Wednesday, 10 February 2010
These last few days of snow have been terrifically hectic... and there's no reason why. We had school the early part of the week, but in anticipation of the threatened snow storm we all settled in on Tuesday night-- all of us, Daddy and Mother and JJ being home, little Lisa, me, Jessy and also Rita, Jessy's friend. The storm hit late in the evening, it snowed for an hour or two, not lightly, and by midnight it was over. A weird phosphorescence settled over the bay outside my window-- the only one I have unshuttered-- like a bizarre white fog upon the water even though it was about 20 degrees out there. I sat at my little round table here and stared out at it till well past midnight. It was not the reflection of light-- there aren't many houses along here and none of them have the kind of candlepower that could throw that much of the air outside into a haze. It was like a signal of a shift in the weather, the kind of thing you often see out over the ocean, but I have never seen anything like that (and I've lived all my life, except for 2 years, within 50 metres of the beach). The atmosphere was white, but you could see through it, almost as well as if it were daytime. I could just about make out the horizon beyond the barrier island that's directly out there. I half expected to see someone sailing through the night.
Since Rita was sleeping in with Jessy, Lisa believed that this meant she should sleep in with me. As I have said before I don't mind this-- she is nice to snuggle with, warm and soft and fluffy in her flannel nightgown and fuzzy socks, and it's the kind of thing she appreciates like a very high honour. She was asleep for some hours when I turned in. Of course none of us expected school on Wednesday.
And the weather did not disappoint us. We had mostly freezing rain till about 10.00 when it got really bad. Wind picked up and soon we were being besieged with heavy sleet, going more sideways than down. Daddy started a fire in the kitchen so when we all came down to a rather late brunch it was just lovely in there. Mother made pancakes, the true southern-style hotcakes that she learned to make when she relocated here as our au pair years ago. She just kept serving them up, one after the other, and we devoured them. Outside the sleet hammered the window and the roof deck above the garage filled up with icy snow drifts. Daddy said he thought the pool cover, which is normally supported with a frame underneath it, has caved in, which will leave a big mess in the pool. But of course none of us are inclined to go out and inspect it in this.
Most of the downstairs windows have been shuttered through most of the winter weather, especially the French windows in the small parlour which has been shuttered since we took down the tree after Epiphany. It keeps the heat loss down (since we have authentic single-glazed windows here!) and makes it very dark and somewhat cosy inside, but in this weather you hear it all against the glass and it's very unsettling. Rita and Jessy retired to her room, took turns showering, and sat there fawning over FaceBook most of the afternoon. I had showered before brunch and had put on my long fleece pulli and ballet legwarmers (that's about it). I started a little fire in my room and sat at my table, reading in 'Northanger Abbey' (for about the third time). Lisa isn't allowed to use her fireplace and so, smelling mine, brought some Barbies in here and began in some high-pitched dialogue to comment on the events of the week. Most of the time her Barbies go to school the days she does and, in spite of the fact that they look about 17 or 20 years old, what they study seems to be about what a first-grader studies. I suppose that's to be expected.
When my fire died down she talked me into playing with her so I took my Barbies out of their own house (which stands in my room) and went in to her room, where she has her own dolls' house, just like the ones Jessy and I have. Daddy made them all, based on one Jessy and I adapted for our Barbies from an unused stereo cabinet, and when pushed all together for special occasions they resemble half a block of Philadelphia or London terraces. My Barbies are still in their Colonial costumes so I pretended they were time-travellers and allowed Lisa's people to show us round this strange new century. Jessy heard us and came in to see what we were about, still talking on the mobile phone, so I made a few amazed observations about this incredibly large person, six times our height, talking to someone in another dimension on what looks like a very large pocketwatch. Lisa giggled herself silly by the time that was over.
The snow continued till it had got dark and I think none of us have been out of the house all day. The bridge up the road is closed, leaving a very long and equally tedious trip up and round through town, so we rang Rita's parents and told them she would not be home. This is all fine with Rita-- for it saves her the trouble of getting dressed to go out. I do not mean she would rather not put on boots and long underwear and sweaters and all that-- I mean she would rather not be dressed at all, for she, Jessy, little Lisa and I are all barely dressed, in long flannel shifts and high socks or thigh-high hose, with the odd sweater or snugglie blanket accompanying us. There is something lovely about being cooped-up when we don't have to worry about impressing anyone but ourselves, and there is firewood and hot tea and family to keep us company all round the house.
I have got the e-mail saying school is closed tomorrow as well. Apparently they have not got the ploughs out to the school yards tonight. So I can imagine that tomorrow will bring more of the same!
...
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
Showing posts with label children. Show all posts
11 February 2010
10 February 2010
Little Miss Sweetness
Friday, 5 February 2010
Living with Lisa is a sweet sort of experience, rather like having a whole meal of strawberry shortcake and whipped cream on top and then realising that even doing the dishes afterwards is not a particularly distasteful chore at all. Even the worst sort of occurrences seem to turn out pleasantly, like when she got her hand stuck in the bath drain or when she spanked JJ for being disrespectful or when she coloured her panties with Sharpie marker to make them 'all flowery' like Jessy's and then it ran all over her other clothes in the washer. But really, since she has been out of diapers she really has never been much of a mess at all, unless it's only the normal sort of accidents that happen to small children. This last week with the three of us girls on our own has shown us all that we are all very compatible and thoughtful towards each other. I mean, Lisa actually cleaned my bathroom the other day-- not that it was so dirty to begin with, or that she used a good washcloth instead of the ooky sponge, or that everything wasn't put back where I wanted it, but that's really off the point, isn't it?
One of the amusing things is when Lisa mistakes who is in charge. I have said before that sometimes she slips and calls me 'Mummy'. But I've realised that it's almost always when I am giving her directions, like when to brush her teeth, when to go to sleep, when to say 'please' and 'thank you' (which she normally never has a problem with). I have noticed that she seems to be very sensitive to what the right thing is-- something I tend to stress often. At six years old Lisa never has a problem with discerning the right thing-- she has four teachers in this house and propriety and decorum are top priorities round here. She has been taught to do the right thing because it's what's expected of the good people. She covers her nose when she sneezes or coughs. She says 'excuse me' if she burps. She says 'please' when she asks for something and 'thank you' when it's given to her. She puts both loo lids down. She closes doors after herself. She picks up whatever she drops. She carries her dish (at the times when she remembers) and collects the used forks and spoons from her place too. Mother says she is the most eager-to-please child there ever was.
I believe that Lisa does it out of love. She values what Jessy and I teach her and she is committed to doing what she believes we want her to, just because she believes it's how you should show a sister you admire that you love her. And we cherish her for that. Most surprising is that she's developing a sense of what to do before she is told-- she takes initiative, figures out what some situation calls for, and then tries to do what she thinks she should. I can't say she always gets it right-- but her heart is in the right place and you can't fault a child for that.
Long ago Mother taught this conundrum to me. When she was at U.Del a professor opened his mouth and said, 'You can't teach morality to a five-year-old.' The entire class erupted in disagreement, mentioning their own kids, nephews and nieces, smaller siblings, kids they had baby-sat for. So the professor gave them the test case:
Say there are two children, both about five years old. The first spies the cookie jar on top of the refrigerator and finds a chair, pushes it across the room, climbs up on it, then goes up on the counter and then to the top of the refrigerator, and takes out a cookie for himself. In so doing he knocks over the cookie jar and makes a huge mess. The second child sees his mother is tired and goes into the kitchen, gets a plate of milk and cookies for his mother, even brings a paper napkin, and in crossing the room to present it to his mother he trips over the footstool and makes a huge mess.
If you are to tell this story to a five-year-old he will always feel sorry for the one who wanted to present his mother with a surprise snack and will always recognise that the one sneaking the cookies was doing the wrong thing (otherwise the cookies would not have been on top of the refrigerator, which is one thing the kids recognise as a way to tell). This is a natural tendency in all children-- it would take a terribly vicious parent who would have taught his child, by that age, that whatever you can take for yourself is rightfully yours (as Joseph Kennedy once told his children, probably when they were older than five).
I told this to Lisa once and by the time I was done she was weeping for the 'poor little boy who was only trying to do something nice.' I actually had to explain to her that it was only a made-up story.
'Did his mommy make him clean it up?' she asked me.
'I don't think so,' I said. 'I think she was just happy that he was being so sweet.'
'I do too,' said Lisa. 'Where does he live?' she wondered.
I was ready to laugh-- but if course I couldn't. 'I don't know,' I said. 'Why?'
Lisa looked about herself with that little blush. 'I just thought we could bring him some cookies, to make him feel better.'
'And you want to bring him the cookies?'
She nodded.
I scooped her up in a hug then. 'I think we should go make some cookies first,' I said-- and off we went to do that.
I confess I let Mother set her straight on the conundrum story, but only after Lisa made up a tray of cookies and milk and a napkin and took it in to Mother in the parlour. And no, she didn't trip over the footstool. (I think she actually went in and pushed it well out of the way before she got the tray.) Mother was pretty impressed with Lisa's gesture. Of course she recognised it from the conundrum, though she didn't know I had told it to Lisa then, and when I told her about Lisa's reaction she was pretty impressed with Lisa's compassion herself.
Really I don't know why she should have been-- for it's clear Lisa gets it from her mother who, aside from being stunningly beautiful, impressively intelligent, and irreproachably virtuous, maybe the sweetest, most charitable woman in the known universe.
...
Living with Lisa is a sweet sort of experience, rather like having a whole meal of strawberry shortcake and whipped cream on top and then realising that even doing the dishes afterwards is not a particularly distasteful chore at all. Even the worst sort of occurrences seem to turn out pleasantly, like when she got her hand stuck in the bath drain or when she spanked JJ for being disrespectful or when she coloured her panties with Sharpie marker to make them 'all flowery' like Jessy's and then it ran all over her other clothes in the washer. But really, since she has been out of diapers she really has never been much of a mess at all, unless it's only the normal sort of accidents that happen to small children. This last week with the three of us girls on our own has shown us all that we are all very compatible and thoughtful towards each other. I mean, Lisa actually cleaned my bathroom the other day-- not that it was so dirty to begin with, or that she used a good washcloth instead of the ooky sponge, or that everything wasn't put back where I wanted it, but that's really off the point, isn't it?
One of the amusing things is when Lisa mistakes who is in charge. I have said before that sometimes she slips and calls me 'Mummy'. But I've realised that it's almost always when I am giving her directions, like when to brush her teeth, when to go to sleep, when to say 'please' and 'thank you' (which she normally never has a problem with). I have noticed that she seems to be very sensitive to what the right thing is-- something I tend to stress often. At six years old Lisa never has a problem with discerning the right thing-- she has four teachers in this house and propriety and decorum are top priorities round here. She has been taught to do the right thing because it's what's expected of the good people. She covers her nose when she sneezes or coughs. She says 'excuse me' if she burps. She says 'please' when she asks for something and 'thank you' when it's given to her. She puts both loo lids down. She closes doors after herself. She picks up whatever she drops. She carries her dish (at the times when she remembers) and collects the used forks and spoons from her place too. Mother says she is the most eager-to-please child there ever was.
I believe that Lisa does it out of love. She values what Jessy and I teach her and she is committed to doing what she believes we want her to, just because she believes it's how you should show a sister you admire that you love her. And we cherish her for that. Most surprising is that she's developing a sense of what to do before she is told-- she takes initiative, figures out what some situation calls for, and then tries to do what she thinks she should. I can't say she always gets it right-- but her heart is in the right place and you can't fault a child for that.
Long ago Mother taught this conundrum to me. When she was at U.Del a professor opened his mouth and said, 'You can't teach morality to a five-year-old.' The entire class erupted in disagreement, mentioning their own kids, nephews and nieces, smaller siblings, kids they had baby-sat for. So the professor gave them the test case:
Say there are two children, both about five years old. The first spies the cookie jar on top of the refrigerator and finds a chair, pushes it across the room, climbs up on it, then goes up on the counter and then to the top of the refrigerator, and takes out a cookie for himself. In so doing he knocks over the cookie jar and makes a huge mess. The second child sees his mother is tired and goes into the kitchen, gets a plate of milk and cookies for his mother, even brings a paper napkin, and in crossing the room to present it to his mother he trips over the footstool and makes a huge mess.
If you are to tell this story to a five-year-old he will always feel sorry for the one who wanted to present his mother with a surprise snack and will always recognise that the one sneaking the cookies was doing the wrong thing (otherwise the cookies would not have been on top of the refrigerator, which is one thing the kids recognise as a way to tell). This is a natural tendency in all children-- it would take a terribly vicious parent who would have taught his child, by that age, that whatever you can take for yourself is rightfully yours (as Joseph Kennedy once told his children, probably when they were older than five).
I told this to Lisa once and by the time I was done she was weeping for the 'poor little boy who was only trying to do something nice.' I actually had to explain to her that it was only a made-up story.
'Did his mommy make him clean it up?' she asked me.
'I don't think so,' I said. 'I think she was just happy that he was being so sweet.'
'I do too,' said Lisa. 'Where does he live?' she wondered.
I was ready to laugh-- but if course I couldn't. 'I don't know,' I said. 'Why?'
Lisa looked about herself with that little blush. 'I just thought we could bring him some cookies, to make him feel better.'
'And you want to bring him the cookies?'
She nodded.
I scooped her up in a hug then. 'I think we should go make some cookies first,' I said-- and off we went to do that.
I confess I let Mother set her straight on the conundrum story, but only after Lisa made up a tray of cookies and milk and a napkin and took it in to Mother in the parlour. And no, she didn't trip over the footstool. (I think she actually went in and pushed it well out of the way before she got the tray.) Mother was pretty impressed with Lisa's gesture. Of course she recognised it from the conundrum, though she didn't know I had told it to Lisa then, and when I told her about Lisa's reaction she was pretty impressed with Lisa's compassion herself.
Really I don't know why she should have been-- for it's clear Lisa gets it from her mother who, aside from being stunningly beautiful, impressively intelligent, and irreproachably virtuous, maybe the sweetest, most charitable woman in the known universe.
...
Bugs in a rug
Friday, 5 February 2010
Our parents are still away, of course, tending to my uncle in NJ who is improving and is due home tomorrow. We three girls have been getting on quite well actually. I know it can be taken wrong, but sometimes it's healthy to have events that make you have to fend for yourself a little. Oh, I do not mean that it should be someone's health in jeopardy. I only mean that, for example, my parents should not feel concerned if they have to leave us on our own.
Of course this means Jessy and me looking out after little Lisa. Lisa herself is totally thrilled with the arrangement-- especially since her 'silly' uncle is going to be better. For her it's all girls all the time, which makes her feel like one of the big girls. We have been toying with makeup, dancing to CDs and iTunes, playing piano and singing along, baking brownies, making vats of pasta, working out down stairs and sitting up watching 'Greek' reruns and 'iCarly' and basically doing whatever we're not supposed to be doing when Mother and Daddy are here.
Last night we were all in this room, Jessy on FaceBook with her laptop, Lisa drawing in a pad of paper on the floor in front of the fire, and me as usual sitting up in the bed, surrounded by blankets, tapping away on this. When it got to about 9.00 we realised Lisa had to be going to bed, but of course she didn't want to leave. She had got her bath early (well, she and Jessy had it together) and I really ought to have tucked her into her own bed, but then the little conniver came up with a plan. 'We should all sleep in here!' she announced, and immediately set to organising the bed. Within three minutes she had three or four of her own 'stufties' in here, my Cinnamon Bear and Jessy's rabbit, three pillows and then all the covers turned down. Jessy, of course, indulged her entirely, even to the point of getting into bed early, so that by 9.30 both of them were completely zeed out in my bed-- with scarcely any room for me, of course.
When I did turn in, about 11 or so, I drew the bed curtains to conserve the body heat, although I can't remember that ever being a problem with this bed when there were three of us in it. Lisa was right in the middle, not leaving much room for me on the far side but I squeezed right up against her, wrapped an arm round her, and all was well. But I knew she would be the first one up. Sure enough I was roused out of a nice deep sleep (and a really good dream) by someone whispering right beside me.
'Jesseeeeee! Jesseeeeee!'
I winced. 'What time is it? I asked wearily.
Lisa turned right round under my arm, her face about an inch and a half from mine. 'Janine!'
'That would be me,' I said without opening my eyes.
'I have to go potty.'
I winced again. 'I trust you will be able to take care of that in the proper place and not in the bed,' I said.
She nodded and then wriggled out the top of the covers and crawled off the foot of the bed. When she returned she had left the light on, which I reminded her about, but she said she would not be able to find the bed in the dark.
'Well you can't leave that on all night,' I said. 'Follow the sound of sleeping people.'
'Okay!' she said. She left, the bathroom light went dark, and she returned, crawling up between us and settling back in. I put an arm round her, but she turned and faced me. 'I love you, Janine,' she said softly.
