomez till it was over. Two of us went home and then we were seven, plus, Daddy and Mother, playing Apples to Apples round the big game table. It got really silly after a while-- Jessy was nearly boorish with her constant silliness, which is surprising since she is in the middle of her time, you know. Of course Josie and Anna and pretty much everyone else-- even Mother-- was contributing to the silliness too and everyone was sore in the stomach from laughing. We always have a rollicking time playing this game and playing with nine people is by far a record for us.

It is now after midnight and I have been typing all this for too long. I am sleepy and my fingers ache. And I have church in the morning.

...

Rambles in the heat

Friday, 4 September

It has got hot again. I am lying here on the sofa down stairs at the beach house in New Jersey, hammering away at the trusty old iBook, and I have no clothes on. Jessy, Josie and I got here early this afternoon, after our Ferry ride and after checking on the house, and we were able to avoid the worst of the traffic. The guy on the local radio station said the Causeway was jammed about 11 miles. [sigh] Thank God for not having school yet; else would never have got here in time for our shift at the shop.

We put Josie in one of Jessy's outfits, the cute dark-green paisley bodice with stays and a pretty pale-grey skirt. Dottie put her to work in the verandah (the screened porch that goes round three sides of the place). She had never worked as a waitress before and made $18 in tips tonight. The place was really pumping all evening. We walked down the street in our Colonial outfits and by then it was beastly hot. Those two are up stairs... looking over their FaceBooks I am sure. Josie tends to devote a lot of time to Twitter. I don't see the point and have never done more than glance at it. I have updated my FaceBook with the best pics from our 'underwear glamour show' last weekend and that's enough for me, for now.

Yesterday we three had a delightful day, driving up to Chincoteague in the morning and spending most of the day on the beach there. We all wore swimsuits under shorts and shirts and were able to go out to supper later. All of us went in the water-- it was lovely. We lay on towels near a very nice family and ended up playing with some of the children. There were 4-year-old twin girls and two boys. We made a sandcastle and talked with the mother, who is a Christian from Maryland, a little north of the beach road. They have a vegetable farm and a stand on the road, and they have raised sheepdogs... so I told them about Stephen who has worked at the animal rescue shelter and is now going to UMES. Later some boys our age happened by and struck up a conversation. Jessy and Josie soaked up-- as you may well imagine-- and I just sat and talked with the mother next to us, till the guys had got their eyefuls of Jessy and Josie in bikinis and wandered off. Then the mother said to me, 'Am I keeping you from anything more social?'

I just laughed. 'No. Believe me. I'm fine.'

'Your sister seems to be interested,' she said.

'I'm sure she is.'

'You're not? Pretty girl like you?'

I shrugged, still kneeling in the sand, moulding the sandcastle with both hands for the boys. 'There are two of them. Let them have their fun.'

She laughed. 'All right,' she said.

Later I got up and wandered down to the water by myself. There was a whole row of people standing with ankles in the water, older and younger, and dozens of squealing happy children darting round us all. I stood with my arms folded over my tummy and watched them all or stared out at the horizon. Soon a guy came up and stood beside me. I don't think he was there just because of me-- it was just coincidence that he found that place clear enough to stand and take the shorebreak as it rolled in. He was older than me, maybe 25 or so. You know how it is-- you get the sensation people are looking at you before you actually know for sure that they are. I would think it was conceited of me to assume that, except that it's so often true.

'Hello,' he said to me, his eyes going down where any guy's would have, and then he looked me face-to-face. 'How are you doing, there?'

I shrugged and looked out at the ocean. 'I'm fine,' I said.

One of the little boys from beside our towels ran by and smiled up at me. I waved. 'That's cute,' the man said. 'I mean that he waved at you.'

'Oh,' I said. 'Well, I was just playing with him earlier.'

'Oh,' he said. He hadn't expected that. They never do, you know. Most men want to assume you are wholly unconnected to anyone else. I suppose it makes it easier for them. 'So,' he said, 'last weekend of vacation before classes start?'

I nodded. 'Something like that.'

'I'm from DC,' he told me.

I looked him over then-- clean-cut, short hair, decent shape, dull-looking khaki shorts that were too long, mild tan. Obviously a white-collar type from the city. I nodded then. 'Oh,' I said.

'And where are you from?'

I shrugged again. 'A little south of here,' I said.

'Oh.... Local, huh? I bet this is a nice place to be from.'

'I guess.' I turned then and looked back at Josie and Jessy who were flat on their backs and had not noticed this guy trying to chat me up. I wondered what he would do when he found out how old I was. Then I wondered if he suspected I were safely over 18 or if he would prefer I were not. Then I decided I didn't care to know that much about him, because this wasn't going anywhere other than a friendly chat on the beach.

The man allowed me to stand there on my own for a bit and then turned right to me and asked, 'So, what's your name?'

I shivered a little. Now he was asking for personal information. 'Um,' I said, and then glanced back at the other two. 'Excuse me, please.' And I turned to go back.

'No need to be afraid,' he said, with that patronising look they all get when they like to assume they are in control and you are being 'typically feminine' and feeling intimidated by a man who 'knows what he wants'.

I looked right at him then, still with my arms folded over my tummy. 'I'm not afraid of anything,' I said.

He smirked now at me. 'Then stay here and tell me your name.'

I nodded. 'Please excuse me now.' And I turned to go.

'No excuse for being rude,' he said after me. And I would ignore that.

After I had take a place on the blanket beside Jessy I told them both about him. Sure enough, the both sat up to look. He paid us no mind at all-- then, but later we saw him strolling the beach and he happened to look up our way at us. I saw that smirk again-- but I'm pretty sure he recognised that Jessy and Josie looked younger than I am and that probably made him realise we were all a little too young for him to be expecting tit for tat... or whatever he'd want to call it.

The first rule of being a gentleman is to never importune a lady. Never make her feel uncomfortable, never demand information or favours from her, never treat her like she owes you anything, never do anything that you believe she has to repay. Any man who can't be polite to a lady just for the sake of being polite, period, is no gentleman.

The man on the beach ought to have known I knew more about his age than he assumed about mine, and that I had already decided it was an ineligible match. Sure, I go to the beach to meet nice guys. I usually don't care if they are a little older than I am. I sort of expect it. And yes, it is sometimes flattering. But I don't care for being expected to give out information. And I always find it more charming when the lady introduces herself first. Then she has the choice of offering her hand-- a gentleman should never offer his hand to a lady first, because it's a form of requiring her to do something, in this case to take it. And when I first said 'excuse me' he should have realised he had just required something from me and said, 'I'm sorry'. But, instead, he behaved as most men do and defended his choice to be impertinent. He didn't care about my feelings or anything about me. He only cared about what he wanted-- which may have been just a friendly kind of chat on the beach with a girl in a bikini. But because he didn't care about me at all, he didn't get that.

I e-mailed one of my friends from HOH about it last night and she came back this afternoon telling me I did well. I had been afraid I was only being characteristically snobby and stuck-up, and she was like, 'What did he want? Where did he come from? Why did he chat up you? How long was he looking at you before?' And I got the impression from what she made me think about and how the so-called conversation had gone that he probably had chosen me to stop beside and speak to. That's a little creepy. And so I am glad I went back to the others and ended an already-awkward exchange.

We went back to the car without getting dressed and stopped at McDonald's for drive-through. By then those two had shimmied into their shorts at least-- I had not because I was driving. The guy in the drive-through window looked straight down at me. I didn't mind-- I am sure he sees girls in swimsuits all the time. So it was only at the Dollar General that I pulled on the shorts to get out of the car.

I am grateful for Josie because she shares our sense of self-respect and modesty. I know she likes to flirt a little-- she is, of course, a Gemini!! --but she is a very decent sort of girl and no one can fault her too much for appreciating a certain level of attention. With Jessy and me she is always a perfect lady.

Today we drove up Rt 13 in our swimsuits in the car, and when we got on the Ferry we went up to the top deck and sat out in the sun. People laughed-- but we were hardly the first people do to such a thing. Mother admitted she had done it when she was my age here too. A couple of people stared at us like we were nuts-- but really the day was perfect for it, and who could blame us? When we got to the house we had time to stroll the beach a bit before returning to dress in the Colonial outfits for the shop. Josie was actually embarrassed when Jessy and I told her we don't wear anything under the skirts. 'Really?'