I sighed. 'I love you too.'
'Am I a good little sister?'
I smiled-- still with my eyes closed-- and kissed her forehead, which was about an inch from my lips anyway. 'The best,' I said, and drew her in to snuggle under my neck. 'Go to sleep.'
'Okay,' she said.
When I woke in the morning she was still there, under my arm, curled up against my chest like a small child with her mother. I am not her mother, but at times like these it can be hard to tell.
...
Our parents are still away, of course, tending to my uncle in NJ who is improving and is due home tomorrow. We three girls have been getting on quite well actually. I know it can be taken wrong, but sometimes it's healthy to have events that make you have to fend for yourself a little. Oh, I do not mean that it should be someone's health in jeopardy. I only mean that, for example, my parents should not feel concerned if they have to leave us on our own.
Of course this means Jessy and me looking out after little Lisa. Lisa herself is totally thrilled with the arrangement-- especially since her 'silly' uncle is going to be better. For her it's all girls all the time, which makes her feel like one of the big girls. We have been toying with makeup, dancing to CDs and iTunes, playing piano and singing along, baking brownies, making vats of pasta, working out down stairs and sitting up watching 'Greek' reruns and 'iCarly' and basically doing whatever we're not supposed to be doing when Mother and Daddy are here.
Last night we were all in this room, Jessy on FaceBook with her laptop, Lisa drawing in a pad of paper on the floor in front of the fire, and me as usual sitting up in the bed, surrounded by blankets, tapping away on this. When it got to about 9.00 we realised Lisa had to be going to bed, but of course she didn't want to leave. She had got her bath early (well, she and Jessy had it together) and I really ought to have tucked her into her own bed, but then the little conniver came up with a plan. 'We should all sleep in here!' she announced, and immediately set to organising the bed. Within three minutes she had three or four of her own 'stufties' in here, my Cinnamon Bear and Jessy's rabbit, three pillows and then all the covers turned down. Jessy, of course, indulged her entirely, even to the point of getting into bed early, so that by 9.30 both of them were completely zeed out in my bed-- with scarcely any room for me, of course.
When I did turn in, about 11 or so, I drew the bed curtains to conserve the body heat, although I can't remember that ever being a problem with this bed when there were three of us in it. Lisa was right in the middle, not leaving much room for me on the far side but I squeezed right up against her, wrapped an arm round her, and all was well. But I knew she would be the first one up. Sure enough I was roused out of a nice deep sleep (and a really good dream) by someone whispering right beside me.
'Jesseeeeee! Jesseeeeee!'
I winced. 'What time is it? I asked wearily.
Lisa turned right round under my arm, her face about an inch and a half from mine. 'Janine!'
'That would be me,' I said without opening my eyes.
'I have to go potty.'
I winced again. 'I trust you will be able to take care of that in the proper place and not in the bed,' I said.
She nodded and then wriggled out the top of the covers and crawled off the foot of the bed. When she returned she had left the light on, which I reminded her about, but she said she would not be able to find the bed in the dark.
'Well you can't leave that on all night,' I said. 'Follow the sound of sleeping people.'
'Okay!' she said. She left, the bathroom light went dark, and she returned, crawling up between us and settling back in. I put an arm round her, but she turned and faced me. 'I love you, Janine,' she said softly.
I sighed. 'I love you too.'
'Am I a good little sister?'
I smiled-- still with my eyes closed-- and kissed her forehead, which was about an inch from my lips anyway. 'The best,' I said, and drew her in to snuggle under my neck. 'Go to sleep.'
'Okay,' she said.
When I woke in the morning she was still there, under my arm, curled up against my chest like a small child with her mother. I am not her mother, but at times like these it can be hard to tell.
...
02 February 2010
Emergent occasions
Tuesday, 2 February 2010
We got a phone call very early this morning that my uncle had had a heart attack and had been flown to Philadelphia for surgery. This immediately upset my father to the point of insisting that he drive up there straight away. Little JJ was not even out of bed (and he is an early riser) and Daddy and Mother were packing things and getting ready to go. I stood there stuffing a toasted muffin into my mouth whilst they scurried round with suitcases and so on.
Of course Mother would not let him go alone. They would be taking JJ with them, so that he could stay with our other uncle's family in southern New Jersey for a few days whilst Mother and Daddy went on to Philadelphia. We were fortunate to have had Roger here the last few days-- working on the new (old) Buick project with Daddy, and so they would have him and the dark-green car for the ride. But it meant that I would be left to see little Lisa off to school for the next few mornings, and to arrive late each day myself (as her school starts an hour after mine, so I will miss first and half of second period by the time I get there. But, it cannot be helped).
Before they left this morning we did get another phone call and the news that our uncle had probably not had a true heart attack but that he has significant arterial blockage and so will need some bypass surgery. Other than this (significant but manageable) problem he is doing well. Daddy was relieved. But still they would leave at 9.00.
Roger drove Jessy in so she would not be late today and then would return for Daddy and Mother and little JJ who was getting dressed though crankily. I made a breakfast for Lisa and helped her get dressed and drove her in myself, a few minutes late, in the Regal and then got myself over to the high school. Of course we get out earlier so I was able, with Jessy, to drive over there and pick up Lisa when she got done. As of right now we are three girls on our own in the castle for probably the rest of the week.
Our uncle is out of his surgery and doing well-- they expect him to be much improved by week's end when they will release him. I rang my aunt in southern New Jersey and got a few updates and got to talk with JJ too. He is having fun with his cousins and does not fully understand the serious issues of his visit there. This is probably best.
I spoke with Daddy too and though he is relieved he is still concerned. 'It could happen to any of us,' he said. 'You always think it'll be the other guy, but it could be you, you know.'
'But you are very healthy,' I told him, 'and you work out and walk and ride the bike. And you don't smoke.'
Our uncle has always smoked cigarettes. It is a source of concern through the whole family. 'Yeah, but I could be better. And they're saying it's not due to the cigarettes.'
'What else would it be due to?' I asked (yes, incorrect grammar and all).
'I don't know. I told him as soon as he gets better we're all starting a fitness routine.'
Daddy already has a fitness routine. As casual as he has always been about other things (diet, paying bills, wearing ironed clothes) he has always enjoyed just doing physical things like walking, running, riding stationary and two-wheeled bicycles and of course swimming. He and I have a little competition on the rowing machine down stairs, trying to improve our 2k times. I am down to about 9:17-- and, by the way, have lost about 2 lbs of holiday-season fat.
Our other uncle tends to be a bit more rigorous in his fitness than either of his elder brothers and we worry perhaps less about his health than anyone's. Tonight they are both at Gran's house farther up in New Jersey and one aunt stays with her husband in hospital and the other is minding four little kids at the farmhouse. All the signs look good and so I have relaxed my own concern and left it all to God. I think sometimes this is all we can do.
For supper Jessy and Lisa (meaning Jessy, with Lisa sitting on the counter asking questions and talking incessantly) made a frozen entree of roast beef with fried mashed potatoes left over from Gran's birthday dinner and cranberry sauce and (mostly cold) broccoli. I planned for tomorrow to have macaroni-and-cheese casserole with the leftover chicken in it. I think we will not starve soon.
Lisa did ask to sleep in with me tonight but as of now she is in Lisa's bed, probably asleep if I care to go look whilst Jessy bangs away on the computer on FaceBook and Twitter and wherever else she needs to broadcast her news to her friends. We made sure Lisa brushed her teeth early because we kind of figured she would end up like this. I will leave my door open on the gallery side anyway in case she comes looking for me at two AM.
Oh, and I wrote a note for the school saying I will be missing first period all week because of getting my little sister to school and of course the teacher and the guidance people were fine with that-- British literature? --my major? --are you kidding? There is another section of the same class during fifth and they asked if I wanted to just sit in on that and miss lunch, but I said no way. Anyway I have the textbook, like I haven't read all that stuff already. And I can write my paper from home.
So we will be all right for the short term. Thanks be to God.
...
We got a phone call very early this morning that my uncle had had a heart attack and had been flown to Philadelphia for surgery. This immediately upset my father to the point of insisting that he drive up there straight away. Little JJ was not even out of bed (and he is an early riser) and Daddy and Mother were packing things and getting ready to go. I stood there stuffing a toasted muffin into my mouth whilst they scurried round with suitcases and so on.
Of course Mother would not let him go alone. They would be taking JJ with them, so that he could stay with our other uncle's family in southern New Jersey for a few days whilst Mother and Daddy went on to Philadelphia. We were fortunate to have had Roger here the last few days-- working on the new (old) Buick project with Daddy, and so they would have him and the dark-green car for the ride. But it meant that I would be left to see little Lisa off to school for the next few mornings, and to arrive late each day myself (as her school starts an hour after mine, so I will miss first and half of second period by the time I get there. But, it cannot be helped).
Before they left this morning we did get another phone call and the news that our uncle had probably not had a true heart attack but that he has significant arterial blockage and so will need some bypass surgery. Other than this (significant but manageable) problem he is doing well. Daddy was relieved. But still they would leave at 9.00.
Roger drove Jessy in so she would not be late today and then would return for Daddy and Mother and little JJ who was getting dressed though crankily. I made a breakfast for Lisa and helped her get dressed and drove her in myself, a few minutes late, in the Regal and then got myself over to the high school. Of course we get out earlier so I was able, with Jessy, to drive over there and pick up Lisa when she got done. As of right now we are three girls on our own in the castle for probably the rest of the week.
Our uncle is out of his surgery and doing well-- they expect him to be much improved by week's end when they will release him. I rang my aunt in southern New Jersey and got a few updates and got to talk with JJ too. He is having fun with his cousins and does not fully understand the serious issues of his visit there. This is probably best.
I spoke with Daddy too and though he is relieved he is still concerned. 'It could happen to any of us,' he said. 'You always think it'll be the other guy, but it could be you, you know.'
'But you are very healthy,' I told him, 'and you work out and walk and ride the bike. And you don't smoke.'
Our uncle has always smoked cigarettes. It is a source of concern through the whole family. 'Yeah, but I could be better. And they're saying it's not due to the cigarettes.'
'What else would it be due to?' I asked (yes, incorrect grammar and all).
'I don't know. I told him as soon as he gets better we're all starting a fitness routine.'
Daddy already has a fitness routine. As casual as he has always been about other things (diet, paying bills, wearing ironed clothes) he has always enjoyed just doing physical things like walking, running, riding stationary and two-wheeled bicycles and of course swimming. He and I have a little competition on the rowing machine down stairs, trying to improve our 2k times. I am down to about 9:17-- and, by the way, have lost about 2 lbs of holiday-season fat.
Our other uncle tends to be a bit more rigorous in his fitness than either of his elder brothers and we worry perhaps less about his health than anyone's. Tonight they are both at Gran's house farther up in New Jersey and one aunt stays with her husband in hospital and the other is minding four little kids at the farmhouse. All the signs look good and so I have relaxed my own concern and left it all to God. I think sometimes this is all we can do.
For supper Jessy and Lisa (meaning Jessy, with Lisa sitting on the counter asking questions and talking incessantly) made a frozen entree of roast beef with fried mashed potatoes left over from Gran's birthday dinner and cranberry sauce and (mostly cold) broccoli. I planned for tomorrow to have macaroni-and-cheese casserole with the leftover chicken in it. I think we will not starve soon.
Lisa did ask to sleep in with me tonight but as of now she is in Lisa's bed, probably asleep if I care to go look whilst Jessy bangs away on the computer on FaceBook and Twitter and wherever else she needs to broadcast her news to her friends. We made sure Lisa brushed her teeth early because we kind of figured she would end up like this. I will leave my door open on the gallery side anyway in case she comes looking for me at two AM.
Oh, and I wrote a note for the school saying I will be missing first period all week because of getting my little sister to school and of course the teacher and the guidance people were fine with that-- British literature? --my major? --are you kidding? There is another section of the same class during fifth and they asked if I wanted to just sit in on that and miss lunch, but I said no way. Anyway I have the textbook, like I haven't read all that stuff already. And I can write my paper from home.
So we will be all right for the short term. Thanks be to God.
...
09 January 2010
I learn a new word
Friday, 9 January 2010
It snowed over the night, but it was not very much and in fact the house wasn't even as chilly as I expected. I had a soothing warm shower in the morning and stood at my mirror doing my face wash for a while before Lisa came in. She was in her nightgown, one of the ones Mother made, like a long version of an 18th-century shift but in flannel, white with little red-and-gold roses scattered about it. She padded in with socks on her feet and leaned back against the wainscot beside the basin where I daubed at my face. I had my long white towel draped round my shoulders and the regular-sized one binding up my hair, but it was not cold enough to worry about more than that even though the basin is right next to the window. 'Hey,' she said.
'Hey,' I said.
'How was your shower?'
'Hot,' I said. 'Only way to have it on a cold morning.'
She smiled at me, leaning back against the wall and folding and refolding her hands in front of herself. 'You don't look cold,' she said.
I shrugged. 'I'm not.'
She leaned there, going on with her hands like that and swivelling a little, back and forth, on her heels. I realised she was looking me over, but I've always known she likes to look me over. When you're six and you have teenaged sisters, you're going to be fascinated by them. Jessy and I know we're her role models. When you're sixteen or eighteen and your six-year-old sister looks up to you, it's a pretty high honour.
Then again, having a six-year-old sister does have its awkward moments. She spent a long few minutes just looking at me-- as I said I wasn't dressed-- and then said, 'When can I get fuzz on my cootie?'
I moved the eyeliner pencil away before I laughed. 'What?!'
She got a little red, swivelling on her heels like that, and looked down-- at about my hip, maybe lower. 'I just wondered,' she said.
'Wondered about your... what was it--?' I looked down at her.
'Cootie,' she said quietly. 'That's what the boys call it.'
I scowled then. 'What boys?'
She got redder. 'Well, Richard and his friends call it that. They say it's what girls have.'
I nodded. 'We do, but I don't think Richard and his friends have any business talking about it like that in front of you.'
She shrugged then. 'Richard says his mother doesn't have fuzz on hers.'
I went red then. 'Good Lord!' I said. 'How on earth would he know?'
'He says he saw it,' Lisa said.
'Good Lord!' I put down the makeup bag on the back of the basin, wrapped the towel round my shoulders and strode round her and out to my room.
'Are you mad?' she asked, following me.
'No. Not at you, anyway. I just think this Richard character is a little unnecessarily rakish for my little sister to be fraternising with.'
'He's just a boy,' she said. 'They're all like that.'
'Remind me to tell Mother to say something to the school then,' I said, and took out my clothes to get dressed.
'Jessy says you get fuzz when you get your buppies,' Lisa said.
I smiled a little then. 'Yes, a little before, sometimes.'
'Will I get it when I'm eleven?'
I smiled at her. 'Maybe. Maybe a little after that.'
'Will I get it when I'm twelve?'
I nodded. 'I would think so.'
She nodded too. 'Okay,' she said, and she turned to go then.
'Out of curiosity,' I said, and waited for her to turn back, 'why are you wondering about it?'
Lisa got a little red then. For whatever she doesn't know, she makes up for it by blushing really well. She's studied in all the ladylike graces already-- thanks to Mother, me, and Jessy, as well as Gran. I have no doubt that when she's twelve she will be the most dastardly little charmer in whatever school she's in then. 'I don't know....' She stood swivelling on her heels again-- she does that when she's shy or embarrassed. 'Will I be as pretty as Jessy is?'
I smiled and went to her, bent down, and kissed her head. 'You already are,' I said.
'No I'm not. She's pretty and has pretty hair and pretty eyes and pretty buppies.'
'And fuzz on her cootie?' I giggled.
Lisa giggled too. 'Yes.'
I bent over and kissed her again. When I do that, especially naked, she looks upwards and I know what she sees. But she never says much about me. It's well carried in the family that Lisa takes after Jessy more than me anyway-- they are two of a kind, separated by ten years, both playful, witty, cuddly and with a tendency to pamper themselves. Jessy may be her role model, but I am almost a second mother. I'm the one she comes in to snuggle with when she's having a bad dream or feeling too chilly, not Jessy, and I'm the one she asks the important questions to. And as I said, it's a pretty high honour, especially when I think that I am actually closer to Mother (my stepmother, Lisa's mummy) in age than I am to her child.
I remember one time when Mother was still our nanny, a beautiful young woman (actually a teenager) living with us as an au pair, and I happened to wander in to her room and came upon her just putting on her bra. And I stood there and stared at her as though she were a goddess. We always thought she was pretty, and I had seen her in swimsuits (almost always a bikini unless she was swimming laps) plenty of times, but suddenly I was eight and she was gorgeous and I felt terrifically envious. And I started asking her about things, when she got her first period and how she knew it was coming and how she felt when parts of her started developing, and she never flinched and never got embarrassed and never refused to answer anything I asked. She realised then I was her role model and she considered it a very high honour. And so when I think about that, I realise that the way I pay back my terrific role model is to be the best one I can be for her child.