We both laughed. 'Josie,' I said, 'you mean you never heard that?' I was naked and pulling on the shift then. 'Panties aren't old-fashioned, love.'

And we helped her get dressed, lacing up the bodice and the top of the shift and so on. Suddenly she was excited. And as we walked up the street to the shop people waved and hooted horns at us, as we do, and she finally leaned over and whispered, 'I feel so hot.'

'Hot?' I teased. 'I would have thought it'd been cooler than you're used to.'

But then she surprised me. 'After half a summer with you two? No, I'm very comfortable without, Janine.' And we all laughed.

Now it is very late and this laptop in my lap is making me feel feverish from its own heat. I shall go now. More later--

...

More intense decompression

Thursday, 27 August 2009

Under threat of a drizzle I came inside and am sitting here in my room, my usual room, up stairs at Terncote in Virginia. It has been a very dizzying three weeks! But England is always England and that is the best part about it, so it is worth any amount of airplane rides and waiting in queues. Daddy said once, after his first tour there, in the '80s, that there'll always be an England because people in England say that there'll always be an England. Or, as people would say now, it is what it is. And that is why you go to see it.

A few things changed in the year since we were there last. Of course the house we had taken is let again, this time to a nice American doctor and his wife whom everyone knows and likes. It is a lovely all-brick multi-gabled house from about 1870 with a red-gravel garden walk and a bright blue door above which is the room Jessy and I had for two years. There is a dovecote in the eave, there are mice in the garage and rabbits live under the back steps. In back is a garden that trips down gentle terracing to the preserve, which is mostly overgrown behind the house but spreads out into a marvellous copse of wild fruit trees and thick green grass. I used to wander out there by myself and take off my clothes and inhale the sweet wet fragrances of the woods, and it was like I was getting high on the whole idea of being there, being naked, being free and happy, and being myself (which of course is how I am since we have come back and have lived here). Once on a fine English summer afternoon I lay down naked in a bed of that thick grass and stared up through a few gaps in the trees at the clouds passing by, and I was there over an hour like that till I realised people would be wondering about me. It is a unique memory-- for I only ever got to do that once-- and something I know only I will ever appreciate. But it is the kind of innocent indulgence that Jessy and I do here, now, and I know that no one else really fully understands it.

Our friends from HOH have all moved along with their lives-- some are dating new people, some are not dating any more, some have left the school, which is very sad. English schools thrive on people being committed to them, but it is always a case of 'school choice' as it is called here, and there are always times when someone leaves before 5th or 6th year and is missed horribly. Even less welcome, I did run into Henry, the boy I dated during 4th and part of 5th year, who is a year older and having completed 6th form, with honours, moves on to university. 'You look well, Janine,' he said to me. I blushed (WHY?). I do look well. From so much sun I am tanner and my face is clearer and I am probably a little better shaped, but his opinion can't possibly matter to me now. Still I suppose it was inevitable we would meet, if only at the food court in the shopping arcade, and I handled it as well as I could have. My journal from that time is still kept in handwritten notes and is not on this computer. I let my stepmother read it once and she got as far as the part when Henry was petting me under my skirt and I had not said 'no' yet, and she put it away and said, 'No, thank you, Janine!' I giggled at that at the time because her journal, most of which she has let me read, is somewhat racier than mine could ever have been (I won't say in what way!) and like hers mine is only honest and accurate, you know. I felt at the time that Henry's 'attempts' (for no, he was never successful in what he wanted from me) were important enough to be included. Now when I look back on it it's pretty embarrassing. This happens to girls all the time, and it's little more than a mild nuisance, and here I was in my journal making it into a momentous occasion. But it was a first for me, and at the time I had wondered how it would be, for the rest of my life, to be able to say that a not-so-blessed event had taken place during my family's two-year stay in England... and how many girls could have said that?

I consider that such an event would have been much worse than 'not so blessed' and it didn't happen there and hasn't here either, and, since Henry has no way of knowing that, I revel in his uncertainty. He may accuse me of 'going back to my own kind' all he wants now. What I have gained from having lived there far outweighs what I would have lost had I followed his wishes.

Also I had on a great little pale-green twill skirt and my sleeveless navy cotton top and looked great that day in the arcade (Jessy said some other guys were watching me). So Henry can suffer.

Speaking of Jessy she did-- well, after we had arrived at Lady B's- let me know that a certain little-more blessed event had taken place when she went in to change and wash up in the airplane toilet on the way over. We had taken a change of things for the ride, just to arrive feeling fresh. I had not really taken advantage of it, feeling much too sleepy (I napped in Lady B's car halfway up the A11) and you know the experience of getting out of everything in the tiny airplane toilet just to change your panties is just too much effort. Last time I tried it I bumped the latch on the door and it opened (only a little) and that was too disconcerting to forget this time. But Jessy climbed past my seat and went in there with her little bag, and of course, being Jessy, she took much more advantage of the opportunity than I had expected. She told me that night in bed.

'You didn't!' I said.

She nodded, somewhat proud of herself.

'That's why you were in there so long?'

'It almost didn't come,' she said. 'And then it got frustrating.'

'You didn't have to!' I said.

'Yes, but I wanted to try it, to say I've done it.'

I giggled. 'How was it?'

She shrugged in the bed. 'It got pretty hard to keep my mouth shut.'

Airplane toilets are hardly secure, you know. One must be very quiet no matter what business you are doing.

'So were you short of breath?' I teased. You know, because the air in an airliner is pressurised only to about 8000 feet, so it would be like doing it whilst up in the Rockies. Hence the expression 'mile-high club'.

'Yes,' she said. 'But not because of the cabin.'

I laughed at her. Well-- that is one event she can say for ever that she's done.

There were many more adventures we had on our trip and I will attempt to relate some of them as this blog proceeds. For now I will say that when we got in to Philadelphia on Tuesday evening we were all very exhausted and drove out to the beach house (in NJ) straight away, where there was a party of some friends and relatives that went quite late. Little J.J. slept through it all-- he tends to sleep very well. I, typically for a twit, attempted to live a perfectly normal life in Greenwich DST+5 till Wednesday morning when Jessy and I walked over the dune to the beach and I fell asleep on the blanket for about two or three hours. Passing people thought I was dead. Jessy covered me with a towel against the sun and explained to two men who passed by that I was not hung over, that it was only jet lag. But in a way what the men assumed was correct too, for I am still coming down from the reverie of having been to England again.

This morning Roger arrived and drove Jessy and me home to Terncote in order than we may keep some engagements, specifically a dinner with the girls' club tonight. As the car pulled up in the yard I kicked off my shoes. As we walked up the steps I unbuttoned the shirt. We carried our own bags in to the house, leaving Roger to take the car back on his own. Jessy went round opening windows in the back to the sea air. I dropped my bags in the front hall with the shirt. I peeled down my shorts and left them in the parlour. I opened the French windows and went out, prising off the bra and leaving it on the step. I shimmied out of the panties on the terrace and dove straight into the pool. Jessy came out and giggled at me. But I felt absolutely great and within ten minutes, after she had joined me, I was swimming my 'usual' 25 laps. Today I did 30. And I still feel great.

Now I sit here in my room, not having got dressed, revelling in all that has happened in this very long and still-incomplete blog. Well-- I have two weeks left in which to finish it before school begins!

And I still haven't picked up my clothes.

...

Janine's final faux pas

Monday 3 August 2009

This morning Jessy and I were on the beach, just having a nice long walk as a kind of farewell to the whole place, you know. I had on my blue-and-white-and-grey-print swimsuit, which is kind of new, and Jessy had the deep purple/maroon-coloured one, a beautifully rich colour that really looks good on her figure and suntan. We walked up about three jetties and turned round to come back. The place was utterly crowded, people everywhere, skimboarding, boogie-boarding, rafting, swimming, diving, running, jumping, and always the squealing, giggling, laughing, shrieking that makes a public beach at a popular resort town what it really is. You don't go here to be alone, and you don't go here to be anonymous.