'Well,' I said, 'you are already very pretty, and your mother is pretty, and your sister Jessy is pretty, and I know you will only get prettier and prettier as you grow up. So I want you to remember that, and don't worry too much about when everything will happen to you. God provides in His own time, you know.'
She nodded. 'I know. But what if it never comes?'
'What if what never comes?'
'My... you know. Fuzz on my cootie.'
'Oh, it will come, sweetie.'
'You have it and Jessy has it,' she said-- and now she looked down at me as though to remind herself-- but Richard's mother doesn't. And I'm pretty sure she's old enough.'
I got red then. 'Well, all girls get it, but some girls just shave it off.'
'Shave it? Like with a razor?'
I nodded.
'Isn't that sharp?'
'Very sharp,' I said.
'Ewww!' And she covered her crutch, in the nightgown, with both hands then. 'What if I don't want it off?'
I laughed. 'Then don't shave it,' I said simply.
She nodded then. 'I won't!'
There it is-- common sense from the mouths of babes. 'There's a good girl,' I said, and turned to go back and step into my panties.
'I want to be pretty like you are,' she said softly then.
I stood up, shimmying into the panties, and smiled over at her. 'You will be, sweetie.'
She giggled a little and scampered off.
On the way down to the car Jessy asked me, 'Did she come into your room again last night?'
'No,' I said. 'Just after my shower.'
'She adores you,' Jessy told me. 'She's lucky to have you.'
'And you,' I said.
Jessy shrugged. She's heard that before. 'She learns more from you.'
'I learn from her too. Like, this morning, she taught me a new word,' I said, and when we got into the car I told her about it.
...
It snowed over the night, but it was not very much and in fact the house wasn't even as chilly as I expected. I had a soothing warm shower in the morning and stood at my mirror doing my face wash for a while before Lisa came in. She was in her nightgown, one of the ones Mother made, like a long version of an 18th-century shift but in flannel, white with little red-and-gold roses scattered about it. She padded in with socks on her feet and leaned back against the wainscot beside the basin where I daubed at my face. I had my long white towel draped round my shoulders and the regular-sized one binding up my hair, but it was not cold enough to worry about more than that even though the basin is right next to the window. 'Hey,' she said.
'Hey,' I said.
'How was your shower?'
'Hot,' I said. 'Only way to have it on a cold morning.'
She smiled at me, leaning back against the wall and folding and refolding her hands in front of herself. 'You don't look cold,' she said.
I shrugged. 'I'm not.'
She leaned there, going on with her hands like that and swivelling a little, back and forth, on her heels. I realised she was looking me over, but I've always known she likes to look me over. When you're six and you have teenaged sisters, you're going to be fascinated by them. Jessy and I know we're her role models. When you're sixteen or eighteen and your six-year-old sister looks up to you, it's a pretty high honour.
Then again, having a six-year-old sister does have its awkward moments. She spent a long few minutes just looking at me-- as I said I wasn't dressed-- and then said, 'When can I get fuzz on my cootie?'
I moved the eyeliner pencil away before I laughed. 'What?!'
She got a little red, swivelling on her heels like that, and looked down-- at about my hip, maybe lower. 'I just wondered,' she said.
'Wondered about your... what was it--?' I looked down at her.
'Cootie,' she said quietly. 'That's what the boys call it.'
I scowled then. 'What boys?'
She got redder. 'Well, Richard and his friends call it that. They say it's what girls have.'
I nodded. 'We do, but I don't think Richard and his friends have any business talking about it like that in front of you.'
She shrugged then. 'Richard says his mother doesn't have fuzz on hers.'
I went red then. 'Good Lord!' I said. 'How on earth would he know?'
'He says he saw it,' Lisa said.
'Good Lord!' I put down the makeup bag on the back of the basin, wrapped the towel round my shoulders and strode round her and out to my room.
'Are you mad?' she asked, following me.
'No. Not at you, anyway. I just think this Richard character is a little unnecessarily rakish for my little sister to be fraternising with.'
'He's just a boy,' she said. 'They're all like that.'
'Remind me to tell Mother to say something to the school then,' I said, and took out my clothes to get dressed.
'Jessy says you get fuzz when you get your buppies,' Lisa said.
I smiled a little then. 'Yes, a little before, sometimes.'
'Will I get it when I'm eleven?'
I smiled at her. 'Maybe. Maybe a little after that.'
'Will I get it when I'm twelve?'
I nodded. 'I would think so.'
She nodded too. 'Okay,' she said, and she turned to go then.
'Out of curiosity,' I said, and waited for her to turn back, 'why are you wondering about it?'
Lisa got a little red then. For whatever she doesn't know, she makes up for it by blushing really well. She's studied in all the ladylike graces already-- thanks to Mother, me, and Jessy, as well as Gran. I have no doubt that when she's twelve she will be the most dastardly little charmer in whatever school she's in then. 'I don't know....' She stood swivelling on her heels again-- she does that when she's shy or embarrassed. 'Will I be as pretty as Jessy is?'
I smiled and went to her, bent down, and kissed her head. 'You already are,' I said.
'No I'm not. She's pretty and has pretty hair and pretty eyes and pretty buppies.'
'And fuzz on her cootie?' I giggled.
Lisa giggled too. 'Yes.'
I bent over and kissed her again. When I do that, especially naked, she looks upwards and I know what she sees. But she never says much about me. It's well carried in the family that Lisa takes after Jessy more than me anyway-- they are two of a kind, separated by ten years, both playful, witty, cuddly and with a tendency to pamper themselves. Jessy may be her role model, but I am almost a second mother. I'm the one she comes in to snuggle with when she's having a bad dream or feeling too chilly, not Jessy, and I'm the one she asks the important questions to. And as I said, it's a pretty high honour, especially when I think that I am actually closer to Mother (my stepmother, Lisa's mummy) in age than I am to her child.
I remember one time when Mother was still our nanny, a beautiful young woman (actually a teenager) living with us as an au pair, and I happened to wander in to her room and came upon her just putting on her bra. And I stood there and stared at her as though she were a goddess. We always thought she was pretty, and I had seen her in swimsuits (almost always a bikini unless she was swimming laps) plenty of times, but suddenly I was eight and she was gorgeous and I felt terrifically envious. And I started asking her about things, when she got her first period and how she knew it was coming and how she felt when parts of her started developing, and she never flinched and never got embarrassed and never refused to answer anything I asked. She realised then I was her role model and she considered it a very high honour. And so when I think about that, I realise that the way I pay back my terrific role model is to be the best one I can be for her child.
'Well,' I said, 'you are already very pretty, and your mother is pretty, and your sister Jessy is pretty, and I know you will only get prettier and prettier as you grow up. So I want you to remember that, and don't worry too much about when everything will happen to you. God provides in His own time, you know.'
She nodded. 'I know. But what if it never comes?'
'What if what never comes?'
'My... you know. Fuzz on my cootie.'
'Oh, it will come, sweetie.'
'You have it and Jessy has it,' she said-- and now she looked down at me as though to remind herself-- but Richard's mother doesn't. And I'm pretty sure she's old enough.'
I got red then. 'Well, all girls get it, but some girls just shave it off.'
'Shave it? Like with a razor?'
I nodded.
'Isn't that sharp?'
'Very sharp,' I said.
'Ewww!' And she covered her crutch, in the nightgown, with both hands then. 'What if I don't want it off?'
I laughed. 'Then don't shave it,' I said simply.
She nodded then. 'I won't!'
There it is-- common sense from the mouths of babes. 'There's a good girl,' I said, and turned to go back and step into my panties.
'I want to be pretty like you are,' she said softly then.
I stood up, shimmying into the panties, and smiled over at her. 'You will be, sweetie.'
She giggled a little and scampered off.
On the way down to the car Jessy asked me, 'Did she come into your room again last night?'
'No,' I said. 'Just after my shower.'
'She adores you,' Jessy told me. 'She's lucky to have you.'
'And you,' I said.
Jessy shrugged. She's heard that before. 'She learns more from you.'
'I learn from her too. Like, this morning, she taught me a new word,' I said, and when we got into the car I told her about it.
...
07 January 2010
The bed-bug
Thursday morning, 7 January 2010
'Janiiiiine!' came the urgent whisper.
I squeezed my eyes shut and turned onto my back in the bed. As I turned back onto my side I found the strength to open them, and there she was in her shin-length flannel nightgown, hair mussed, pink fluffy bunny held up to her chest, staring straight at me in the near-blackness of the room, two feet away. Instantly my eyes went wide-open. 'What's wrong?' I asked, worried.
'I'm collllld!'
I made half a face. 'You're cold?'
She nodded, urgently, as though this were an issue of the gravest importance.
'What's wrong with your bed? Go get yourself tucked in.'
'I can't! The covers are all twisted.'
I sighed and rolled onto my back again, turning my head to see the clock. It glowed, faintly-- 2.10 a.m. I sighed more and turned back to her, lifting the covers to let her in. She seemed to brighten immediately and snuggled in on her side in front of me as I shifted backwards a little to the other pillow. Then I pulled over the flannel sheet, cotton comforter, heavy bedspread and thick microfleece blanket, tucking it all in round her knees and elbows and leaving my arm round her hips, actually holding her lower hip to keep her close to me. It was actually very cosy, with her soft flannel bottom nestled into my lap and her head right under my chin.
She sighed, happy to be warm and to have got her way, and I batted some of her hair aside and got myself comfortable again against the colder pillow. I let out another sigh, the deep sigh of getting comfortable again, and she mimicked me, like that game we sometimes play-- one of us will exhale like that and the other will copy it, and it evolves into this teasing contest of holding our breath and seeing who has to inhale or exhale first, and there are plenty of tricks to fool the other one into breathing in too much or not holding onto enough air long enough, you know. But I would not play with her tonight. In another minute-- I think-- we were asleep.
...
'Janiiiiine!'
This time I didn't move. I just opened my eyes.
Lisa lay facing me, her nose about eight inches from my own. 'What's that music?'
It was the Brandenburg No.6 playing quietly on my iPod which goes off as my alarm-- not the first movement... so that meant it was barely 6.05. I sighed. 'Are you still here?'
She made a cute little smile at me. 'My room is still cold,' she whispered.
'Were you up?'
'No.' She held the bunny up under her chin, like she does, right between us. I kissed the bunny's face and peeled back the covers behind myself to back out, leaving her in the warm middle of the bed. With Bach still playing I pulled out some black underwear and a black t-shirt and went round to my bathroom.
Halfway through my shower she tapped lightly on the door and then opened it a bit. 'Can I come in?' she called, in a scarcely-louder version of the same urgent whisper she uses in the middle of the night.
'You don't have to get up,' I told her from behind the curtain.
'I need the potty!' she said, half giggling, and went round the bath to it. When she was done she knocked on the vinyl shower curtain. 'When are you coming out?'
'When I'm done, of course. Go get yourself back into the bed and stay warm.'
'Okay!' she said happily, for she knew we both expected her to get back into MY bed.
She was asleep when I came out. I pulled on the black leggings and the oversize oatmeal sweater I had left on the chair for last night, and Jessy came in, in her own charcoal-grey leggings and heavy blue-and-black chequered flannie, as I was pulling up my socks. 'Hey. What's happened to--'
'Shhh,' I said, and pointed. Jessy saw the little lump under all my covers and nodded. 'Two a.m.,' I told her.
Jessy smiled. 'Are you just going to let her stay there?' she whispered.
I shrugged. 'Why not?'
'Well, at least she got warm. Her door was open. All hers are on the floor.'
I turned off the iPod to let her sleep and Jessy and I went down stairs. I suppose I should have done homework last night, but there was Epiphany Mass and the vicar's party afterwards and we had all got home quite late. I would have to get myself out of this predicament somehow.
In the kitchen there was a lovely little fire going. Mother took a kettle off the fire and poured out for tea. I informed her that Lisa had come into my bed last night so she'd know where to find her, and Jessy and I stood at the counter to share a toasted English muffin with strawberry jam with our tea. Daddy came down the side stairs and appeared in the doorway. 'Do you have anything important to do today?' he wondered.
I looked over at him. 'Well, school,' I said.
Jessy looked up. 'I have a test in history,' she said.
Daddy pointed at her. 'You'll go for that,' he said, and then he turned and pointed at me, like to tease. 'And you?'
I recognised my opportunity. 'Nothing I can't make up,' I said at once. 'Although I didn't get much sleep last night, seeing as the bed-bug came into my bed at about two o'clock.'
He smiled. 'Did she? Well, you can sleep in the car. David and Kurt are coming round to put down vocals and I could use you on the board... probably in the booth too.'
I nodded and set the books bag down in a chair. So! --I wouldn't need that today! 'But of course. When do we go?'
'We'll drop this one on the way out, and then leave. Roger's driving us. It might not be all day. It's supposed to snow tonight.'
Jessy scowled at me. 'I have a test in history, and you have this?'
I shrugged. 'You wouldn't want to have to take it tomorrow.'
'We might not even have school tomorrow,' she said.
'And then you'd have to take it Monday.'
'It won't be a big snow,' Daddy said, and went out to the side stairs again.
Just as we were gathering in the hall, little Lisa came hurrying down the front stairs. Without a word she ran up and threw her arms round me. I hugged her back. 'Thank you for keeping me warm,' she said sweetly.
I bent down and kissed her. 'You kept me warm too!'
She giggled. 'Can I keep you warm tonight too?'
'I think what we will do is get your bed all in order, and all your covers tucked-in, and then you and that silly rabbit will be just fine together.'
She smiled at me. 'Okay,' she said, and leaned up and kissed me too. 'I love you.'
'And I love you, good angel.'
'Snug as two bugs in a rug,' Jessy said to me as we descended outside to the car with Daddy. 'She really is a good little snuggler.'
I smiled. 'Like you were,' I reminded her.
'Hey! Still am.'
'I'm sure.'
...
'Janiiiiine!' came the urgent whisper.
I squeezed my eyes shut and turned onto my back in the bed. As I turned back onto my side I found the strength to open them, and there she was in her shin-length flannel nightgown, hair mussed, pink fluffy bunny held up to her chest, staring straight at me in the near-blackness of the room, two feet away. Instantly my eyes went wide-open. 'What's wrong?' I asked, worried.
'I'm collllld!'
I made half a face. 'You're cold?'
She nodded, urgently, as though this were an issue of the gravest importance.
'What's wrong with your bed? Go get yourself tucked in.'
'I can't! The covers are all twisted.'
I sighed and rolled onto my back again, turning my head to see the clock. It glowed, faintly-- 2.10 a.m. I sighed more and turned back to her, lifting the covers to let her in. She seemed to brighten immediately and snuggled in on her side in front of me as I shifted backwards a little to the other pillow. Then I pulled over the flannel sheet, cotton comforter, heavy bedspread and thick microfleece blanket, tucking it all in round her knees and elbows and leaving my arm round her hips, actually holding her lower hip to keep her close to me. It was actually very cosy, with her soft flannel bottom nestled into my lap and her head right under my chin.
She sighed, happy to be warm and to have got her way, and I batted some of her hair aside and got myself comfortable again against the colder pillow. I let out another sigh, the deep sigh of getting comfortable again, and she mimicked me, like that game we sometimes play-- one of us will exhale like that and the other will copy it, and it evolves into this teasing contest of holding our breath and seeing who has to inhale or exhale first, and there are plenty of tricks to fool the other one into breathing in too much or not holding onto enough air long enough, you know. But I would not play with her tonight. In another minute-- I think-- we were asleep.
...
'Janiiiiine!'
This time I didn't move. I just opened my eyes.
Lisa lay facing me, her nose about eight inches from my own. 'What's that music?'
It was the Brandenburg No.6 playing quietly on my iPod which goes off as my alarm-- not the first movement... so that meant it was barely 6.05. I sighed. 'Are you still here?'
She made a cute little smile at me. 'My room is still cold,' she whispered.
'Were you up?'
'No.' She held the bunny up under her chin, like she does, right between us. I kissed the bunny's face and peeled back the covers behind myself to back out, leaving her in the warm middle of the bed. With Bach still playing I pulled out some black underwear and a black t-shirt and went round to my bathroom.
Halfway through my shower she tapped lightly on the door and then opened it a bit. 'Can I come in?' she called, in a scarcely-louder version of the same urgent whisper she uses in the middle of the night.
'You don't have to get up,' I told her from behind the curtain.
'I need the potty!' she said, half giggling, and went round the bath to it. When she was done she knocked on the vinyl shower curtain. 'When are you coming out?'
'When I'm done, of course. Go get yourself back into the bed and stay warm.'
'Okay!' she said happily, for she knew we both expected her to get back into MY bed.
She was asleep when I came out. I pulled on the black leggings and the oversize oatmeal sweater I had left on the chair for last night, and Jessy came in, in her own charcoal-grey leggings and heavy blue-and-black chequered flannie, as I was pulling up my socks. 'Hey. What's happened to--'
'Shhh,' I said, and pointed. Jessy saw the little lump under all my covers and nodded. 'Two a.m.,' I told her.
Jessy smiled. 'Are you just going to let her stay there?' she whispered.
I shrugged. 'Why not?'
'Well, at least she got warm. Her door was open. All hers are on the floor.'
I turned off the iPod to let her sleep and Jessy and I went down stairs. I suppose I should have done homework last night, but there was Epiphany Mass and the vicar's party afterwards and we had all got home quite late. I would have to get myself out of this predicament somehow.
In the kitchen there was a lovely little fire going. Mother took a kettle off the fire and poured out for tea. I informed her that Lisa had come into my bed last night so she'd know where to find her, and Jessy and I stood at the counter to share a toasted English muffin with strawberry jam with our tea. Daddy came down the side stairs and appeared in the doorway. 'Do you have anything important to do today?' he wondered.
I looked over at him. 'Well, school,' I said.
Jessy looked up. 'I have a test in history,' she said.
Daddy pointed at her. 'You'll go for that,' he said, and then he turned and pointed at me, like to tease. 'And you?'
I recognised my opportunity. 'Nothing I can't make up,' I said at once. 'Although I didn't get much sleep last night, seeing as the bed-bug came into my bed at about two o'clock.'
He smiled. 'Did she? Well, you can sleep in the car. David and Kurt are coming round to put down vocals and I could use you on the board... probably in the booth too.'
I nodded and set the books bag down in a chair. So! --I wouldn't need that today! 'But of course. When do we go?'
'We'll drop this one on the way out, and then leave. Roger's driving us. It might not be all day. It's supposed to snow tonight.'
Jessy scowled at me. 'I have a test in history, and you have this?'
I shrugged. 'You wouldn't want to have to take it tomorrow.'
'We might not even have school tomorrow,' she said.
'And then you'd have to take it Monday.'
'It won't be a big snow,' Daddy said, and went out to the side stairs again.
Just as we were gathering in the hall, little Lisa came hurrying down the front stairs. Without a word she ran up and threw her arms round me. I hugged her back. 'Thank you for keeping me warm,' she said sweetly.
I bent down and kissed her. 'You kept me warm too!'
She giggled. 'Can I keep you warm tonight too?'
'I think what we will do is get your bed all in order, and all your covers tucked-in, and then you and that silly rabbit will be just fine together.'
She smiled at me. 'Okay,' she said, and leaned up and kissed me too. 'I love you.'
'And I love you, good angel.'
'Snug as two bugs in a rug,' Jessy said to me as we descended outside to the car with Daddy. 'She really is a good little snuggler.'
I smiled. 'Like you were,' I reminded her.
'Hey! Still am.'
'I'm sure.'
...
28 December 2009
Nancy's buppies
Sunday, 27 December 2009
Our Gran hs made a tradition of sending Jessy and me to the theatre in Philadelphia at least once or twice a year, suspending it only when we were in England (and then making up for it with two shows each year since). This year we were presented with tickets for 'Oliver!' at Walnut Street for this Sunday. It meant that we would miss church, but we had had Mass at Christmas Eve and anyway it's not like we ever miss Mass so much at all. So at 7.30 on Sunday morning Jessy and I were in the back of the dark-green Cadillac cruising up Route One towards New Jersey. I sat in the back as usual and Jessy leaned over the fold-down armrest till she was asleep with her head on my arm. Roger (Daddy's driver) stopped at McDonald's for us to get hot cocoa and that was very comforting.
We collected Gran at our uncle's house in southern New Jersey and owing to some traffic we got into the city at only half an hour before show time. Roger stopped at the kerb and hurried round to let us out. Fortunately there was a bus of pensioners getting out directly ahead, so we were not the reason for holding up traffic in the street. The tickets Gran got were not bad, near the centre of the upper tier. Walnut Street, the oldest continually-operating theatre company in America, is not a large place and you have to pretty much endure whatever's available. The acoustics, however, were excellent, which is a good thing since this presentation actually used REAL children in the children's parts-- they don't always do that, you know.
The show was really good, except for one or two things I didn't like at all. One was that the actor playing Fagin seemed uncomfortable acting in a 19th-century London accent. He sang well, but his first few lines seemed stiff. Then at the end he gave the plea for donations for the theatre and quite adeptly slid out of his accent, kind of as a joke, to speak as himself, and we all laughed. By that point his accent had improved.
The other thing I did not care for was the woman playing Nancy, an actress called Janine Davita. First of all, she was too old. The actress is about 35 and the character of Nancy is 18. The problem is that the precedent is Shani Wallis, playing her in the movie, who was 35 at the time but looked easily no more than 21. The actress in the movie playing her sister, Bet, was 18 playing 16, a closer fit of course. Shani Wallis carries it off because she is naturally petite, well-shaped, youthful-looking and incredibly versatile physically. Most importantly the red dress that Nancy always has to wear in any production of 'Oliver!' stayed put on her, which is more than I can say for what Janine Davita was wearing.
Maybe it was just the angle we had from the edge of the mezzanine, but we could see directly down into the top of her dress. And, since it's supposed to be a real 19th-century dress, and Nancy is supposed to be a prostitute, she doesn't wear appropriate undergarments... so let me say that there was a bit more than modest cleavage showing! Oh, we could laugh and say it's only what the poor woman looks like, so don't hold her responsible for God's handiwork, you know. But some costumer did pick the dress, and they had to have been aware of what it would look like from a higher angle. Worst of all she kept picking up children and holding them close and swinging them round, you know, so that was something the theatre company had to come to terms with as well.
I have mentioned before that my pretty young stepmother is originally from Queensland. And we all know that Australia was settled by Irish emigres, mostly from London, so the accents are similar. What I have not mentioned before is that, when she and Daddy were first married-- actually right after Lisa was born-- Mother had the chance to act in a local/regional production of 'Oliver!' -- something Daddy encouraged her wholeheartedly to do. And, being a talented singer, young, petite, Australian, blonde, and buxom as she is, what part do they give her? --Nancy the teenaged prostitute in the red dress. I am sure that never was anyone cast in that role who was so unlike the character in real life! But Mother, of course, completely rocked the role. I mean, she was stunningly good at it-- all the singing, dancing (something she never likes doing), acting, speaking, emoting, all of it. Of course she is exceptionally intelligent (having a true genius IQ) which is always a good thing. She is infectiously cute, being little more than 5 ft 1 in tall, but has a strong soprano voice and when she sang 'As Long As He Needs Me' she did not refrain from a single note of how it's usually sung. Daddy said he wept to see it (that is his favourite song in the show). And, of course, she fit into the dress.
I think that since Shani Wallis (who was really not as buxom as she looked in the costume, being somewhat bumped-up to have a certain effect) the actress playing Nancy has to be a little obvious in the bustline. This is after all the archetype of the 'hooker with a heart' role that comes up in westerns and other stories over the years since Dickens wrote 'Oliver Twist'. So there is a certain maternal instinct that has to be apparent in the character of Nancy (that sadly will go unfulfilled, as she dies without children herself) and that is best shown on stage by making her look like a young mother, or a young woman who is ripe and ready to be one. She becomes the first mother to Oliver that he has ever own, and by the end of the story he loves her as his own mother since he will never have another mother himself. Indeed Nancy gives her life to save Oliver's, something only a mother, not a mere prostitute, would do. So in a way, theatre companies over the years, since 1963 anyway, have traditionally cast Nancy with a rather buxom young-looking woman in a snug-fitting bright-red bodice (and purple stockings, which also is symbolic).
So you will forgive me if I compare Janine Davita's performance to that of Shani Wallis and also that of my stepmother, both of whom I think were more appropriately cast and better attired than she was. Oh, do not mistake me-- Mother (my stepmother) wore the bright-red dress (and purple stockings) with all the suggestive sexiness she was supposed to have, and the dress was low-cut and it fit just right and with the Cockney accent coming out of her own East Anglia-tinged Australian she appeared to do Shani Wallis (who was Irish-English) better than anyone could have imagined. We have the videotape (now lovingly archived to CD) to prove it. (And may I say that when she screams at the end, as Bill Sykes is beating her to death, it brought up tears of horror and sympathy in everyone present, all eight shows, every time. Mother screams rarely-- almost never-- but really well!)
Jessy was the one who said it to me in the car ride home, after we had taken supper with Gran in the city and dropt her off at her place. 'I think you could play Nancy,' she said.
'Me? No way.'
'Yes, you little liar, you know you would. You can do the accent-- really well actually. And you've got the look for it.'
I shrugged. 'And I'm the right age.'
'You're exactly the right age. And you've got the singing voice for it.'
'Oh, I do not.'
'Yes, you little liar, you do.'
'And whom would you be? Bet?'
Jessy shrugged. 'I would like to play Bet,' I said.
'You saw in that show how they gave her more singing and dancing parts,' I said.
'Yes.'
'And you are the right age... and you have the right look.'
'And you have the look for Nancy.'
I looked down at myself. We always dress up for the theatre, at least better than most people do. I wore the black sweater I got for Christmas and a little olive skirt and black leggings (not tights) and my high black boots. It's a good look for me. But I hadn't thought anyone would care too much to look at my figure like this. But, then again, Jessy knows me. 'I'd rather not be cast in something just because of my look,' I said.
'Yes,' Jessy said, 'though that's how they often cast people. And a singing audition. The rest is just... je ne sais quoi.'
I slumped down in the seat and thought. It is true I have sung 'As Long As He Needs Me' as a solo, most notably at the talent show at HOH, after several of us had gone to see a regional production of 'Oliver!' in Norwich. It is true that I do love that show, and know it all by heart. It is true that I can do a really good British accent, several different ones in fact, and, though the Cockney is probably my least skillful, I can certainly learn it. And I am the right age-- the same age as the character-- and I am not so terrible at acting that a company would shrink from casting me due to inexperience.
And, as it would appear, I have the figure for the snug-fitting red bodice, at least more appropriately than Janine Davita does... so maybe there's something in that after all.
...
Our Gran hs made a tradition of sending Jessy and me to the theatre in Philadelphia at least once or twice a year, suspending it only when we were in England (and then making up for it with two shows each year since). This year we were presented with tickets for 'Oliver!' at Walnut Street for this Sunday. It meant that we would miss church, but we had had Mass at Christmas Eve and anyway it's not like we ever miss Mass so much at all. So at 7.30 on Sunday morning Jessy and I were in the back of the dark-green Cadillac cruising up Route One towards New Jersey. I sat in the back as usual and Jessy leaned over the fold-down armrest till she was asleep with her head on my arm. Roger (Daddy's driver) stopped at McDonald's for us to get hot cocoa and that was very comforting.
We collected Gran at our uncle's house in southern New Jersey and owing to some traffic we got into the city at only half an hour before show time. Roger stopped at the kerb and hurried round to let us out. Fortunately there was a bus of pensioners getting out directly ahead, so we were not the reason for holding up traffic in the street. The tickets Gran got were not bad, near the centre of the upper tier. Walnut Street, the oldest continually-operating theatre company in America, is not a large place and you have to pretty much endure whatever's available. The acoustics, however, were excellent, which is a good thing since this presentation actually used REAL children in the children's parts-- they don't always do that, you know.
The show was really good, except for one or two things I didn't like at all. One was that the actor playing Fagin seemed uncomfortable acting in a 19th-century London accent. He sang well, but his first few lines seemed stiff. Then at the end he gave the plea for donations for the theatre and quite adeptly slid out of his accent, kind of as a joke, to speak as himself, and we all laughed. By that point his accent had improved.
The other thing I did not care for was the woman playing Nancy, an actress called Janine Davita. First of all, she was too old. The actress is about 35 and the character of Nancy is 18. The problem is that the precedent is Shani Wallis, playing her in the movie, who was 35 at the time but looked easily no more than 21. The actress in the movie playing her sister, Bet, was 18 playing 16, a closer fit of course. Shani Wallis carries it off because she is naturally petite, well-shaped, youthful-looking and incredibly versatile physically. Most importantly the red dress that Nancy always has to wear in any production of 'Oliver!' stayed put on her, which is more than I can say for what Janine Davita was wearing.
Maybe it was just the angle we had from the edge of the mezzanine, but we could see directly down into the top of her dress. And, since it's supposed to be a real 19th-century dress, and Nancy is supposed to be a prostitute, she doesn't wear appropriate undergarments... so let me say that there was a bit more than modest cleavage showing! Oh, we could laugh and say it's only what the poor woman looks like, so don't hold her responsible for God's handiwork, you know. But some costumer did pick the dress, and they had to have been aware of what it would look like from a higher angle. Worst of all she kept picking up children and holding them close and swinging them round, you know, so that was something the theatre company had to come to terms with as well.
I have mentioned before that my pretty young stepmother is originally from Queensland. And we all know that Australia was settled by Irish emigres, mostly from London, so the accents are similar. What I have not mentioned before is that, when she and Daddy were first married-- actually right after Lisa was born-- Mother had the chance to act in a local/regional production of 'Oliver!' -- something Daddy encouraged her wholeheartedly to do. And, being a talented singer, young, petite, Australian, blonde, and buxom as she is, what part do they give her? --Nancy the teenaged prostitute in the red dress. I am sure that never was anyone cast in that role who was so unlike the character in real life! But Mother, of course, completely rocked the role. I mean, she was stunningly good at it-- all the singing, dancing (something she never likes doing), acting, speaking, emoting, all of it. Of course she is exceptionally intelligent (having a true genius IQ) which is always a good thing. She is infectiously cute, being little more than 5 ft 1 in tall, but has a strong soprano voice and when she sang 'As Long As He Needs Me' she did not refrain from a single note of how it's usually sung. Daddy said he wept to see it (that is his favourite song in the show). And, of course, she fit into the dress.
I think that since Shani Wallis (who was really not as buxom as she looked in the costume, being somewhat bumped-up to have a certain effect) the actress playing Nancy has to be a little obvious in the bustline. This is after all the archetype of the 'hooker with a heart' role that comes up in westerns and other stories over the years since Dickens wrote 'Oliver Twist'. So there is a certain maternal instinct that has to be apparent in the character of Nancy (that sadly will go unfulfilled, as she dies without children herself) and that is best shown on stage by making her look like a young mother, or a young woman who is ripe and ready to be one. She becomes the first mother to Oliver that he has ever own, and by the end of the story he loves her as his own mother since he will never have another mother himself. Indeed Nancy gives her life to save Oliver's, something only a mother, not a mere prostitute, would do. So in a way, theatre companies over the years, since 1963 anyway, have traditionally cast Nancy with a rather buxom young-looking woman in a snug-fitting bright-red bodice (and purple stockings, which also is symbolic).
So you will forgive me if I compare Janine Davita's performance to that of Shani Wallis and also that of my stepmother, both of whom I think were more appropriately cast and better attired than she was. Oh, do not mistake me-- Mother (my stepmother) wore the bright-red dress (and purple stockings) with all the suggestive sexiness she was supposed to have, and the dress was low-cut and it fit just right and with the Cockney accent coming out of her own East Anglia-tinged Australian she appeared to do Shani Wallis (who was Irish-English) better than anyone could have imagined. We have the videotape (now lovingly archived to CD) to prove it. (And may I say that when she screams at the end, as Bill Sykes is beating her to death, it brought up tears of horror and sympathy in everyone present, all eight shows, every time. Mother screams rarely-- almost never-- but really well!)
Jessy was the one who said it to me in the car ride home, after we had taken supper with Gran in the city and dropt her off at her place. 'I think you could play Nancy,' she said.
'Me? No way.'
'Yes, you little liar, you know you would. You can do the accent-- really well actually. And you've got the look for it.'
I shrugged. 'And I'm the right age.'
'You're exactly the right age. And you've got the singing voice for it.'
'Oh, I do not.'
'Yes, you little liar, you do.'
'And whom would you be? Bet?'
Jessy shrugged. 'I would like to play Bet,' I said.
'You saw in that show how they gave her more singing and dancing parts,' I said.
'Yes.'
'And you are the right age... and you have the right look.'
'And you have the look for Nancy.'
I looked down at myself. We always dress up for the theatre, at least better than most people do. I wore the black sweater I got for Christmas and a little olive skirt and black leggings (not tights) and my high black boots. It's a good look for me. But I hadn't thought anyone would care too much to look at my figure like this. But, then again, Jessy knows me. 'I'd rather not be cast in something just because of my look,' I said.
'Yes,' Jessy said, 'though that's how they often cast people. And a singing audition. The rest is just... je ne sais quoi.'