We were almost back to the house and had begun thinking about turning up into the softer sand when we noticed a man standing directly ahead of us, turned towards the water but with his head turned to stare straight at us. I guess it is not unusual to expect that some middle-aged guy would stare at two chicks in bikinis at the beach. I mean really-- it happens all the time, you know, and I know I don't have to be an absolute goddess to get this kind of attention. It just happens. It's what Daddy calls 'sexual discrimination'-- that a member of one sex can discriminate between the sexes and recognise a member of the other sex. It'd be a pretty barren world if he didn't!

So this guy was staring straight at us like he recognised us, and not just as a pair of female bodies, you know. I was on Jessy's right, closer to the house, and right before I started to step up into the soft sand the guy put out his hand, waving to us. I hesitated-- I wouldn't be rude, you know. Was this some friend of Daddy's who knew us?

'Hello!' he called, when we were about five yards away. At that point there was no escaping this. We slowed down and had almost stopped and the guy turned to us and said, 'It's really you, then, isn't it?'

'What?' we both said together.

He smiled at us, me especially. 'Janine, right?'

I went red. How would he know--?

'And you must be Jessy. I see what you meant, Janine. She is beautiful. But you're no less-- in spite of whatever you say. You don't disappoint, that's for sure.'

And he was checking me out then-- head to toe and back again. I frowned. 'I'm sorry--'

Then he made this frighteningly smug smile. 'Janine, it's R---.' And he gave his name. He's one of the guys I have been chatting with on AOL.

I suppose this was inevitable. I mean, I put enough information out there that anyone could find me if he just thought about it hard enough. It's because I'm not really hiding. But neither do I expect to be stalked, you know.

'I was by the ice-cream parlour. The other day... they said you weren't scheduled.'

I nodded. 'I'm not.'

'I was hoping to see you in your Colonial costume.'

'Oh,' I said. 'Well, I'm.... We're going home. Today.'

'Ohhh. And I thought we could spend some time, get to know each other at last.'

I swallowed. No, I thought. There are guys I chat with online whom I like a lot-- this was not one of them. In fact this guy is someone I tend to avoid... now I presume I shall have to block him.

'I was standing here, trying to pick out which is your house,' he said, and he turned round and looked up at the houses along the dune line, four to a block. 'I have it narrowed down to... that one, that one, and that one down there. They're three storeys.'

Two of the ones he picked were ours and the one we own next to it, to rent out. I felt terrible. Have I really got so sloppy after all? The one blessing from God was that we were leaving this afternoon. 'Well, R---, I really need to be going-- we have a long ride coming up--'

'So you're going back to Virginia? Is it far? I think you said four hours.'

Great. Will he follow us? Jessy turned and took my hand then. 'Janine,' she said softly, 'let's go.'

I nodded, allowing her to step between R--- and me, tugging me up the beach. 'I'm sorry,' I said. 'We're really pressed for time--'

'But you can have a walk on the beach, then?' he said, and then turned and took a few steps after us.

I realised though that he was watching some small children and couldn't easily just leave. That was lucky. 'I'm sorry, R---. Some other time maybe.'

He would still talk at me as I walked away. 'Really, after all this time.... I just kind of thought that--'

But we were gone then. Jessy still held my hand-- in fact now she squeezed it. 'Is he still behind us?' I worried.

'I don't know,' she said, closing her teeth together. 'And I don't care.'

I nodded. 'I'm sorry.' I glanced over my shoulder. The guy was still standing there, staring up the beach at us. Jessy was heading straight for our house. That's all I would need. 'He's still there,' I said.

She clenched my hand more tightly. 'Explanation?'

That was not a request-- it was a demand. 'I'm sorry,' I said. 'It's the blog. I just say things, you know. No one's ever got that close--'

'That guy has probably been here all summer waiting to recognise you,' she said. 'He'll know the house now, see your car, everything.'

'We'll we're going to Virginia in about three hours!'

'You'd better not give out that address too.'

'I don't!'

'And pictures?'

I squeezed her hand then. 'Jessy! I have never sent out my picture! You have more people stalking you on FaceBook than I have on AOL!.'

She shrugged. 'Well, that's FaceBook. It's private.'

'Not so private when you let friends of friends of friends be friends.'

She made a wry face. When we were over the dune we ran for the kitchen door, had quick showers in the garage, and ran up stairs to the third floor, where we crouched in the low attic that is Lisa's and J.J.'s room and peered out the little window. Sure enough, we made him out-- he was there, only not looking up at the house. 'We're not going to be able to show our faces round here ever again,' I said.

'We're going to England. And you're going to block him, and then delete all the posts that identify this place.'

'Yes, Jessy.'

I wonder if that means this one now!

...

One thing and then another

or, How my family does a beach house party

Sunday 2 August 2009

We attended Holy Innocents' this morning, but they do not know us so well here (in spite of Daddy having given them so much money over the years-- mostly anonymously), so they did not know to announce Lisa's 6th birthday. We did inform the rector in the receiving line and she was very pleased and proud to be congratulated one this milestone. She has lived 17 percent of her whole life since this time last year, when we were just arrived from England. When we moved in to the house in Virginia Lisa had only fuzzy memories of having lived in the US at all. She still bears that cute accent, though it is not so much from having gone to nursery school and Sunday school with other children in England as it is because her mother is Anglo-Australian, one of the scant minority native to Australia but of English and Protestant ancestry. Mother has only a hint of an Australian accent-- she sounds more like she is from East Anglia, where we stayed for two years, and little Lisa talks a lot like her mummy does.

People began arriving at about 3.00 or 4.00. I had a shower and dressed at about 3.30-- the day was nasty with clouds and thundershowers till about then and I had been inside, on the computer and not exactly dressed (okay, stark-naked), the closest I ever am to actually being bored. Then the house filled up. We eventually were able to move most of the party out to the deck. There was Daddy's uncle and aunt, having come up from their place down the Island. There was Gran, of course, and Daddy's brother and his family. There was Mother's dear best friend, having come up on the Ferry from Delaware, with her fiance, just for the occasion. Three of the girls from the ice-cream shop who were free came by. And Jessy's friends, Claire, Scotia and Edie, made sure to wander in round 5.00. Also Edie's mother showed up-- not so much out of some parental protection, to watch over her daughter at this party full of beer and wine and loud jokes and live music, of course, but because she carries something of a crush on Daddy, of whom she has been a fan these twenty-odd years or more now. Needless to say Daddy was in his element, telling funny stories, mugging with his family for the camera, serving up more food and drink to everyone than they wanted and making sure no one felt left-out. So I think Edie's mother had a really good time.

Mother (our stepmother) may be the most natural party-hoster next to Daddy. I remember my own mother was very good at it, preparing everything to the very highest standard and then presiding over the festivities-- that is to say, being a charming and gracious hostess who never let anyone down-- always with a smile and a hug and kiss for everyone. She was just like that naturally, and from having known her and learnt from her, our stepmother follows that example. Only Mother, being young in age and even younger at heart, is far more casual. For example, she rang the deli for a tray of food, and the bakery did the cake for the party. (She made a lovely homemade cake-- from scratch-- last night for our immediate-family celebration. She wouldn't dare not make one herself.) She wore a very pretty royal-blue bikini with a blue-and-white wrap-skirt draped round her hips, with her hair up and high-heeled shoes (okay, Easy-Walkers). This is remarkable because she is young and looks it, in spite of having borne two children, and of course she is very beautiful, and especially because she is... shall I say... well-endowed. She has the perfect figure for a bikini and always has had-- I do not mean she is anything other than pleasantly proportioned. And she wears the shoes really because of being so short. But I really think no one could overlook her at any party no matter what people are wearing. She just seems to exude sweetness and hospitality.

Of course Lisa takes after her as much as she takes after Jessy and me too. She wanted to wear a swimsuit and heels too, though of course she does not own any shoes with heels and discovered with near-tearful lament that both her swimsuits here were damp in the basket for the washing. Jessy soothed her-- I might have guessed-- and next she appeared, for her own birthday, in front of family and friends, everyone but J.J. being quite older than she is, in-- you guessed it-- the bandanna bikini. She absolutely loves it, you know. Jessy did fit her with another bandanna tied round her ribs as a top, and then did her hair up on her head like she was going to a prom, and everyone raved over how 'native' she looked even whilst she looked like a princess.