I slumped down in the seat and thought. It is true I have sung 'As Long As He Needs Me' as a solo, most notably at the talent show at HOH, after several of us had gone to see a regional production of 'Oliver!' in Norwich. It is true that I do love that show, and know it all by heart. It is true that I can do a really good British accent, several different ones in fact, and, though the Cockney is probably my least skillful, I can certainly learn it. And I am the right age-- the same age as the character-- and I am not so terrible at acting that a company would shrink from casting me due to inexperience.
And, as it would appear, I have the figure for the snug-fitting red bodice, at least more appropriately than Janine Davita does... so maybe there's something in that after all.
...
Christmas observances at Terncote
24-25-26 December, 2009
Our family tends to over-celebrate most holidays, at least as far as putting events on the schedule. For example, I had two birthday parties, one for my friends on Friday and another for the family-- Gran, and my uncles and aunts and cousins-- who have much farther to travel to be with us. I recall times when I was much younger when I would have three parties, including one at school. And this is typical of us, you know-- why have one party when you can have more. And, of course, this calls for three cakes, which in turn calls for the rowing machine... but I digress.
Once all the shopping and baking is done and the tree is brought inside and trimmed there is candlelight Mass on Christmas Eve, including the singing of 'Silent Night' (the ONLY time that song occurs in the church liturgy), and then it is home again for hot cocoa and Christmas wishes and family thanksgiving prayers, and then Daddy reads 'A Visit From St Nicholas' from the the little book we have had since we were little, turning it round to show all the pictures as though he were a kindergarten teacher, and more often than not making fun of the verses and illustrations that Jessy and I, at least, have seen and heard over a dozen times before. Then the little ones are tucked in and everyone has kisses good-night and Jessy and I promise to not wake up too soon in the morning in order to allow Daddy and Mother a bit more rest than they've got these last few days.
Then Daddy does his magic-- and it's always magic, for always there is more than any one of us has expected, and I don't mean just a quantity of gifts, for since Lisa was old enough to understand the material aspect of Christmas Mother has been adamant that we won't 'buy into it'-- we really do not receive many gifts at all and our parents believe quality is better than quantity, so what we receive, and in turn give to each other, is what we all really want, and not just some stuff to outdo the neighbours, you know. Daddy has developed a certain knack for 'doing Christmas' over the years-- well, it perhaps started with our old house in Delaware with one electrical outlet under each window all on the same circuit, so the electric candles in the windows could be activated all at the same time (and still are, there as here, for the house in Delaware has always been decorated like a showpiece for Christmas). He once made a device in the attic there to simulate a patter of reindeer hoofs on the roof, but he found out that it was a little too subtle and that Jessy and I never heard it. In the past he has created mysterious footprints in the snow or rearranged things round certain rooms and left hints that someone benevolent but not of our family has been here. We always set out cookies and milk for Santa and they are always mostly gone, usually exchanged for a handwritten thank-you note that is apparently NOT in Daddy's handwriting. The year Mommy died I sent a letter to Santa asking him to bring her something for Christmas up in heaven and I received in my stocking a very pretty letter in return, in which Santa said he was sorry for our family's loss, that no amount of extra gifts could ever make up for it, and that sometimes these sad things happen even to very good children like me and the best we can all do is continue to have faith in God and to remember that He loves us, especially when we are so afflicted, and so on. I still have the letter, of course. (It will probably go on display at the house in Delaware some day.) The important thing is that the letter from Santa was NOT done on Daddy's computer. It was done in red ink-- and we did not have a colour printer at that time. It used a font Daddy never uses. And the envelope and signature are NOT in Daddy's handwriting (not Mother's either, as she was still our nanny then). I was nine then, almost to the age when you begin to doubt Santa, and the letter only reinforced Santa's existence to me for another couple of years.
(Jessy says I will grow up and marry Santa Claus and become Mrs Claus. I would be perfectly fine with that-- I would get to help make Christmas wonderful for children round the world, I would be working in charity, I would be able to bake cookies, and it would be one of those unselfish occupations that I seem to be drawn to. There are only two things I would need to change about the way Santa traditionally works. One is that I would NOT want to live at the North Pole. The other is that Santa would have to work out on the rowing machine. How someone has been able to last all those years on a high-fat diet of cookies and milk is beyond me... but it shall stop with me. Get used to it, Santa my future husband.)
In the morning JJ and Lisa will be up at about 6.00-- they are never up so early at any other morning of the year. Jessy and I are responsible for keeping them upstairs and in our end of the house till 7.00-- that's the limit Mommy set long ago and which we still keep as tradition. Then making sure everyone is in warm pyjamas or robes and slippers and socks, for the down-stairs of this house is never toasty-warm at that hour, we march down to our parents' room and knock on the door. This year JJ flew down the stairs ahead of us all. The tradition is that we empty stockings first-- there they all are, six in a row, hanging from the fireplace mantel in the small back parlour. They are all hand-knitted in wool yarn and decorated with bells and tassels and Christmas symbols both secular and Christian. Daddy's was made by his godmother for his first Christmas (when he was four weeks old). Mine and Jessy's were made by our Gran when we were infants (I was 2 weeks old at my first Christmas and Jessy was four months). Mother's was made by Mommy for the first year our lovely young au pair (and future nanny and stepmother) was with us. Of course all these have a very special significance, especially Mother's. And then there are the ones for JJ and Lisa, which Mother made, following the patterns Mommy left to her, which were left to Mommy by our Gran. Though it's only a secular symbol for the child's aspect of Christmas the stocking is something that will never be phased out of this family-- Daddy's is as old as he is and is still lovingly preserved and used every year.
We keep Mommy's own stocking, which Gran made for her as a welcome gift for her first Christmas in this family, preserved in paper and linen at the house in Delaware, which Jessy insists she will look after for ever. Of course Mommy is with us every Christmas in spirit, and always will be.
This year we had a horrid little snowfall on Saturday which interrupted the shopping spree Jessy and I had planned but actually did last till Christmas morning, so we can at least say we have had a white Christmas. We took plenty of pictures both out the windows and of us standing in front of the French windows at the back of the parlour with the snow in background. After an hour or so spent opening gifts we had a leisurely brunch of pancakes and listened to traditional carols on CD. Mommy served an early tea and then I helped her with making a pleasant Virginia ham supper.
We are honoured and happy to have with us this year Mother's mum from Queensland, who has been installed in our guest room since she flew in on Wednesday. We have not seen her in over a year. Our uncle and aunt are down from the Poconos and visited with our other uncle and aunt, and Gran, in New Jersey before driving down here for dinner. They never stay at Terncote with us but take a place at a motel in Chincoteague (about 30 minutes away). They stayed in this part of the world through our the Boxing Day party.
For the Boxing Day party we invited just about everyone we know, especially locally, like our friends from school and their parents, to come and crash on us for part of the afternoon. This is a new tradition, suggested by Mother kind of in honour of her mum being here but also because Boxing Day is a Saturday so for once people can actually observe it and not merely return to work like the whole holiday is over, because it's not, not yet, not till Epiphany at least.
At the party Daddy forced us all to sing-- maybe I would rather have not, but this is his way of insisting that we have as much experience before an audience as possible. I mean there were people there from school and everything. Daddy played guitar for Mother to sing 'Greensleeves' and I sang 'To Sir, With Love,' because I had been working on it, and there were a few others like this though the highlight was Jessy singing 'O Holy Night' which sends shivers down your spine. It's like listening to an angel. Daddy says he gets weepy-eyed from it. I do too. This year she sang it with Lisa holding her hand and staring up at her in boundless admiration. Those two really are two of a kind.
I write this Monday morning, catching my breath-- aside from the trip yesterday I was inside this house from church Christmas Eve till leaving for Philadelphia Sunday morning, but it's all been busy so I haven't had a chance to catch up on any of it till now. I truly hope everyone has been having a blessed and happy Christmas... and that we all remember the true reason for the season.
...
Our family tends to over-celebrate most holidays, at least as far as putting events on the schedule. For example, I had two birthday parties, one for my friends on Friday and another for the family-- Gran, and my uncles and aunts and cousins-- who have much farther to travel to be with us. I recall times when I was much younger when I would have three parties, including one at school. And this is typical of us, you know-- why have one party when you can have more. And, of course, this calls for three cakes, which in turn calls for the rowing machine... but I digress.
Once all the shopping and baking is done and the tree is brought inside and trimmed there is candlelight Mass on Christmas Eve, including the singing of 'Silent Night' (the ONLY time that song occurs in the church liturgy), and then it is home again for hot cocoa and Christmas wishes and family thanksgiving prayers, and then Daddy reads 'A Visit From St Nicholas' from the the little book we have had since we were little, turning it round to show all the pictures as though he were a kindergarten teacher, and more often than not making fun of the verses and illustrations that Jessy and I, at least, have seen and heard over a dozen times before. Then the little ones are tucked in and everyone has kisses good-night and Jessy and I promise to not wake up too soon in the morning in order to allow Daddy and Mother a bit more rest than they've got these last few days.
Then Daddy does his magic-- and it's always magic, for always there is more than any one of us has expected, and I don't mean just a quantity of gifts, for since Lisa was old enough to understand the material aspect of Christmas Mother has been adamant that we won't 'buy into it'-- we really do not receive many gifts at all and our parents believe quality is better than quantity, so what we receive, and in turn give to each other, is what we all really want, and not just some stuff to outdo the neighbours, you know. Daddy has developed a certain knack for 'doing Christmas' over the years-- well, it perhaps started with our old house in Delaware with one electrical outlet under each window all on the same circuit, so the electric candles in the windows could be activated all at the same time (and still are, there as here, for the house in Delaware has always been decorated like a showpiece for Christmas). He once made a device in the attic there to simulate a patter of reindeer hoofs on the roof, but he found out that it was a little too subtle and that Jessy and I never heard it. In the past he has created mysterious footprints in the snow or rearranged things round certain rooms and left hints that someone benevolent but not of our family has been here. We always set out cookies and milk for Santa and they are always mostly gone, usually exchanged for a handwritten thank-you note that is apparently NOT in Daddy's handwriting. The year Mommy died I sent a letter to Santa asking him to bring her something for Christmas up in heaven and I received in my stocking a very pretty letter in return, in which Santa said he was sorry for our family's loss, that no amount of extra gifts could ever make up for it, and that sometimes these sad things happen even to very good children like me and the best we can all do is continue to have faith in God and to remember that He loves us, especially when we are so afflicted, and so on. I still have the letter, of course. (It will probably go on display at the house in Delaware some day.) The important thing is that the letter from Santa was NOT done on Daddy's computer. It was done in red ink-- and we did not have a colour printer at that time. It used a font Daddy never uses. And the envelope and signature are NOT in Daddy's handwriting (not Mother's either, as she was still our nanny then). I was nine then, almost to the age when you begin to doubt Santa, and the letter only reinforced Santa's existence to me for another couple of years.
(Jessy says I will grow up and marry Santa Claus and become Mrs Claus. I would be perfectly fine with that-- I would get to help make Christmas wonderful for children round the world, I would be working in charity, I would be able to bake cookies, and it would be one of those unselfish occupations that I seem to be drawn to. There are only two things I would need to change about the way Santa traditionally works. One is that I would NOT want to live at the North Pole. The other is that Santa would have to work out on the rowing machine. How someone has been able to last all those years on a high-fat diet of cookies and milk is beyond me... but it shall stop with me. Get used to it, Santa my future husband.)
In the morning JJ and Lisa will be up at about 6.00-- they are never up so early at any other morning of the year. Jessy and I are responsible for keeping them upstairs and in our end of the house till 7.00-- that's the limit Mommy set long ago and which we still keep as tradition. Then making sure everyone is in warm pyjamas or robes and slippers and socks, for the down-stairs of this house is never toasty-warm at that hour, we march down to our parents' room and knock on the door. This year JJ flew down the stairs ahead of us all. The tradition is that we empty stockings first-- there they all are, six in a row, hanging from the fireplace mantel in the small back parlour. They are all hand-knitted in wool yarn and decorated with bells and tassels and Christmas symbols both secular and Christian. Daddy's was made by his godmother for his first Christmas (when he was four weeks old). Mine and Jessy's were made by our Gran when we were infants (I was 2 weeks old at my first Christmas and Jessy was four months). Mother's was made by Mommy for the first year our lovely young au pair (and future nanny and stepmother) was with us. Of course all these have a very special significance, especially Mother's. And then there are the ones for JJ and Lisa, which Mother made, following the patterns Mommy left to her, which were left to Mommy by our Gran. Though it's only a secular symbol for the child's aspect of Christmas the stocking is something that will never be phased out of this family-- Daddy's is as old as he is and is still lovingly preserved and used every year.
We keep Mommy's own stocking, which Gran made for her as a welcome gift for her first Christmas in this family, preserved in paper and linen at the house in Delaware, which Jessy insists she will look after for ever. Of course Mommy is with us every Christmas in spirit, and always will be.
This year we had a horrid little snowfall on Saturday which interrupted the shopping spree Jessy and I had planned but actually did last till Christmas morning, so we can at least say we have had a white Christmas. We took plenty of pictures both out the windows and of us standing in front of the French windows at the back of the parlour with the snow in background. After an hour or so spent opening gifts we had a leisurely brunch of pancakes and listened to traditional carols on CD. Mommy served an early tea and then I helped her with making a pleasant Virginia ham supper.
We are honoured and happy to have with us this year Mother's mum from Queensland, who has been installed in our guest room since she flew in on Wednesday. We have not seen her in over a year. Our uncle and aunt are down from the Poconos and visited with our other uncle and aunt, and Gran, in New Jersey before driving down here for dinner. They never stay at Terncote with us but take a place at a motel in Chincoteague (about 30 minutes away). They stayed in this part of the world through our the Boxing Day party.
For the Boxing Day party we invited just about everyone we know, especially locally, like our friends from school and their parents, to come and crash on us for part of the afternoon. This is a new tradition, suggested by Mother kind of in honour of her mum being here but also because Boxing Day is a Saturday so for once people can actually observe it and not merely return to work like the whole holiday is over, because it's not, not yet, not till Epiphany at least.
At the party Daddy forced us all to sing-- maybe I would rather have not, but this is his way of insisting that we have as much experience before an audience as possible. I mean there were people there from school and everything. Daddy played guitar for Mother to sing 'Greensleeves' and I sang 'To Sir, With Love,' because I had been working on it, and there were a few others like this though the highlight was Jessy singing 'O Holy Night' which sends shivers down your spine. It's like listening to an angel. Daddy says he gets weepy-eyed from it. I do too. This year she sang it with Lisa holding her hand and staring up at her in boundless admiration. Those two really are two of a kind.
I write this Monday morning, catching my breath-- aside from the trip yesterday I was inside this house from church Christmas Eve till leaving for Philadelphia Sunday morning, but it's all been busy so I haven't had a chance to catch up on any of it till now. I truly hope everyone has been having a blessed and happy Christmas... and that we all remember the true reason for the season.
...
01 November 2009
Haunting Terncote
Friday, 30 October 2009
For Hallowe'en this year we again decked out the whole castle and hosted Lisa's class-- twenty-four first-graders-- plus three of little JJ's friends, associated parents and young siblings, and a few of our friends from the girls' club, mainly to help out, for a party centred in the basement party room. The 'party' room' is an institution with Daddy, dating back to his first band, when they had a modest little raised bungalow in Surf City with an annexe added to the side for a recording studio and the whole ground floor given over to surfboards, guitars and a private pub with a bar and stage where they played parties before they got big. Ever since then every house he has had-- except the one we have now in Surf City-- has had some kind of facility in the basement for hosting a major bash. At Terncote the basement rooms are all the same sizes as the ones above because the walls here are all structural concrete block in the way that all-brick houses were built 250 years ago. There is a billiards room under the dining room, a bar with tables under the small back parlour, a big party room under the big parlour, a video studio/theatre under Gran's room and an art studio with a kiln (built into the base of the fireplace stack of course) under the north (Daddy's) library. There is a dumbwaiter to the kitchen and a pretty little powder room off the TV room and storage for most of whatever we don't store at Poplar Landing, clothes and costumes and decorations and all that.
The decorating took most of the the last two weeks and the weekend. This being the Series, Daddy made sure the TV was on in the video room. The billiards table was covered with a plywood top and tablecloth and served as the main food buffet. It's mostly supper things, sliced meats and cheese and pepperoni and celery and carrots, applesauce, cranberry sauce, crackers and chips, and, of course, cake and cookies. Mother made up most of it-- this is how she is, rarely ever calling a caterer. Once upon a time she said she was the world's worst cook. Now she is known throughout the community for cakes and cookies (and they are NEVER made from a box mix!).
Daddy took charge of lighting and special effects, draping spiderwebs from walls and doorways, fitting flashing lights with motion-sensors, moving small speakers here and there to have eerie sounds everywhere, inside and out. The whole house was kept dark from the outside but for the front-step lights and one ghostly-looking orangeish light high up in the tower, and then he had spotlights rigged behind the roof so that the silhouette of the house seemed outlined in a bluish glow. Some people said it looked like the most haunted house in Virginia. Jessy started saying it was the Screaming Shack.
Mother and Jessy and I set up games round the whole place, like stations where three or four kids can stop on their way through the place and figure out puzzles or tricks, or draw something, or sing something, or get tickled or scared (only a little), or whatever. A few other parents would help with shepherding kids, leaving Jessy and I to be hall monitors and Daddy to being a greeter and security agent. And Roger lingered outside to supervise parking.
As we did last year, Jessy and I dressed as angels. It's the costume my mother designed, bless her heart, when we were just little. Mother-- our nanny then-- had one too, and she used to go with us treating, The costume is just white tights and a white dance leotard, white ballet slippers, and a cute little white cotton jacket that looks like the cover-up girls in the Regency period wore, buttoning once at the chest, with half sleeves and a little rounded collar, which is worn mainly to hide the straps of the wings, which Daddy made out of fibreglass strips and beautiful gossamer tulle, light as a feather (as angel wings should be) and like 40 inches wide. Lisa's, of course, are smaller. This year I got a new white leotard as my old one is worn and also a little tight (though I blush to say so). Thank God I still wear an S (though just barely). The Capezio leotard is lovely, fully lined in front of course (because, the first rule we learned told us, ballerinas don't wear panties!) and sleek and shimmery. I always have on a bra under it, but the heavyweight, lined spandex and of course the little cotton jacket make it less unsightly, almost invisible really. Jessy, of course, gets a leotard with the so-called 'soft bra' and has nothing else to worry about. How I envy her.
Of course girls from the club came over as well-- they were invited-- and some brought dates. This was sort of a surprise in some cases-- as a kind of breach of protocol both Rita and Paula had not rung ahead to let us know they were each bringing someone, but we always have room for one more. The oddest part was that I had to open the door to a guy I'd never met before in this angel costume. The guy's eyes went all over me like I was a pinup. It made me blush (I wish it had not). 'Hello,' I said politely, 'and welcome--'
'Janine!' Paula mushed. 'That's the costume? My God-- you are gorgeous!'
I laughed at that and stepped back to admit them to the front foyer. 'It's just the usual thing. About the only thing I wear for Hallowe'en at all now.'
'It's cute,' the guy said. Paula introduced him and I showed them to the front stairs to have then descend to the party. Later I was down there and encountered Paula's date as he was leaning on the bar looking a little lost or left-out. Paula-- the adorable twit-- had got into a chat that didn't involve him somewhere. 'Good party,' he said to me then.
I turned towards him after going sideways through the doorway (because of the wings). 'If you're a first-grader,' I said.
He laughed. 'Paula's right,' he said. 'It is a great costume.'
I shrugged. The wings bounce when I do that. 'I like it,' I admitted. 'At least it's comfortable.'
He asked about the wings and I told him how they stayed on, though of course I would not open the little jacket to show him. I always get a V-neck leotard, not a 'princess' cut like Jessy gets. The jacket covers it up mostly, though it's the chest coverage I care about. I helped myself to a glass of 'adult punch' and stood there talking with Paula's date till Paula came back. Then her date asked after the lavatory and I gave him directions. Paula turned to me at once. 'I think he likes you,' she said.
I smiled at that. 'I think he's your date, love.'
She shrugged. 'We're just friends. He said he wanted to see the place, so.... You don't mind?'
'Mind that he wants to see the place? Of course not.'
'Do you mind that he likes you?'
I shrugged at her. 'Is he in eleventh?' She nodded. 'Well....' I thought and then said, 'He's welcome to like whomever he likes.'
She laughed. 'Really I'm sure it's the costume anyway. My God-- I wish I'd worn that!'
'So maybe next year you will. I'll be away for this by then.'
'Oh, yeah, right. Wow....'
When her date returned I left them, and not ten minutes after that I saw him chatting up Jessy. She seemed much more interested in him than I was. I wonder if there could be anything in that.
Little JJ had wanted to wear something with tights too-- from having seen all of us working on costumes all month-- and Mother made up a Robin Hood costume for him, a very pretty green cotton tunic and cute folded cap worn with a leather belt and, of course, green tights. Daddy spray-painted the child's ballet shoes green to match. So JJ galloped round the whole house like that, weaving a short plastic sword (it's supposed to be a Roman once, but Daddy painted the hilt to look like wood) and announcing he would 'rob the rich and pay the poor'. Several people indulged him and he soon had a little canvas sack full of candybars and spare change. I think he made about six dollars on the night. I broke a nail trying to get paper donkey-tails out of the donkey poster and dropped a full beer mug (of punch!) on my foot, saving the mug and bruising my toe. Nevertheless I will go out with the little ones tomorrow. 'Tis the season, and all that.
* * *
For Hallowe'en this year we again decked out the whole castle and hosted Lisa's class-- twenty-four first-graders-- plus three of little JJ's friends, associated parents and young siblings, and a few of our friends from the girls' club, mainly to help out, for a party centred in the basement party room. The 'party' room' is an institution with Daddy, dating back to his first band, when they had a modest little raised bungalow in Surf City with an annexe added to the side for a recording studio and the whole ground floor given over to surfboards, guitars and a private pub with a bar and stage where they played parties before they got big. Ever since then every house he has had-- except the one we have now in Surf City-- has had some kind of facility in the basement for hosting a major bash. At Terncote the basement rooms are all the same sizes as the ones above because the walls here are all structural concrete block in the way that all-brick houses were built 250 years ago. There is a billiards room under the dining room, a bar with tables under the small back parlour, a big party room under the big parlour, a video studio/theatre under Gran's room and an art studio with a kiln (built into the base of the fireplace stack of course) under the north (Daddy's) library. There is a dumbwaiter to the kitchen and a pretty little powder room off the TV room and storage for most of whatever we don't store at Poplar Landing, clothes and costumes and decorations and all that.
The decorating took most of the the last two weeks and the weekend. This being the Series, Daddy made sure the TV was on in the video room. The billiards table was covered with a plywood top and tablecloth and served as the main food buffet. It's mostly supper things, sliced meats and cheese and pepperoni and celery and carrots, applesauce, cranberry sauce, crackers and chips, and, of course, cake and cookies. Mother made up most of it-- this is how she is, rarely ever calling a caterer. Once upon a time she said she was the world's worst cook. Now she is known throughout the community for cakes and cookies (and they are NEVER made from a box mix!).
Daddy took charge of lighting and special effects, draping spiderwebs from walls and doorways, fitting flashing lights with motion-sensors, moving small speakers here and there to have eerie sounds everywhere, inside and out. The whole house was kept dark from the outside but for the front-step lights and one ghostly-looking orangeish light high up in the tower, and then he had spotlights rigged behind the roof so that the silhouette of the house seemed outlined in a bluish glow. Some people said it looked like the most haunted house in Virginia. Jessy started saying it was the Screaming Shack.
Mother and Jessy and I set up games round the whole place, like stations where three or four kids can stop on their way through the place and figure out puzzles or tricks, or draw something, or sing something, or get tickled or scared (only a little), or whatever. A few other parents would help with shepherding kids, leaving Jessy and I to be hall monitors and Daddy to being a greeter and security agent. And Roger lingered outside to supervise parking.
As we did last year, Jessy and I dressed as angels. It's the costume my mother designed, bless her heart, when we were just little. Mother-- our nanny then-- had one too, and she used to go with us treating, The costume is just white tights and a white dance leotard, white ballet slippers, and a cute little white cotton jacket that looks like the cover-up girls in the Regency period wore, buttoning once at the chest, with half sleeves and a little rounded collar, which is worn mainly to hide the straps of the wings, which Daddy made out of fibreglass strips and beautiful gossamer tulle, light as a feather (as angel wings should be) and like 40 inches wide. Lisa's, of course, are smaller. This year I got a new white leotard as my old one is worn and also a little tight (though I blush to say so). Thank God I still wear an S (though just barely). The Capezio leotard is lovely, fully lined in front of course (because, the first rule we learned told us, ballerinas don't wear panties!) and sleek and shimmery. I always have on a bra under it, but the heavyweight, lined spandex and of course the little cotton jacket make it less unsightly, almost invisible really. Jessy, of course, gets a leotard with the so-called 'soft bra' and has nothing else to worry about. How I envy her.
Of course girls from the club came over as well-- they were invited-- and some brought dates. This was sort of a surprise in some cases-- as a kind of breach of protocol both Rita and Paula had not rung ahead to let us know they were each bringing someone, but we always have room for one more. The oddest part was that I had to open the door to a guy I'd never met before in this angel costume. The guy's eyes went all over me like I was a pinup. It made me blush (I wish it had not). 'Hello,' I said politely, 'and welcome--'
'Janine!' Paula mushed. 'That's the costume? My God-- you are gorgeous!'
I laughed at that and stepped back to admit them to the front foyer. 'It's just the usual thing. About the only thing I wear for Hallowe'en at all now.'
'It's cute,' the guy said. Paula introduced him and I showed them to the front stairs to have then descend to the party. Later I was down there and encountered Paula's date as he was leaning on the bar looking a little lost or left-out. Paula-- the adorable twit-- had got into a chat that didn't involve him somewhere. 'Good party,' he said to me then.
I turned towards him after going sideways through the doorway (because of the wings). 'If you're a first-grader,' I said.
He laughed. 'Paula's right,' he said. 'It is a great costume.'
I shrugged. The wings bounce when I do that. 'I like it,' I admitted. 'At least it's comfortable.'
He asked about the wings and I told him how they stayed on, though of course I would not open the little jacket to show him. I always get a V-neck leotard, not a 'princess' cut like Jessy gets. The jacket covers it up mostly, though it's the chest coverage I care about. I helped myself to a glass of 'adult punch' and stood there talking with Paula's date till Paula came back. Then her date asked after the lavatory and I gave him directions. Paula turned to me at once. 'I think he likes you,' she said.
I smiled at that. 'I think he's your date, love.'
She shrugged. 'We're just friends. He said he wanted to see the place, so.... You don't mind?'
'Mind that he wants to see the place? Of course not.'
'Do you mind that he likes you?'
I shrugged at her. 'Is he in eleventh?' She nodded. 'Well....' I thought and then said, 'He's welcome to like whomever he likes.'
She laughed. 'Really I'm sure it's the costume anyway. My God-- I wish I'd worn that!'
'So maybe next year you will. I'll be away for this by then.'
'Oh, yeah, right. Wow....'
When her date returned I left them, and not ten minutes after that I saw him chatting up Jessy. She seemed much more interested in him than I was. I wonder if there could be anything in that.
Little JJ had wanted to wear something with tights too-- from having seen all of us working on costumes all month-- and Mother made up a Robin Hood costume for him, a very pretty green cotton tunic and cute folded cap worn with a leather belt and, of course, green tights. Daddy spray-painted the child's ballet shoes green to match. So JJ galloped round the whole house like that, weaving a short plastic sword (it's supposed to be a Roman once, but Daddy painted the hilt to look like wood) and announcing he would 'rob the rich and pay the poor'. Several people indulged him and he soon had a little canvas sack full of candybars and spare change. I think he made about six dollars on the night. I broke a nail trying to get paper donkey-tails out of the donkey poster and dropped a full beer mug (of punch!) on my foot, saving the mug and bruising my toe. Nevertheless I will go out with the little ones tomorrow. 'Tis the season, and all that.
* * *
05 October 2009
Another mid-night hugfest
from Sunday, 4 October 2009
For the last few evenings I have been sitting up in my room typing online and writing in journals and sending email-- probably making up for having been out-of-touch when I was sick last week. Usually I am in my cover-up shirt-- as I have described it to so many people online, it's a men's shirt from like the '70s in white cotton and decorated in blue ruffles and stuff round the collar and little tuxedo buttons. I thought it was a women's shirt when I found it on the rack at the thrift shop which Jessy and I visit often, just for fun. But it buttons the other way-- so it's a men's. It is almost my size being only a little too big and it makes a good swimsuit cover-up, and so I have used it on the beach or round the house for over a year now. Jessy has another shirt for the same purpose but hers is a faded bright red and a little heavier, almost like a flannie.
Sometimes I wear the cover-up shirt round the house, maybe with socks if my feet are cold or sandals or even shoes if I feel like it... and nothing else. It's acceptable enough if I keep it closed. For a while I was using a little silver belt round my waist to hold it closed, but that got awkward because the pleats down the front get twisted and wrinkled. And I'd rather not have to iron something I used only as a cover-up, you know.
I was sitting here last night typing like crazy when I heard Lisa saying something in her bed. She gets tucked-in round 8.00 and normally goes out like a light. Here it was past 9.30 and she was up and upset about something. I got up, wrapped my arms round myself to hold the short closed, and tiptoed into her room.
'Hey,' I whispered. 'Are you okay?'
'Janine?' she called from the darkness.
Without putting on a light I shuffled in and sat on the side of her bed. 'I'm here, sweetie. What's wrong?'
She sniffled. 'I had a bad dream,' she said.
'Awww, sweetie....' I reached out and she put her arms up and we hugged. I hung onto her nice and snugly for a few minutes without even saying anything. She is known for being a willingly snuggler and will happily hang onto any of us for as long as we can stand it. She nestled her head upon my chest and wrapped her little arms round my middle and made a very nice little package to hang onto. 'What was it about?' I asked her.
'Something was chasing me,' she whispered. 'I was outside looking for Mummy and you. I couldn't find you... and something came out of the bushes outside.'
'Awww.... Was it dark, in the dream?'
'Uh-huh.'
'Sweetie,' I said with a little smile. 'But you are never outside like that in the dark. You know it's only something like a dream then. When you woke up in your own bed, you knew you were safe and sound.'
She sniffled. 'I thought I heard it in my room,' she said.
'Shhh, shhh.... We both listened for like a full minute. Nothing came but the faint sound of Jessy typing away on her computer down the gallery. She had her headphones on and we could not even hear the hiss of her music. 'There's no one here but you and me,' I said.
'Will you sleep with me?' she asked.
'Oh, sweetie.... I will be up a whole longer. And this is your bed. You'll be fine here.'
'I don't want to be alone,' she said.
I gave her a big squeeze and then held her out in front of me. Her well-browned little body was as dark as the shadows of the room. 'But you are never alone,' I whispered to her. 'There is always someone here to care for you. You know that.'
She nodded and blotted her eyes. Then, impetuously, she put out her arms and caught me for a hug, this time reaching inside the shirt. It was only inadvertent, you know, but for a moment I felt strangely womanly, as though in that one moment Lisa were my own child. She lay her head right on top of my breast and sighed with her eyes closed. I wondered if she imagined the same thing too.
Mother and Daddy have their room on the other side of the main tower, in the same place as mine but down the other wing. Beside them is what was intended for the lady's parlour, now being used as J.J.'s nursery. The three of us girls are all up here in the north wing. If Lisa cries out, it's sort of implied that it's my job to get up and go see to her. Mother would never hear her, and of course their door is usually closed at night. My door (the one on the north gallery) is always open. Lisa has often wandered in late at night or early in the morning to snuggle with me, or sometimes Jessy, and she knows she is never unwelcome. In that way then I am sometimes the substitute mother down here.
When I was Lisa's age, my stepmother was our nanny and she was about the age I am now. I remember on the few times I had bad dreams she would tiptoe in to my room and ask in a gentle whisper if I were all right. Of course I loved my mother and trusted her implicitly, but I always felt special when our nanny came in to comfort me. She had a sweet, affectionate way with Jessy and me that came from loving us by choice-- she was not our mother, yet she chose to love us anyway, and I think we always felt comforted by that. Lisa is not my child, she is in fact only a half-sister, and I know in many families there is sometimes animosity between half-siblings over who gets the most attention. We have solved that in this house by making sure that we all pay attention to all the others. No one is immune to getting a hug round here. And as I have written before, no one is immune to getting scolded by someone older round here. Lisa has accidentally called me 'Mummy' more than a few times., because she accepts my authority and my affection, almost as though she had two mothers. I have never minded it. In many ways she is sort of a plaything for me, the one I get to practise playing mummy on myself. After all when our nanny became our stepmother none of us doubted that she would turn out to be as wonderful as she has, for she had experience in caring for us out of love. I know that, if God grants me the opportunity, I will have children and love and guide and hug them with all my heart. I believe that's the purpose of life. I only hope that from having been so attentive to little Lisa, I will be as good to my own children as my mother was, as our stepmother has been after her. and that they will adore me as much as I have adored my own mother, and my stepmother after her. There is a lot of love in this family.
I tucked Lisa back into her covers, bending down and kissing her forehead. She sighed, shifting her bottom into the bed a little, and smiled up at me. 'I love you, Janine,' she said softly.