The bandanna bikini top didn't last all night, but she is six and no one really cared. I have to admit I thought she was even cuter with it off... bikini tops on little girls just seem so pretentious to me somehow!

I have to confess that by the time I was done playing piano and singing and crooning along with whoever else played, I had had about three full glasses of wine and was in no condition to be very gracious or hospitable to anyone. Fortunately Edie's mother did not notice. Scotia did, teased me about it, and then slyly asked me where the wine was. I made a face at her and pranced (okay, staggered) away from her. Fortunately Jessy is no drinker and would not enable her friends to either. But I was disappointed in Scotia-- she's younger than Jessy, having only turned 15 this June, and very cute... but what makes someone like that ask for a glass of wine at someone else's party? And what do we know of her history with it? I've had wine at the table since I was much younger than she is now, and so what if I have three glasses at one party? I don't have to defend my sense or propriety to someone who just wants to drink so she can say later that she was drinking.

Oh, sorry-- this is not the kind of thing I should write about before a good night's sleep, you know.

Anyway this party served as kind of a sendoff for Jessy and me, since we leave tomorrow for Virginia and will not be back here in New Jersey till nearly Labor Day. I have enjoyed it all, even though I have missed my friends at home, and missed Stephen (more on that later) and missed out on a few somewhat important events that were at the end of a four-hour drive because of having to work here that evening or the morning after, you know. I love this house and love this whole town, and the beach here is like no other in the world. But England calls, and I will heed that call. This time next week I will be five time zones away. And there will be friends there too.

There is a bit of wine left in this glass. I drink to the summer, well-spent.

...

The bandanna bikini

Thursday 30 July 2009

Long ago when we lived in Delaware, after Daddy married our nanny, our new mother taught Jessy and I at home as though we were girls of 250 years ago. And so to make it fun we dressed in our Colonial outfits, (even Mother) and sat every morning in the little tea room, read prayers, had lessons in two or three subjects a day (always including reading) and then had tea at 11.00. After that we had homework time and after lunch we went out to play in the yard, or walk the beach, or swim in the pool, or practise our crafts with Mother. And one of the crafts we learned was hand sewing. Mommy had begun to teach us and our nanny too, so when our nanny became our new mother she continued our sewing lessons. We made bonnets and capes and pockets and aprons as well as several sizes' worth of Colonial dresses-- and we still do make them and as a result I have six full outfits, most of which I wear to work Mommy's Colonial-themed ice-cream shop, and we still attend reenactment events when we can (even England, like last year).

Jessy and I were always encouraged to experiment and try new things, in art, music, and crafts. A few summers ago Jessy had the bizarre idea of making a swimsuit. She chose an old blue bedsheet, made pretty good patterns from a bikini she already owned, cut it out, hemmed it, did beautiful work really, and then one summer's day she bravely pranced out of the sewing room in her very pretty bedsheet bikini. The halter top tied in back and behind her neck and the bottom tied in knots at her hips. It was actually bvery cute and fit her surprisngly well.

I was somewhat envious and quickly set to work on my own. Jessy's sheet was a Martha Stewart one from K-Mart that was part polyester, but I used an old and rather well-worn white percale sheet (actually from my bed). And instead of making lace and sewing it to the corners to tie it, I just twisted the corners of the leftover fabric and managed to tie them at my back and at my hips. It was very cute and we were all impressed-- all of us except Mother who raised her eyebrows and made a sly smirk that I still remember. Then Jessy, who had already gone swimming in hers, prodded me to test it. Of course we went into the pool before trying it out at the beach-- it was much safer, and you can imagine why it mattered. Jessy was only 11 then-- she turned 12 later that summer. But I was 13-1/2. And there is a BIG difference between a girl almost 12 wearing a swimsuit she made out of a piece of dark-blue cotton-blend and a girl of 13-1/2 wearing one she made out of a well-bleached, well-worn all white cotton bedsheet. Let us just say that once I stood up, and Jessy and I had a look at how I looked in it dripping wet, it was the last time I would wear it in front of my parents!

One of the several things we learned that day (besides the value of garment LINING!) was that it's fun to make our own things. We've since made plenty of our own clothes, though not much in the way of swimwear intended for a public beach. Recently Jessy has been collecting colourful cotton bandannas and this past week we each had an opportunity sit down at the sewing machine and put some of them together. First Jessy made a skirt-- it's very '60s really, all bandannas, all the same size but of different colours and patterns, turned on edge, creased once, and sewn on an angle so that it flares out off her hips. She also made a very cute bikini top out of two of them sewn together which she wears just tied (snugly!) round herself. She has the figure for that, you know.

I don't have a figure that would tolerate anything like that, but I started a bikini bottom out of two bandannas that really made Jessy envious this time. We experimented some more, tearing stitches out a few times to redo and get it right. One I went so far as to finish before finding it was much too low-cut (it would not reach enough to tie!) so I altered it for little Lisa who absolutely loves it. But we did get it right and now we each have two. I will probably make at least another one soon.

It's very simple really. You bring two 20" square cotton bandannas (use a print that's opaque!) together at one point. Lay the point of the one that will be the back over the one that will be the front, then slide it up till you have enough doubled fabric to serve as a lining. I prefer to cut off the point itself and then fold in what will be the leg openings, front and back, till the crutch is about three inches wide (as much or as little as you dare-- this works for me). I fold them each on a little angle so that near the top of the front and from about halfway up my bottom they are not folded under any more but just one layer of fabric. You don't use elastic so it's really crucial that you get the fit right. As it turns out the front is always a little lower and therefore narrower than the back. If you get this wrong it looks terrible (the one that became Lisa's was like this). Sew the straight seam across what will be the bottom and then the leg openings, which you can along the sides. We each have double-stitched these.

When this is together you just sit on it on your bed, bring up the front and back start rolling from the point inwards to your body, neatly and tightly till you can pull it closely about yourself, and then tie them at your hips. (The first few times I stuck a paperclip on the rolled-up front so I could then do the back.) You might need to try it several times till you arrive at how you like to wear it. If you can't get it to tie right or fit right after three or four tries you probably have the two bandannas lapped incorrectly-- the front too far up or the back too far down. Actually when mine fit right there is quite a lot of material rolled up and it actually makes it very comfortable.

Of course if you make it like this, it doesn't matter what size you are. A 20"-square cotton bandanna, like the ones at Dollar Tree, where we got them, when folded in half diagonally has a sine/cosine of 28 inches. That's each half, front and back. If you can't tie it round yourself having over 55 inches to reach round your hips, maybe you shouldn't be wearing a bandanna bikini!

Jessy's first one is made of two identical bandannas in that very common East Indian print on baby-blue. Her second one is made of two in the same watercolour pattern but of varying colours. Both mine are in the East Indian print, one dull brick-red in back and yellow in front and one in navy-blue in back and the same baby-blue as Jessy's in front. The one I gave to Lisa is pink and pale green (her two favourite colours anyway... see how that works?). Jessy is making one for Mother now too-- of course Mother is only 27 and has a beautiful bikini body as well. She admitted the other night she had tried making a handkerchief bikini at about the same age I was when I made my first failed attempt out of a white bedsheet-- though the handkerchiefs were a linen blend (dry-clean only! --ha!) she learned the same lesson about translucency when wet-- and that's why she looked at me sceptically before I had tried out mine in the pool!

I wore the brick-red-and-yellow one to the beach today, along with a plain swimsuit top in the same medium grey as the print on the bandannas. It was very comfortable to lie out in and I went down to stand with Lisa (in hers too) by the water as well. Two ladies asked where I'd got it. Most everyone else seemed to like it too.

(But no, I did NOT go into the water in it!)

...

Full house

Tuesday & Wednesday, 14-15 July

Jessy, Josie and I left the castle early in the morning, went over and collected Becky, and got up to the Landing (house at Lewes) in time for lunch. Mother had a nice sandwich platter waiting, of which we girls ate pigs' shares. Well-- I am never much for breakfast and we had got nothing more than a bagel or so before we'd left. We had a nice visit and got to show Becky and Josie round our childhood home, including Mommy's cherished formal flower garden out back, newly rejuvenated by Mother (and a bit of paid help). They were especially touched to see Mommy's memorial stone, just a little statuette of an angel on top of the small square marble tablet lying over where her ashes rest. I was glad to be there at Lewes again-- I have not been there in some months. But I do not need Mommy's beloved house ot her gardens or the actual sight of her memorial tablet to remember her, you know.

We caught a ferry at 3.40 for Cape May. Neither Josie nor Becky had ever been on it. This is how provincial some of the people we have met in the Eastern Shore are. The ferry is a fun ride and Cape May is always a nice stop just for a day-- yet none of them have ever ventured two hours north to even see it. For them it is only a dotted line on a map. Jessy and I indulged them and we all went to the forwardmost gate and pretended to lean out like that scene in 'Titanic'. At least we did till we were scolded for it. Then we went up to the deck and leaned out over the railing there, which is more permissible. Needless to say those two dozen photos will make it on to three or four FaceBook sites shortly!

We did not stay for supper in Cape May but drove up directly to the Island and got settled in at the beach house. Jessy and Josie got the idea to stay in the little attic room, the one on the ocean side, where Lisa and J.J. usually sleep, and that might have been sensible. But in the end we all ended up sleeping all over our own room, the one on the western end of the house-- and when I say 'all over' I mean ALL OVER, for after a long game of 'Apples to Apples' we fell asleep where we were, mostly on the floor, though Becky was half up on top of my bed and when I woke up I found Josie curled up on her side with my foot under her pillow. The place was atrociously sweaty. Jessy and I got out of the house, in costume, for our shift at the shop, leaving Josie and Becky a note. They came down for breakfast at about 9.00, in swimsuits under their shorts and t-shirts, and the went to the beach. Jessy and I met them there-- still in costume of course. Of course people stare when we walk down the beach in-season, dressed like 1750s working girls. We put on smiles and carry hand baskets from which we give out discount coupons. The cards are for a free breakfast or sundae if you buy three, because Mommy always said she'd rather have families than dates. It's a different kind of clientele, one that tends to come back a few times during a vacation and then again and again, year after year. Besides giving away one out of for makes more business sense than giving away half, you know.

We sat with Becky and Josie in their swimsuits only for a few moments and then went up to change. We had successfully got out of working this evening (whilst I am typing this) and so spent the afternoon off on the mainland seeing 'Harry Potter 6' (sad movie, and very dark). We went shopping and got back here.

Tomorrow we will be working the evening shift. We hope to be on the beach most of the day. I always wonder if I will run into any of my online friends there... they ought to know by now how to find me. Till then I wish them luck! (ha)

...

An invited guest

Wednesday, 17 June 2009

It is morning-I am up. I must be going for a record-- I have not had on a stitch (not counting shoes) since Sunday afternoon... that's what? --two and a half days, and will be three and a half by tomorrow. It's just been too pleasant. And Daddy is still away-- Mother got a call from him last night that he had driven down to the house in Lewes last night to pick up things for the boat and drove right back up to his brother's house in NJ. He asked if Jessy or I wanted to come along and I think at least I was in bed by then and Mother said we were just having too nice a time here to be disturbed. I am sure he knew what that meant.

Mother is full of happy thoughts and happy comments and cute little smiles, as though she likes being queen of a house full of naked girls. Yesterday she was in a bikini all day-- her blue-and-white striped one. She honestly looks about 20 in a bikini. (She's 27 and has had two babies.) Together we have all been gardening, raking, sweeping, even doing a bit of painting like round beyond the garage. Little J.J. (age 3-1/2) is the only male-- and may I say the only one of us who doesn't work. He's built a sand village in the side yard, bordered by the tall grass along the water, the tall grass and shrubs along the preserve, the garage and the garden wall. It's probably fifty feet on a side and is pretty well planned-- there are a few houses (stacks of bricks) and roads between them all and the place is cluttered with trucks and cars. Lisa and Jessy sometimes go over there and help him. He is grateful for the help, rather like a young king (or prince in this case) newly proud of his own domains. No one challenges his authority over Sandtown and so he remains placated.

The surprise this week is that Jessy's friend Josie came over. Mother of course for the door, having put on her cover-up shirt, and gave Josie fair warning. 'Oh,' Josie said, 'well if she doesn't mind--!'

Jessy appeared on the mezzanine above her-- naked of course. 'Come on up!' she said-- and thus the situation was resolved. Next I saw of them they were both skipping-- I mean really SKIPPING-- out the back door, and I went out with Lisa later and joined them. So Josie has become the very first one of our friends to take up with us as we are. I expected her to be concerned about sunburn but she was actually not very white at all. --hmm! Wonder why? We were all very clinical with each other as far as sharing the sun lotion and had a very pleasant afternoon together. Mother rang her little bell for tea on the terraces and we all attended-- four of us this time-- none of us dressed at all. Mother had this sly little smile on the whole time. She secretly envies us, but she won't indulge it herself. I'm sure she thinks it is not her place. So she only encourages us in our indulgence instead.

Many people have asked me about that and have said it is odd that our parents do not do as we do. I am sure they have their own reasons for asking. I am sure too that many of them do not believe it is how it is for us. But our parents are very proper and responsible. I'm not saying other people's aren't-- though that may be true-- but our parents do not have a need to indulge every little whim that pops into their heads without caring about the consequences. In fact you could say that caring about the consequences is exactly what both my parents do best. Daddy teaches us that we are girls and ladies first, and one should never burden or obligate a lady. If he does not know how we would take to his being naked with us, he will not insist that we do, and of course he would be concerned about how we would come to accept all men based on his example (and I mean in terms of behaviour). And anyway he has no need or desire to be naked like we are.

Mother is something else entirely, a perfectly beautiful young woman with needs and desires not much different than those Jessy and I have. The difference is of course that she is married. She feels awkward revealing too much of herself after she has been 'known' (for lack of a better word) by our father. She considers that inappropriate. And of course, as in the Bible, a parent should not be naked in front of her own child, in this case Lisa and J.J. It's just a little awkward thinking that the children can see where they came from! Of course in the case of Jessy and me, those two conditions do not exist-- we are still 'children' in every good sense of the word and at least in one way our bodies can have no effect on the rest of our family. (I do have a suspicion-- perhaps more than a mere suspicion-- that Mother is much less prudish in private with our father, but I really think that shouldn't be something I think about or discuss too often. They are happy as they are and that's all that should matter to a child or stepchild.)

As for Josie... well I shall say that she has taken to it very easily. She and Jessy disappeared into her room, the door was not even fully closed, as we all knew who was in the house at the time, and not five minutes later the two of them emerged, giggling quietly, and trotted down the stairs to the big parlour. In another moment I had looked out my window and seen them going through the garden for the side yard. Jessy even remembered to bring the other chaise for Josie. That meant they expected me to join them... so I did. We sunned and swam and sunned and swam some more all afternoon. By tea-time Josie was as at-ease as we ever are, not even flinching when she saw Mother bringing the tea things to the terrace. 'How are you girls enjoying the day?' Mother asked us all.

'It's lovely,' Jessy said. 'Are there biscuits?'

Mother set down the tray as we all drew out chairs. 'There are, but I was going to heat them up first.'

'Heat them up?' wondered Jessy.

'Well, it's not too hot,' Mother said. 'But you girls have had nothing but sun over there.'

We all agreed the biscuits did not have to be heated up and took our places. Mother returned with the biscuits on a tray and leaned in to set them down. Josie looked up then. 'Thank you, Mrs C--,' she said sweetly.

Mother smiled right back at her. 'You are very welcome, Josie. Do you girls mind if J.J. and I join you?'

I saw Josie glance at me then. Jessy did not hesitate. 'Mother! Do you have to ask?'

Mother giggled and turned to get the other chair. Then we all six of us were seated under the umbrella having (hot) tea and biscuits, chatting about our impressions of the day.

Josie would have to go home for dinner. Very reluctantly she moped up stairs after Jessy. They were up there till Josie's mother pulled in to the front yard. Mother called up to remind them. In her cute shorts and tank-top Josie hurried out along the front gallery and down the stairs, Jessy following her naked, and in the foyer they said good-byes. I said mine from the mezzanine. Mother, in her blue-and-white bikini and cover-up shirt, stepped in at the last moment. 'I'll get that,' she said, and interposed herself between Jessy and the front door. That was a good thing-- Jessy might have got it herself, and what would Josie's mother have thought then?