'And I love you, sweet little princess. Do not worry about scary creatures in the night, all right? And if you are worried, you just run down the hall to my room and come in with me. Okay?'
She nodded. I was still bending over her and I saw her look down at me. From that time last year that little J.J. innocently touched me I know there is a certain appeal to how I look when I am assuming a motherly role for these little ones. It's because I am sort of built like Mother is. Jessy has the body of a ballerina, lithe and lovely-- she gets it from our own mommy. But I have the 'assets' (how I hate that term) that smaller children tend to associate with actual mothers, and since they have not seen their mother's own 'assets' since they stopped nursing, and since they see mine so much (as you must know) I think they tend to assume straight away that I am the second mother round here. But I don't mind. As I have told them before, I cannot help what God wanted me to look like. In fact maybe He let me look like this on purpose to be able to reassure a small child who wakes up in the night, too far from their own mother, so that she may feel she is safe and loved and home where she belongs, with a big sister who loves her for all the right reasons.
I returned to my room and sat back on my bed, in the dull bluish glow of the laptop screen, and felt a little shiver. I always get that shiver when something that has just passed has just gone so unbelievably RIGHT that I'm almost embarrassed or afraid to admit it, like after making a good impression on front of someone famous or acing an oral presentation in class or coming in from some really lovely date with a terrific guy who actually likes me and wants to see me again. It's God's way of patting me on the back-- 'Servant, well done.'
The next question I got on an AOL message was 'bra size?' Oh, well.
...
For the last few evenings I have been sitting up in my room typing online and writing in journals and sending email-- probably making up for having been out-of-touch when I was sick last week. Usually I am in my cover-up shirt-- as I have described it to so many people online, it's a men's shirt from like the '70s in white cotton and decorated in blue ruffles and stuff round the collar and little tuxedo buttons. I thought it was a women's shirt when I found it on the rack at the thrift shop which Jessy and I visit often, just for fun. But it buttons the other way-- so it's a men's. It is almost my size being only a little too big and it makes a good swimsuit cover-up, and so I have used it on the beach or round the house for over a year now. Jessy has another shirt for the same purpose but hers is a faded bright red and a little heavier, almost like a flannie.
Sometimes I wear the cover-up shirt round the house, maybe with socks if my feet are cold or sandals or even shoes if I feel like it... and nothing else. It's acceptable enough if I keep it closed. For a while I was using a little silver belt round my waist to hold it closed, but that got awkward because the pleats down the front get twisted and wrinkled. And I'd rather not have to iron something I used only as a cover-up, you know.
I was sitting here last night typing like crazy when I heard Lisa saying something in her bed. She gets tucked-in round 8.00 and normally goes out like a light. Here it was past 9.30 and she was up and upset about something. I got up, wrapped my arms round myself to hold the short closed, and tiptoed into her room.
'Hey,' I whispered. 'Are you okay?'
'Janine?' she called from the darkness.
Without putting on a light I shuffled in and sat on the side of her bed. 'I'm here, sweetie. What's wrong?'
She sniffled. 'I had a bad dream,' she said.
'Awww, sweetie....' I reached out and she put her arms up and we hugged. I hung onto her nice and snugly for a few minutes without even saying anything. She is known for being a willingly snuggler and will happily hang onto any of us for as long as we can stand it. She nestled her head upon my chest and wrapped her little arms round my middle and made a very nice little package to hang onto. 'What was it about?' I asked her.
'Something was chasing me,' she whispered. 'I was outside looking for Mummy and you. I couldn't find you... and something came out of the bushes outside.'
'Awww.... Was it dark, in the dream?'
'Uh-huh.'
'Sweetie,' I said with a little smile. 'But you are never outside like that in the dark. You know it's only something like a dream then. When you woke up in your own bed, you knew you were safe and sound.'
She sniffled. 'I thought I heard it in my room,' she said.
'Shhh, shhh.... We both listened for like a full minute. Nothing came but the faint sound of Jessy typing away on her computer down the gallery. She had her headphones on and we could not even hear the hiss of her music. 'There's no one here but you and me,' I said.
'Will you sleep with me?' she asked.
'Oh, sweetie.... I will be up a whole longer. And this is your bed. You'll be fine here.'
'I don't want to be alone,' she said.
I gave her a big squeeze and then held her out in front of me. Her well-browned little body was as dark as the shadows of the room. 'But you are never alone,' I whispered to her. 'There is always someone here to care for you. You know that.'
She nodded and blotted her eyes. Then, impetuously, she put out her arms and caught me for a hug, this time reaching inside the shirt. It was only inadvertent, you know, but for a moment I felt strangely womanly, as though in that one moment Lisa were my own child. She lay her head right on top of my breast and sighed with her eyes closed. I wondered if she imagined the same thing too.
Mother and Daddy have their room on the other side of the main tower, in the same place as mine but down the other wing. Beside them is what was intended for the lady's parlour, now being used as J.J.'s nursery. The three of us girls are all up here in the north wing. If Lisa cries out, it's sort of implied that it's my job to get up and go see to her. Mother would never hear her, and of course their door is usually closed at night. My door (the one on the north gallery) is always open. Lisa has often wandered in late at night or early in the morning to snuggle with me, or sometimes Jessy, and she knows she is never unwelcome. In that way then I am sometimes the substitute mother down here.
When I was Lisa's age, my stepmother was our nanny and she was about the age I am now. I remember on the few times I had bad dreams she would tiptoe in to my room and ask in a gentle whisper if I were all right. Of course I loved my mother and trusted her implicitly, but I always felt special when our nanny came in to comfort me. She had a sweet, affectionate way with Jessy and me that came from loving us by choice-- she was not our mother, yet she chose to love us anyway, and I think we always felt comforted by that. Lisa is not my child, she is in fact only a half-sister, and I know in many families there is sometimes animosity between half-siblings over who gets the most attention. We have solved that in this house by making sure that we all pay attention to all the others. No one is immune to getting a hug round here. And as I have written before, no one is immune to getting scolded by someone older round here. Lisa has accidentally called me 'Mummy' more than a few times., because she accepts my authority and my affection, almost as though she had two mothers. I have never minded it. In many ways she is sort of a plaything for me, the one I get to practise playing mummy on myself. After all when our nanny became our stepmother none of us doubted that she would turn out to be as wonderful as she has, for she had experience in caring for us out of love. I know that, if God grants me the opportunity, I will have children and love and guide and hug them with all my heart. I believe that's the purpose of life. I only hope that from having been so attentive to little Lisa, I will be as good to my own children as my mother was, as our stepmother has been after her. and that they will adore me as much as I have adored my own mother, and my stepmother after her. There is a lot of love in this family.
I tucked Lisa back into her covers, bending down and kissing her forehead. She sighed, shifting her bottom into the bed a little, and smiled up at me. 'I love you, Janine,' she said softly.
'And I love you, sweet little princess. Do not worry about scary creatures in the night, all right? And if you are worried, you just run down the hall to my room and come in with me. Okay?'
She nodded. I was still bending over her and I saw her look down at me. From that time last year that little J.J. innocently touched me I know there is a certain appeal to how I look when I am assuming a motherly role for these little ones. It's because I am sort of built like Mother is. Jessy has the body of a ballerina, lithe and lovely-- she gets it from our own mommy. But I have the 'assets' (how I hate that term) that smaller children tend to associate with actual mothers, and since they have not seen their mother's own 'assets' since they stopped nursing, and since they see mine so much (as you must know) I think they tend to assume straight away that I am the second mother round here. But I don't mind. As I have told them before, I cannot help what God wanted me to look like. In fact maybe He let me look like this on purpose to be able to reassure a small child who wakes up in the night, too far from their own mother, so that she may feel she is safe and loved and home where she belongs, with a big sister who loves her for all the right reasons.
I returned to my room and sat back on my bed, in the dull bluish glow of the laptop screen, and felt a little shiver. I always get that shiver when something that has just passed has just gone so unbelievably RIGHT that I'm almost embarrassed or afraid to admit it, like after making a good impression on front of someone famous or acing an oral presentation in class or coming in from some really lovely date with a terrific guy who actually likes me and wants to see me again. It's God's way of patting me on the back-- 'Servant, well done.'
The next question I got on an AOL message was 'bra size?' Oh, well.
...
25 September 2009
The plunge that refreshes
Wednesday 23 September
I wore a nice dress today to school. It's one of my London dresses that I got this summer. It's just a dress, you know, in cotton/rayon with short sleeves and soft skirts falling to just at my fingertips, which is what is called 'a good length' --you know, not too short and not too long. I didn't wear a slip under it (it's lined) and so it felt very cool on such a hot day. Of course going up stairs I kept to the wall side. I usually do in a skirt or dress anyway. This is one benefit of when women wore floor-length skirts-- like my Colonial outfit for reenactments or the ice-cream shop, and you all know what I have said about when I wear that one.
Anyway I got many nice compliments. I will wear an actual dress maybe three days of a school year. More often I wear a skirt, you know. Of about 450 girls in this school, on any given day maybe 40 of them will be wearing skirts, and less than 4 of them will be wearing dresses. The rest wear jeans or trainers (US: 'sweatpants'). I try to get a little dressed-up at least once a week, often twice, but with having PE second period it's awkward, you know. Today girls in the cabana (US: 'locker room') had nice things to say about the dress. The colour is not me at all-- a deep, violet-indigo that's almost sensually suggestive. [giggle] I really do love it, even if I'd rather not be known that way... and I was pretty pleased with the attention if I absolutely must admit that.
Then, of course, it was hot today... so you know what that means. I drove us to school and we were to bring Josie home with us. She and Jessy were making up cute little dares all the way home for when we got there-- like, 'I dare you to jump in backwards.' --or, 'I dare you to jump in with your clothes on.' --till finally I said, 'I'll race you both to the pool.'
Jessy giggled. 'Oo, don't dare me to beat you, because I'll get in like this.'
Josie teased her. 'Surrrrre you will!'
At the house I got out of the car and then took my time, since I had to lock up the car, get my school stuff, and prancing up to the front door, and both of them were impatient. But it was only to make sure we all started at the same time, you know. 'Last one into the pool is a slug,' I said, and suddenly we had dropt all our stuff on the floor and were desperately peeling off clothes on the way out to the French windows.
I was actually able to leave the dress draped carefully over a chair and kicked off the shoes before Jessy got out of her jeans. So I wasn't last! Josie was first, dashing straight into the pool and landing mid-stride in the water. We laughed ourselves silly-- she looked like a cartoon scene. Jessy was struggling with the back of her bra when I dove in, leaving my arms and legs a little too wide apart just to savour the sensation of immersing myself so immediately. That pool felt great.
Of course being so close to the ocean (yes, about 40 yards from the back-bay channel) our pool is always a little brackish. Daddy says you just have to give up on this one. A little saline doesn't hurt anything and in fact he backs off a little on the chlorine unless it's really hot and sunny, when the salt content attracts bacteria. Today it was just about right-- and we would not have complained anyway.
Mother and J.J. got home with Lisa, who came out straight away. 'How did I know you guys would be in there!' she teased, standing beside the pool and stripping off. We all giggled at her-- she loves being the centre of attention, especially our attention. In some ways she is like an honourary teenager!
Then Mother came out with J.J. and put him in his water-wings. Last summer Jessy and I taught Lisa to swim the length of the 12-1/2-metre pool and now, 6 years old, she will do laps on her own. J.J. is 3 and of course less reliable in the water, but we were all happy to push him round in the inflatable thing. He had a good time and did not complain that all three of his sisters, and their friend, were all naked. Of course he never is-- he thinks it's for girls only, which, for now, is fine with us.
Mother lay on a chaise in her shorts and sleeveless top and read in Angela's Ashes, which was one of Jessy's summer-reading selections. As part of our rowdy games in the pool we all got out at one time or another and I ended up lying on a cushion on the terrace for what may have been up to half an hour straight. We all played with Lisa and J.J. till well after tea, when Jessy and Josie went up to her room, to FaceBook to their hearts' content, no doubt. As of right now they are lying on their stomachs and elbows side-by-side on Jessy's bed with two laptops in front of them and the fingers clicking away... almost as fast as mine are right now.
I wish it could always be like this... but a front is expected this week and then we will have autumn. [sigh]
...
I wore a nice dress today to school. It's one of my London dresses that I got this summer. It's just a dress, you know, in cotton/rayon with short sleeves and soft skirts falling to just at my fingertips, which is what is called 'a good length' --you know, not too short and not too long. I didn't wear a slip under it (it's lined) and so it felt very cool on such a hot day. Of course going up stairs I kept to the wall side. I usually do in a skirt or dress anyway. This is one benefit of when women wore floor-length skirts-- like my Colonial outfit for reenactments or the ice-cream shop, and you all know what I have said about when I wear that one.
Anyway I got many nice compliments. I will wear an actual dress maybe three days of a school year. More often I wear a skirt, you know. Of about 450 girls in this school, on any given day maybe 40 of them will be wearing skirts, and less than 4 of them will be wearing dresses. The rest wear jeans or trainers (US: 'sweatpants'). I try to get a little dressed-up at least once a week, often twice, but with having PE second period it's awkward, you know. Today girls in the cabana (US: 'locker room') had nice things to say about the dress. The colour is not me at all-- a deep, violet-indigo that's almost sensually suggestive. [giggle] I really do love it, even if I'd rather not be known that way... and I was pretty pleased with the attention if I absolutely must admit that.
Then, of course, it was hot today... so you know what that means. I drove us to school and we were to bring Josie home with us. She and Jessy were making up cute little dares all the way home for when we got there-- like, 'I dare you to jump in backwards.' --or, 'I dare you to jump in with your clothes on.' --till finally I said, 'I'll race you both to the pool.'
Jessy giggled. 'Oo, don't dare me to beat you, because I'll get in like this.'
Josie teased her. 'Surrrrre you will!'
At the house I got out of the car and then took my time, since I had to lock up the car, get my school stuff, and prancing up to the front door, and both of them were impatient. But it was only to make sure we all started at the same time, you know. 'Last one into the pool is a slug,' I said, and suddenly we had dropt all our stuff on the floor and were desperately peeling off clothes on the way out to the French windows.
I was actually able to leave the dress draped carefully over a chair and kicked off the shoes before Jessy got out of her jeans. So I wasn't last! Josie was first, dashing straight into the pool and landing mid-stride in the water. We laughed ourselves silly-- she looked like a cartoon scene. Jessy was struggling with the back of her bra when I dove in, leaving my arms and legs a little too wide apart just to savour the sensation of immersing myself so immediately. That pool felt great.
Of course being so close to the ocean (yes, about 40 yards from the back-bay channel) our pool is always a little brackish. Daddy says you just have to give up on this one. A little saline doesn't hurt anything and in fact he backs off a little on the chlorine unless it's really hot and sunny, when the salt content attracts bacteria. Today it was just about right-- and we would not have complained anyway.
Mother and J.J. got home with Lisa, who came out straight away. 'How did I know you guys would be in there!' she teased, standing beside the pool and stripping off. We all giggled at her-- she loves being the centre of attention, especially our attention. In some ways she is like an honourary teenager!
Then Mother came out with J.J. and put him in his water-wings. Last summer Jessy and I taught Lisa to swim the length of the 12-1/2-metre pool and now, 6 years old, she will do laps on her own. J.J. is 3 and of course less reliable in the water, but we were all happy to push him round in the inflatable thing. He had a good time and did not complain that all three of his sisters, and their friend, were all naked. Of course he never is-- he thinks it's for girls only, which, for now, is fine with us.
Mother lay on a chaise in her shorts and sleeveless top and read in Angela's Ashes, which was one of Jessy's summer-reading selections. As part of our rowdy games in the pool we all got out at one time or another and I ended up lying on a cushion on the terrace for what may have been up to half an hour straight. We all played with Lisa and J.J. till well after tea, when Jessy and Josie went up to her room, to FaceBook to their hearts' content, no doubt. As of right now they are lying on their stomachs and elbows side-by-side on Jessy's bed with two laptops in front of them and the fingers clicking away... almost as fast as mine are right now.
I wish it could always be like this... but a front is expected this week and then we will have autumn. [sigh]
...
22 September 2009
Long beautiful hair
Tuesday 22 September
'It's time for you to get a haircut,' I told Lisa as I brushed out her hair last night.
'But I like it long!' she protested.
I brushed it all down straight along her bare back. 'It's beautiful long,' I told her. 'But we always have to trim it just a little. You don't want it getting frizzy. If it's going to be long it's got to be nice and strong and thick.'
She squirmed, sitting on top of my bed wrapt in a towel and still a little damp from her bath. 'Is it as long as yours?' she asked me.
I turned my back to her and lifted my chin so my hair fell down my back. 'I think it's longer. You have a smaller back, but for someone as tall as you, it's longer than anyone else's.'