Mother waved cheerfully out the front door as Josie got in to the car with her mother and they drove away. The electric gate closed. Then she shut the door. 'Well, you two had quite a day,' she said wryly at us.

Jessy only shrugged and turned to come up stairs. 'It was nice that she came over. I did invite her, you know.'

Mother smiled. 'I'm sure.'

Jessy stopped halfway up the stairs. 'Is it all right if she comes over tomorrow?'

Mother made that face again. 'Have you already invited her?'

I did not see but Jessy must have nodded then.

'Very well. Your father comes home tomorrow night or Friday. Just so you know, now.'

'Yes, Mother, of course.' And she started up the stairs again. Later in the evening I happened to pop in her room and she was sitting in her bed with her knees up and the laptop propped on her legs, typing furiously. Seeing me she looked up, and then I could guess the content of her typing. 'Do you think the rest of the club would ever.--? You know.'

I laughed. 'Do you really think they should?'

She shrugged. 'We have to have a pool party before we go,' she said. 'It has to be Friday, when he gets here with the boat.'

I nodded. 'I think we had better not. Not this soon.'

She nodded at once as though that was a perfectly reasonable response, and then she typed more, as furiously as ever. She attacks the keyboard, not hard, but so quickly you swear the picture's running in fast-motion. 'Josie agrees,' she said after a moment. 'But she's looking forward to coming over again.'

I smiled. 'She's always welcome,' I said. 'Just be careful whom you extend invitations to.'

She nodded, typing again. 'I'll always ask Mother first, you know.' Then she looked up. 'And you.'

'Me?'

She typed and then looked up again. 'You know best,' she said. 'And you know me-- I would be like this all the time.'

I giggled. I am sure she would-- and thank God there were no boys there, for her pose was certainly too immodest to have kept them them at bay! But Jessy is like that-- she always feels she has nothing to hide. And so I am glad she consults me. In a way I am her protector, and that makes me happy to be so trusted. There is nothing in the world that could make me betray her trust in me.

...

Janine accepts her dare

Monday, 8 June 2009

I got up at about 8.30, went in and took my chem final, and rode home with Jessy at 12.10. Stephen was working all afternoon-- which was just as well. I lay out back with Jessy for a while and I actually had a bit of a nap, but the Bugs would be coming over to the field by 3.30 and I had to get dressed and make my appearance.

The Ladybugs, if you haven't read, are the 8-9-10-yr-old softball team that Daddy founded and endowed with a gorgeous new stadium and workout facility in the section of land adjacent to our home. In keeping with the castle architecture of our house the stadium has permanent seating, three rows about 50 feet long with workout rooms and a snack bar and toilets and showers underneath. In the centre just to one side of the backstop is a two-storey tower similar to the ones on our house. So the stadium is called Castle Field.

Two months ago when this team started we were all joking round in our beautiful new locker room and I said, mostly teasing, that I had got a bikini swimsuit in red with white polkadots that sort of matches the Ladybugs' uniforms. They girls thought this sounded cute and wanted to see it. So I, typically, opened my mouth and said maybe if we got to the playoffs we would have a practice day on which we could all wear swimsuits and have a pool party at our pool afterwards, and I would wear that one. When I tried it on it sort of required about six weeks of working out on the rowing machine first... but I am down to a decent size and shape now and felt pretty confident of wearing it on the off chance that a brand-new team playing in a brand-new facility actually beat out nine other teams and got to the playoffs.

Well-- we are in the playoffs, with a record of 10 and 6 which is actually second-best in the league. So we will skip the first round and play at home for the second, which if we win we will play at home for the final on Saturday. And-- today I had to wear the red-and-white polkadot bikini to practice.

I did wear sneakers too, of course-- I typically don't wear cleats because as coach it's not my role to take off and run bases. And I wore socks. And I wore a headband, one of the red-and-white ones with the team logo that Mother designed and had made for the players and even to sell to fans in the snack shop. And I put on SPF 30 bug spray. Jessy offered to accompany me and I collected my glove and the keys to the gate and buildings and we walked over.

It's about 200 yards from the side yard to the cleared part of the field, through mostly tall grass that can be laden with bugs in this season. Daddy cleared a path wide enough to drive the tractor mower through. When I came through I saw cars in the parking area. That was about 3.45. Well-- so the parents would see me opening up and greeting the girls in my bikini.

Three of them were already in swimsuits too, and socks and cleats-- a cute combination. Jessy and I threw and caught with several of the girls till Mike and Michelle arrived and we began the practice with a jog round the track. Then we had tight fielding and some batting practice and after 16.30 we divided into two teams of seven, Jessy and each played on one side to make eight each, and we played what turned out to be four full innings of scrimmage. I think that was really a valuable way to prepare for playoffs. Coach Mike kept yelling 'Tighter! Sharper! Harder!' and so on, always trying to get that last 2 or 3 percent of perfection out of everyone. By now we all know the routine. Some of these girls are angelic-- there's like a switch that Coach Mike can turn on in some of them. For example if Amy's pitches are going a little wild he will yell, 'We gotta end this inning, Amy! Turn the strikes on!' And little Amy-- 9 years old-- will nod gravely, adjust the goggles, pull back the hat, wiggle her bottom, and sting the batter with three strikes in a row. It's like that. Mike will gesture with his arm, making some half-underhand throw, at Grace or Gina and the next ball will be snagged cleanly out of the air and slung hard into second and there's a double play no one else could have expected. But Mike, Michelle and I expect it, and we tell the girls that. They're depended-upon, and they know it, and when the pressure rises their commitment level does too. They really are the best kids in the world.

I am so out of practice at actual playing that I was only about on the level of girls half my age, you know. But I got a few good hits including one that ended up as a home run-- over the fence on a bounce-- and felt so easy coming off the bat that I really had to rethink why I gave up playing at all!

By 5.30 we were all pooped. I locked up the place, we formed up in two rows, and I paced in front of them like an army general-- in a bikini-- inspecting the troops. Most of them wanted to giggle. 'All right, you lot,' I said, pretending to be stern, 'I saw some pretty fine practice here today. But do you think it's enough that we practice well? NO. We need to play well. We need to nail these next two games. Thursday and Saturday-- your fate lies in your hands. How will we play it?'

The all looked blankly back at me.

'Huh? Are we going to win these games or what?'

'Yes!' some of them said.

'I didn't hear you....'

'YES!'

'Go, Bugs!' I shouted at them.

'GO BUGS!' And we all broke up giggling.

'Enough of that!' I yelled. 'Ladybugs-- right face!' And they turned, not neatly, but who cared? 'Ladybugs-- forward, march!' And two-by-two all fourteen of them started for the far side of the field where the path was.

Jessy skipped along ahead of them, hopping half-backwards, and cheered, 'Last one to the pool is a sweaty mess!'

And they all squealed and wailed and ran after her.

It's 9.00 and the last of them left half an hour ago. Mother had served up hot dogs and macaroni salad and potato crisps and then pudding. The pool was looking pretty yellow from all the ballfield dirt-- most of these girls had no reluctance about sliding into base in a swimsuit and at least one was torn-- but as Daddy says, 'That's what the chlorine is for.' Lisa and little J.J. joined us till it began to get dark.

We've got another practice tomorrow. I will 'drill' them with pep talk and politeness. Mike and Michelle will keep up their skills. I probably won't wear the red-and-white bikini again-- there were enough photos taken for the team FaceBook site to last me a lifetime! But we all had fun and we are on the way to the end of a terrific season.

...

'To wardrobe' = a verb meaning to use anything you already have in a creative way.

Tuesday evening, 24 March 2009

Lisa is upset. Well, wait-- I must go back.

This past weekend, Daddy drove the 1961 Buick up to New Jersey, where he keeps his cars, and brought back the 1965 convertible. The 1965 convertible is just like the one he had back in the '70s when the band was first starting out, and in that time the big blue Buick was a common sight up and down the Island. Much later in life he located another one and had it rebuilt to copy the first one. It is a metallic light blue with white lower panels, white upholstery, and a white hood (top). There are bucket seats and the manual gearchange is in the console and it has chrome wheels and lettered tyres. And it's big-- really big, the way they haven't made cars for 30 years.

Of course when he first got the jet boat back in about 1978 he had it painted to match the 1965 convertible, in the same metallic blue with a white bottom and a white flames design on the deck. So, if you are following this, you can conclude that my daddy had gone to get the 1965 convertible this weekend for a reason. On Monday morning he drove Jessy and me to school in it and then disappeared 'on an errand', but I had him figured out by the end of the school day when he came to collect us... and yes, there was a trailer-towing ball beneath the back bumper of the 1965 convertible. How did I guess? --now that he has the original boat back, he would ensure that the car truly matches the one he once had, for 30 years ago he used to tow the Buick-powered jet boat with the 1965 Buick convertible he had then. I giggled till it embarrassed him. But this is what we love about our daddy. His optimism and sentimentality have got us through some very trying times, and there isn't one of us who would ever want him to change a single bit.

Over dinner last night he announced that, with the weather improving so dramatically, he was looking forward to commemorating the start of the season by towing the jet boat with the 1965 convertible over the Ferry and up the Parkway to the beach house where we will use the boat this summer. When he gets excited like this there's no stopping him. So we all discussed who would ride in which car (for of course someone has to take pictures!) and what we would all wear for the commemorative start-of-the-season event. Since I already have a red-and-white polkadot swimsuit that matches the softball team's jerseys I decided I would find one in the same blue as the car and the boat, hopefully with a complimentary white in it too. Little Lisa said she wanted the same thing; but that was just a ruse to get to go shopping with Jessy and me because, as Mother said, Lisa already has a white one-piece that would do just fine, especially if we are in blue. Lisa is a little too little for a two-piece anyway. (I never understood that-- and never wore a two-piece myself till I was old enough to... fit one. What is the point of a 5-year-old in a bikini?)

This morning I was saying good-bye to little Lisa (which really means we were hugging the stuffing out of each other) and we looked up as Jessy descended to the front hall. My mouth dropped open, and then I started to laugh. After all, we already knew Jessy already had the perfect swimsuit to wear when Daddy takes us out on the speedboat. It's a traditional Speedo racing one-piece in the very same light blue as the car and the boat... and THIS is what she wore to school today, as a shiny light blue leotard under her little tan cotton ruffle skirt and a white shirt with the tails tied round her middle, with opaque white tights and her tan round-toed pumps. This is my sister! --wearing a swimsuit to high school! --and it was superb and yet tasteful in every way.

Mother was impressed. 'You look... cute,' she finally pronounced.

Jessy shrugged, with a cute toss of her head (and those natural curls never fall out, unless of course she lets them fall out, and either way she's stunning-- grrr). I giggled. Lisa did too, mainly because I did, and then she said, 'Is that your bathing suit?'

Jessy shrugged again. 'People wear leotards under other stuff,' she said. We know. She has. I suppose we all have-- even Mother.

'It's brilliant,' I said to her.

'Mummy!' Lisa raved excitedly then, even as Jessy and I were kissing her good-bye. 'Can I wear mine too? The white one you said I have? Can I wear it too--' now she was looking at Jessy-- 'with my little brown skirt, and a shirt tied like that... and I could wear my good church shoes-- And did I get my white tights for Easter yet? Mummy!'

Lisa is still upset over it.

...

Sweating like a pig, thank you; and yourself?

Sunday 22 February 2009

For a while after he was married Daddy used to ride a bicycle, a really nice Italian racing bike, pretty much everywhere. Using all sorts of 'excuses' to ride, like marathons and fundraisers, he crossed the state a few times on it, going both ways, and rode up into New York State and as far south as Chincoteague, just above where we live now. Then we moved to southern Delaware, and he continued to ride till Jessy was walking, or learning how to ride a bicycle herself, and by the time Mommy got sick he had stopped for some reason. Recently he has been interested in riding again, and down in the basement here at Terncote he has been using the rowing machine.

I sort of accepted a dare from Jessy to wear my new bikini for certain softball practices. The team jerseys are red with white polkadots and so is the swimsuit. And I'm totally willing to do it, because I think the little girls will think it's very cool of their coach and just because it would seem cute anyway. The one thing that would NOT be cute about it is if I did it looking as I do now... so... it is down stairs to the rowing machine with Daddy for me.

The machine has a computer on it that tells you what your time and speed would be in a standard 2-km race. A good speed for someone who does not compete too seriously would be under 9 minutes. Right now I am rowing about 9:50, which is deplorable. Daddy rows about 9:20 and he's fifty years old. Jessy came down, observed our times, and then said, 'Well, there's more to being a pretty girl than rowing fast.'

I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and looked up at her as the rotor spun down. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

Girlishly she shrugged. 'I guess I'm saying you can get away with not being too athletic if you're pretty.'

I stared at her. She was totally serious. You would never expect it but Jessy is much more conservative than I am when it comes to gender relations. I actually believe she would be content to marry someone a little older and a lot richer who would happily support her while she bakes brownies and does aerobics to stay slim and then greets her husband at the door with no clothes on when he comes home. When you're as pretty as she is, why break a sweat?

I should say that Jessy is by no means UN-athletic-- she swims very well (and fast), she used to race karts in England, she is a good surfer and an excellent ballerina and can run almost endlessly without having to breathe through her mouth. She was also really good at football (soccer) and rounders.

I looked at her and realised she was serious... or at least trying to dare me. 'Grrrrrrrgh!' I growled, and reached for the bar and gave it a long hard pull. I cranked that stupid machine right back up to about 2:20 per 500 and concentrated on not breaking form. I did not watch Jessy but out the corner of my eye I saw her wander over and sit down on Mother's stationary bike. But she didn't ride it.

(Did I mention that The Princess was in panties? --cute ones, too, silver-and-white, satin-finish, low-rise bikini... the kind of thing only a true underwear princess would ever wear... and no, she wasn't wearing anything else because, after all, she doesn't need to.)

I pulled the full extra 500 metres at 2:27. Not bad. At last I sat back on the thing, letting go the bar and listening to the rotor spin down again. Daddy came back in then, seeing us like that, Jessy perched prettily on the completely stationary stationary bike and me bent over backwards boiling in sweat. 'Two-twenty-seven? That's good.'

'My two-k sucked,' I groaned over myself.

'At two-twenty-seven, you did a nine-oh-eight.'

'I did a nine-fifty-something!'

'Really? Okay... well... that sucks.'

Jessy laughed. 'Grrrrrrrgh!' I complained.

He leaned over and poked me gently in the bare belly. I sprang up as a reflex. 'All right,' he said. 'Go easier tomorrow, shoot for ten, and get yourself four times that beat it during the week.'

I looked at him. 'I'm not raising my target time because I suck,' I said.

'Yes, you are. That's exactly what you're doing. You're being realistic. Look, from how you're panting right now, you got a good workout. What do we care what your time is?'

I thought about that. 'I wanted to break nine,' I said.

'Why?' he asked me.

I thought. 'Because that's what I used to row, in--'

'In your old school? A year and a half ago?'

I had to think about that too. 'Yeah,' I finally said.

Jessy wagged a finger at me from behind Daddy. Daddy didn't see her. 'You're living in denial,' he told me. 'Deal with the reality and stop trying to kill yourself. You row twice a day, four days a week on that thing, you'll be gorgeous by Memorial Day.'

I made a sad face. 'I thought I was gorgeous now,' I said, pretending to be offended.

'I was trying to tell her she already is,' Jessy said.

Daddy looked at her for a moment and then back at me. 'She is,' he said. 'You are. I mean, you'll be running marathons. You handle four workouts a week on that thing, twenty minutes plus warm-ups and cool-downs, getting your time down each time... my God. You'll run rings around a marathon.'

I nodded. 'I know.'

He held up a finger at me. 'You're done today. Stretch it out, have a shower. Your mother is making supper.'

I nodded. 'Yes, Daddy.' He left. I looked at Jessy then. 'Why does he think I want to run marathons?'

She shrugged, looking pretty. 'I think he just wants you to feel healthy. And to like yourself more.'

'Whoever said I didn't like myself?'

She shrugged again. 'Personally I think you ask too much of yourself.'

I pinched my side. 'See this? This, right here? THIS is too much of myself.'

Jessy laughed. 'This is what you get for buying the polkadot bikini before you can fit into it yet.'

'Stop it,' I said.

She only laughed again. I reached down and pulled the bar back to start another 500... with vengeance.

...

Castle Field.

Friday 20 March 2009

Some time ago I promised my blog readers I would let them in on a secret and then I honestly forgot I said that and the secret never got spilt. Please forgive me-- this is what I was going to tell you about.

Since we came back from England Daddy has wanted to try a little 'experiment' and broke ground on it last fall. There is a tract of land immediately to the south of ours that he was able to buy up with the stipulation that he could NOT built residences on it. But he already had a plan for something else.

We all got into softball a lot during the two or three years we were home-schooled in Delaware. We didn't have PE class and so joining a team was valuable for a lot of reasons. It became a lot of fun for the whole family. Daddy found out how inexpensive it is to support a team and vowed that if he ever had the property to do it he would build a playing field and give the kids a really nice place to call home. And so was created Castle Field.

Castle Field is a modest but well-equipped girls' softball stadium. It is intended to host two, possibly three teams, specifically 5-6-7, 8-9-10, and 11-12-13. It has permanent stadium seats for about 150 people. At each end is a flat terrace for like a barbecue area. The dugouts are low in front with a 'secret door' to the locker rooms. Under the guests' side is a snack bar, some really nice restrooms, and the guests' locker room. Just to one side of the backstop is an actual tower, identical to the top two floors of the tower where Lisa's room is, with a real announcer booth at the top-- hence, 'Castle Field'.

Under the home- team's side is a weight room and offices for coaches. The individual players' lockers are these really cool stainless-steel forms that Daddy designed. The whole place is a soft grey and white colour scheme. The home team's locker room has a wide red stripe round the top of the wall because red and white are our team's colours. While it is set up only for girls' softball, Daddy designed an annexe on the home team's side with more locker-room space and another workout room for when J.J. is old enough to join a team.

The best part is that Jessy and I will both be assistant coaches. Jessy chose the 5-6-7 team. They are called the Ladybits. They have red t-shirts and cute pale grey pants. The 5-6-7 league is a 'coach pitching' league. Jessy is perfect for that age group... and Lisa will be on the team.

I have chosen to co-coach the 8-9-10 league. We are called the Ladybugs. We wear red jerseys with white polkadots. The caps and jerseys will be done next week. We have already drafted to the team and have a lineup of eleven girls. (The league assigns the players to the teams. We just coach and host them.) We will be looking for two more for when practice starts next weekend.

We are leaving the 11-12-13 team till later, to be made up of players who advance from the Ladybugs. They will be called The Ladybirds. (It's all 'lady' as in the ladies of the castle.) I will probably move up and co-coach them while Jessy moves up with Lisa. Lisa is phenomenally excited over this. As of right now she wants to play about 15 field positions.

We all contributed to most of the phases, from the layout of the field to the kind of food we will serve there. Mother came up with the uniforms and the colour scheme. It was almost red-and-black, like a ladybug, but we all thought that was too severe for nice little girls. My job is to be the den mother (ha!). I will teach them to be polite as well as sportsmanlike and our coach and his wife, who played on an NCAA college team, will teach them the major skills.

The first team meeting is Saturday the 21st... at Castle Field. I'll get to meet everyone and show them round what will be their team home. Then we'll go out for water ice [wink]. The first practice is Saturday the 28th. They will be on Saturday mornings till Easter and then we'll have them after school or in evenings till the season begins the first week of May.

The worst part of all this is that last month I found (and bought) a red-and-white polkadot bikini. Jessy dared me to wear it to practices, 'just to stir things up'. I wonder what kind of role model that will make me. Jessy's friend Josie says it might be more positive than I think. 'Everyone likes a pretty girl who cares about little kids,' she says. That of course describes herself. But, as to me... we shall see....

...

Bikini queen

Wednesday 15 October 2008

It has been unseasonably hot these last few days-- Monday was over 80... and you know what that means. We got home from school and while Daddy was still out getting Lisa I got out of everything, stepped into my plain 2-inch-heeled sandals and went down stairs for a drink before I'd go out to the pool. Mother was in the kitchen and J.J. was in his booster seat having a snack. 'You don't have clothes on again!' our little Prince Of The Obvious stated.

I only shrugged and smiled at him. 'I suppose it is warm enough for a swim,' Mother said over the counter to me.

I nodded and took the glass of iced tea she offered. 'Do you know if it's cold?'

"I can't imagine it would be with all these warm days. It gets cold at night, of course, but in all this sun today....' She handed me the glass. 'Have fun.'

While I was waiting for Princess Jessy it went 3.20 and the minivan pulled up in front of the house. Lisa rushed in, waving the watercolour on which she had got high marks from her art teacher. She received my hug and as I was standing up Daddy came in. 'Oh, hello,' he said, smiling slyly at me. 'Are we back to this, then?'

I blushed. I don't know why-- he's only my dad and he's seen me lots of times. 'I haven't done my twenty in weeks,' I said.

He nodded. 'I get the hot-weather comfort thing, I really do,' he said to me as he went round the counter to plant a kiss on Mother's forehead. Then he turned to me again. 'What I don't get is the shoes. I mean, just the shoes. Inside the house.'

I blushed again and looked down. The truth is I always feel more confident in heels, even two inches' worth, and the confidence helps when you stroll into the kitchen amidst your family when you haven't got anything else on. Jessy came in, naked but for her shoes too, and said, 'It's just the thing, Daddy,' she said, and stopped beside me where I stood at the counter. 'Are we sunning or swimming?'

I shrugged, recollecting myself, and said, 'Mother says it won't be too cool for a swim... and I haven't done my daily twenty in ages.'

Jessy nodded. 'All right.' So we excused ourselves from tea and went out to the pool terrace, where we the water was not too cool for a good healthy swim. And I did my formerly usual twenty laps nonstop, a total of about a seventh of a mile.

By the time I was done Mother and Daddy had had their tea and had gone off. Daddy was down in the basement with J.J. and Lisa came up to me and said she didn't know where Mother was. 'Is she in her room?' I wondered.

'I don't know. She better not be having a bath again.'

I nodded. 'I don't think so,' I said, because I knew Daddy to be down stairs. As I was going up anyway I went up the front stairs and paused beside the half-open door to my parents' room. Quietly I ducked inside, following a light from Mother's dressing room. There she was at her mirror, standing up arranging her hair, wearing only her plain blue pumps and her sleek navy-blue bikini with the white outlines of stars all over it.

Of course I have seen my pretty, young stepmother many times in a swimsuit... but never like this, primping herself like a fashion model about to strut down a runway. She had on makeup and everything.

'Um....' I didn't want to appear impolite to be observing her secretly.

She noticed me in the mirror only then and gave a little start. 'Oh,' she said-- and was that a blush? 'I was just....'

I smiled and leaned against the door frame with a sigh. 'You look... fabulous.'

She made a coy smile. 'Well, I just wanted to see....'

She couldn't articulate it, and that's a lot for my stepmother who is always articulately loquacious. I knew what the experiment was she wanted to try. Of course there have been days when we're all in swimsuits-- some of us in less- and it's not an issue, not the issue it is when one of us dresses in a pretty appealing bikini for supper. Suddenly I saw Mother's point. She is hardly coquettish and is never inappropriate, but she does live in a house with two gorgeous teenaged girls-- Jessy and me-- who indulge a penchant for being mostly naked more often than most people would ever expect to tolerate. And yet SHE is the only female here whose role it is to make a man happy, to be worthy of his attention, to keep him company in every way. She only wants to be as alluring and irresistible to him in her own way as we are innocent and uninhibited round everyone else in ours. If that means a dry bikini and high heels for supper then I'm impressed she's thinking so romantically.

I smiled at her in the mirror. 'I think he's down in the basement,' I said softly. 'I'll collect Lisa up here, if you want....'

She smiled that coy smile again and abruptly spun on her toes, left me with a kiss on the forehead, and, then carefully practising her walk, descended to impress the man she loves.

For tonight's casual supper Lisa, Jessy and I all agreed that we would get dressed enough, even if only in sleep shorts and tanktops, so that Mother could remain the elegantly-bikinied piece-de-resistance. Without any ado Jessy and I made sure we would give J.J. and Lisa their baths... and we have not seen Daddy nor Mother since dessert.

...