She mimicked the pose, letting me look at it. When it's still wet, her intensely-wavy, thick, lush curly blonde hair reached the middle of her back. She is six now and has never had short hair. Mother has trimmed her ends a few times, but we are all sure there's still baby hair in there somewhere. 'Is it longer than Mummy's?'
I smiled at her, arranging her part again and brushing it out to either side. 'Might be,' I said. Mother has gorgeous blonde hair, long, thick and curly like a Pre-Raphaelite goddess-- that's where Lisa gets it, although Daddy's hair is somewhat famous for being long and thick. In the long-hair '70s he joked that he had 'Farrah hair'. Some music magazine caught hold of that concept and more than one fan magazine said he belonged on a Vogue or Cosmopolitan cover. So I guess it's something in the genes, for all four of his offspring have good hair. Even little J.J. who has never had more than half an inch trimmed off has beautiful almost-blonde hair. Strangers who have met him have sometimes assumed he's a girl. Daddy takes an amused sort of pride in that. Fortunately J.J. doesn't get the reference... yet.
I conducted Lisa into the common bathroom and got out the scissors and comb and sorted out what I would cut off whilst she stood on the little stool beside the basin and tossed her head round at the mirror. I often say that Jessy is a pampered princess but Lisa's not far behind. Already she seems to enjoy her own femininity, revelling in her lush, beautiful hair and big blue eyes and perfect complexion. 'When can I wear makeup?' she asked once.
'When you need to,' Jessy told her then.
At the time Lisa only smiled smugly at herself in the mirror and then pursed her lips, to be cute.
She stood very still and watched as I combed off a bit here and there and clipped it very close to the end. Each time she turned her head from side to side as though to admire the change. I doubt she really noticed. 'That's good, like that,' she said, like any of us would to the hair stylist.
'Are you sure?' I asked, placating her. 'We could take a little off here.' I lifted a bit on the very top.
Lisa sighed, theatrically. 'Oh, well! I guess, if you must.'
I clipped it, batted it away with the comb, and then leaned down and kissed her head. 'Perfect,' I said.
She glowed, smiling at herself in the mirror.
That was when J.J. came in, in his pyjama shorts and his bushy hair mussed from crawling on the carpet. 'Oh, no!' he announced loudly. 'What's going on here?'
Lisa turned and smirked at him from the stool. 'I'm having my hair done!' she said. 'Don't tell Mummy.'
'Why not?' he asked.
Lisa turned back and looked at herself in the mirror whilst I brushed out her newly-coiffed hair. 'It's a surprise,' she said.
'And you have no clothes on!' J.J. complained, and started to go out.
He gets like this when we're naked in the house. At this point it's kind of offensive to him. 'Wait,' I said, and turned to him with the scissors and comb in my hand. 'Do you want me to trim yours?'
'Ew,' he said. 'I like it long!' And he stomped off.
'Hmph!' Lisa said, shrugging, and lifted her chin at the mirror. 'I like it,' she decided.
I'm not sure she can tell, but I can. Her ends are firm and golden now. It'll grow another two inches by Christmas and be gorgeous then too.
Lisa is no good for surprises and went down stairs directly-- still naked, I might add-- to show off her coif for Mother. Mother came up with her a few minutes later. 'Janine,' she said softly to me, guiding Lisa into her room, 'how did you get her to let you?'
I shrugged. 'I didn't think she wouldn't want me to.' Then I smiled at her. 'Do you mind?'
'Mind? No. I've been trying to get her to let me cut it for weeks. Now if only I could get the other guy to....'
I laughed. 'You'd better asked Daddy to do that one,' I said.
She laughed too.
Lisa called me in after her prayers and I went into her dark room and knelt beside her bed. 'Thank you,' she said to me. 'I really like it.'
I kissed her. 'You're welcome, princess,' I said.
'Do you want me to cut yours for you, tomorrow?'
I laughed. 'No, sweetie. Jessy will get it.'
'I think Jessy's is longer than yours.'
I nodded. It is, a little. I had mine cut when I was in 4th grade because of a stupid 'experiment' in which I cut my own bangs. Mother performed an 'emergency coiffure' on me that evening before supper, and it's taken this long for it to grow back to what you could call 'long'. Meanwhile Jessy, like Lisa, has never had her hair cut shorter than her shoulders and it's all the way down her back. There might still be baby hair in there somewhere too. 'I'm just going to leave it go for a while,' I told her. 'I like it long too.'
She lifted a hand and took a piece of it, feeling it as though she knew anything of hair texture. 'It's very pretty. Will I be as pretty as you?'
I smiled and leaned in and kissed her again. 'You already are,' I said, because it seemed like the best thing to say. 'Now go to sleep.'
'I love you, Janine.'
'I love you too, princess.'
When Jessy came in to trim mine later I kept her to just the very ends. I don't think she took a quarter-inch off the bottom. Don't blame me if I'm envious of the two of them.
...
'It's time for you to get a haircut,' I told Lisa as I brushed out her hair last night.
'But I like it long!' she protested.
I brushed it all down straight along her bare back. 'It's beautiful long,' I told her. 'But we always have to trim it just a little. You don't want it getting frizzy. If it's going to be long it's got to be nice and strong and thick.'
She squirmed, sitting on top of my bed wrapt in a towel and still a little damp from her bath. 'Is it as long as yours?' she asked me.
I turned my back to her and lifted my chin so my hair fell down my back. 'I think it's longer. You have a smaller back, but for someone as tall as you, it's longer than anyone else's.'
She mimicked the pose, letting me look at it. When it's still wet, her intensely-wavy, thick, lush curly blonde hair reached the middle of her back. She is six now and has never had short hair. Mother has trimmed her ends a few times, but we are all sure there's still baby hair in there somewhere. 'Is it longer than Mummy's?'
I smiled at her, arranging her part again and brushing it out to either side. 'Might be,' I said. Mother has gorgeous blonde hair, long, thick and curly like a Pre-Raphaelite goddess-- that's where Lisa gets it, although Daddy's hair is somewhat famous for being long and thick. In the long-hair '70s he joked that he had 'Farrah hair'. Some music magazine caught hold of that concept and more than one fan magazine said he belonged on a Vogue or Cosmopolitan cover. So I guess it's something in the genes, for all four of his offspring have good hair. Even little J.J. who has never had more than half an inch trimmed off has beautiful almost-blonde hair. Strangers who have met him have sometimes assumed he's a girl. Daddy takes an amused sort of pride in that. Fortunately J.J. doesn't get the reference... yet.
I conducted Lisa into the common bathroom and got out the scissors and comb and sorted out what I would cut off whilst she stood on the little stool beside the basin and tossed her head round at the mirror. I often say that Jessy is a pampered princess but Lisa's not far behind. Already she seems to enjoy her own femininity, revelling in her lush, beautiful hair and big blue eyes and perfect complexion. 'When can I wear makeup?' she asked once.
'When you need to,' Jessy told her then.
At the time Lisa only smiled smugly at herself in the mirror and then pursed her lips, to be cute.
She stood very still and watched as I combed off a bit here and there and clipped it very close to the end. Each time she turned her head from side to side as though to admire the change. I doubt she really noticed. 'That's good, like that,' she said, like any of us would to the hair stylist.
'Are you sure?' I asked, placating her. 'We could take a little off here.' I lifted a bit on the very top.
Lisa sighed, theatrically. 'Oh, well! I guess, if you must.'
I clipped it, batted it away with the comb, and then leaned down and kissed her head. 'Perfect,' I said.
She glowed, smiling at herself in the mirror.
That was when J.J. came in, in his pyjama shorts and his bushy hair mussed from crawling on the carpet. 'Oh, no!' he announced loudly. 'What's going on here?'
Lisa turned and smirked at him from the stool. 'I'm having my hair done!' she said. 'Don't tell Mummy.'
'Why not?' he asked.
Lisa turned back and looked at herself in the mirror whilst I brushed out her newly-coiffed hair. 'It's a surprise,' she said.
'And you have no clothes on!' J.J. complained, and started to go out.
He gets like this when we're naked in the house. At this point it's kind of offensive to him. 'Wait,' I said, and turned to him with the scissors and comb in my hand. 'Do you want me to trim yours?'
'Ew,' he said. 'I like it long!' And he stomped off.
'Hmph!' Lisa said, shrugging, and lifted her chin at the mirror. 'I like it,' she decided.
I'm not sure she can tell, but I can. Her ends are firm and golden now. It'll grow another two inches by Christmas and be gorgeous then too.
Lisa is no good for surprises and went down stairs directly-- still naked, I might add-- to show off her coif for Mother. Mother came up with her a few minutes later. 'Janine,' she said softly to me, guiding Lisa into her room, 'how did you get her to let you?'
I shrugged. 'I didn't think she wouldn't want me to.' Then I smiled at her. 'Do you mind?'
'Mind? No. I've been trying to get her to let me cut it for weeks. Now if only I could get the other guy to....'
I laughed. 'You'd better asked Daddy to do that one,' I said.
She laughed too.
Lisa called me in after her prayers and I went into her dark room and knelt beside her bed. 'Thank you,' she said to me. 'I really like it.'
I kissed her. 'You're welcome, princess,' I said.
'Do you want me to cut yours for you, tomorrow?'
I laughed. 'No, sweetie. Jessy will get it.'
'I think Jessy's is longer than yours.'
I nodded. It is, a little. I had mine cut when I was in 4th grade because of a stupid 'experiment' in which I cut my own bangs. Mother performed an 'emergency coiffure' on me that evening before supper, and it's taken this long for it to grow back to what you could call 'long'. Meanwhile Jessy, like Lisa, has never had her hair cut shorter than her shoulders and it's all the way down her back. There might still be baby hair in there somewhere too. 'I'm just going to leave it go for a while,' I told her. 'I like it long too.'
She lifted a hand and took a piece of it, feeling it as though she knew anything of hair texture. 'It's very pretty. Will I be as pretty as you?'
I smiled and leaned in and kissed her again. 'You already are,' I said, because it seemed like the best thing to say. 'Now go to sleep.'
'I love you, Janine.'
'I love you too, princess.'
When Jessy came in to trim mine later I kept her to just the very ends. I don't think she took a quarter-inch off the bottom. Don't blame me if I'm envious of the two of them.
...
08 September 2009
Labor Day weekend at the Shore
5-6 September
I always have three problems (let's call them 'issues') with this weekend. The first is that, having spent two years in England, I feel like I never know how to spell it. (That's easy. I spell it like it is observed. It's not an English holiday.) The second is that I don't really know what it's for. If America really wanted to honour the working person, they would levy lower taxes on him and enable him to keep more of his own money for retirement or the costs of living... but maybe I digress. The third reason is that it's a sad observance of the end of summer vacation.
Jessy, Josie and I have been very dutiful about getting up and going off to work these three mornings in our cute Colonial outfits. Josie has got used to the routine already-- walking down the street at 6.30 am with fishermen and joggers saying hello and then serving breakfast in the quaint little building all morning. Our menu is very abbreviated-- you can get eggs, of course, bangers (sausage) usually, pancakes or waffles always. We add or subtract to it to lend the flavour of a real 1750s-era establishment-- on Sunday we imposed a ruse that we were out of orange juice. It was my idea this time-- but we do it a lot. If you think about it, how would a small breakfast shop in New Jersey in 1750 have got orange juice anyway? It would have to have come up in the form of fresh oranges from His Majesty's colony of Georgia, and by ship, which would have been fastest, and so all you'd need is one bad storm or a few desperate pirates and that ship was not going to arrive. Any citrus product would otherwise have been impossible to have here, then. And so I went out as acting hostess and explained to people.
'Terribly sorry, Ma'am, truly I am; but our ship has not got in, and what with the traffic yesterday,and the day before, and we have all but run out of the orange fruit. Might I suggest the tomato? --for we have got plenty of it; and we know not when we shall see another shipment of the orange, if we are to see it at all this season.'
This is usually met with groans and whines, not amusement. One man said-- not respectfully-- 'You could go across the street and buy some!'
To which I replied, 'Oh, but surely we would not get any bargain on it now, this late in the season; and if he should see our situation for what it is, I am sure he would only take us for it. And we have got the tomato-- grown right here in our own territory, Sir-- why not a cheery glass of that instead?'
The man groaned and waved me off like a pesky gnat then. I am used to it. And obviously, in New York he is used to getting anything he wants when he wants it-- why then did he come to an old-fashioned place noted for old-fashioned service?
The truth was that we only had half of one half-gallon of orange juice left in the refrigerator-- details that will NOT go along with our 1750s-period act!
After cleaning up we find ourselves walking down the busiest street at the busiest time of day, sometimes in the costumes. On Saturday we changed into swimsuits at the shop and walked up to the beach directly. It was a lovely day, sunny and not too hot, and we frolicked in the water and lay on our towels and had a very pleasant afternoon. We were not besieged by any impertinent older men and in fact met some nice boys whilst we were out in the water. They had a ball and started this three-way catch game in which they had to throw it very close to the three blonde girls from Virginia in order that they might have a closer look at them-- but the girls from Virginia retaliated, seizing the ball at the first opportunity and playing keep-away-from-the-boys as long as they could... so there. They asked us to a party for the evening but we said we had to work, and then they did not believe that we all worked at the same place and that we were only trying to be rid of them. We did not tell them where we worked-- that would have invited disaster. There is nothing worse than when some guy comes in to the shop when we are in costume and serving 'in period' and tries to pick us up. The worst, according to me stepmother who worked there when she was young, was when they would linger outside after closing, lying in wait as it were for when she would emerge. For at least the first season she stayed in the little apartment up stairs and so did not come out at night, which frustrated them. One older man who stalked her that summer walked circles round the building between 11.30 and midnight, insisting to himself that she must have got away from him. That was the guy who became a problem for her later.
We had no such problems because Dottie, our manager, insisted on driving us home both nights.
On Sunday we left the place at 11.30 in the morning, in our costumes, and Josie wanted to play mini golf, so we did-- just like that. Of course being so dressed we always run into people who stare at us like we're Mennonites or just weird, or else recognise us from the shop. For the interested we always carry with us coupon cards to pass out, offering half-price on a sundae for the evening (you don't want to give too much away, and we give out a lot of those cards. It keeps the place full). All three of us were barefoot-- the booties are usually awkward to walk fast in and also too hot. The guy at the mini golf place knows Jessy and me and was happy to watch us play through in our long skirts and cute bodices and hair up under bonnets. (Fortunately the skirts are long enough that we can bend over to retrieve the coloured ball and not worry about having on no underwear!) We played just ahead of a mother with two little girls who just gazed up at us like we were real-life Disney princesses. We gave them each a coupon card (the mother included). They promised to show up that evening.
It rained a little on Sunday afternoon, clearing up just long enough for us to run (barefoot) back to the shop and open for the evening. Daddy showed up by himself, having just got in, checked up on things in the kitchen, offered to take the deposit and then just hung round outside, shaking hands and so on. People recognise him, so he's kind of an asset even though he doesn't always buy something. I think he got a sundae eventually. I was behind the counter most of the evening, but the mother and two little girls from the golf place showed up at the window round 8.00 and I made sure to remember them, you know. They sat outside. Jessy tended tables out there and once I saw her showing the little girls the costume, letting them feel the natural fibres and explaining to them how the bonnet ties and all. They were fascinated by her. Josie worked the verandah with one of our other girls and we had another, and sometimes Jessy, in the main room. At at least two different times the whole place was full-- even outside. And we had a queue almost to the street at the window a few times. Normally we count on almost two thousand a night, including takeaway. Tonight we were well over that. Dottie said it was due to we girls working so hard. I said it was due to a winning business strategy that, yes, includes girls in cute costumes who work so hard. And this income was made in spite of imposing an 'embargo' (as it is called within doors) on strawberry ice cream ('out of season'), bananas (we don't do that much in banana splits anyway, and it's a foreign fruit) and ginger ale, which we were really just about out of and so had to push root beer, the only other soda we serve here. The contrived shortages add to the colour of the place and remind modern people that, once upon a time, a place like this was on the very fringe of survival because of its location and its chosen trade. No shop of this size, on a barrier island in New Jersey, would have been able to sell as much ice cream as we do in 1750-- that's a suspension of disbelief for every customer thinks he is the only one to be so well treated. We don't have to tell them we made over three thousand dollars tonight.
Daddy, Mother, Lisa and J.J. are here for the night but it was very late when we got in from walking up the beach in our costumes and bare feet. My good linen skirt is soggy and sandy and nearly fraying round the hem, but I will leave it like that for tomorrow because, after all, it's only in period. Then I will collect all my things out of the locker at the shop-- three skirts, four bodices, four shifts, two or three bonnets, a bedjacket (short cover-up) and about six pairs of cotton/wool stockings, plus the booties and slippers, and take my things home for the season. I will mend what I have to, undoubtedly make a few new things for myself, and use them for reenactments at Williamsburg and other places till the shop opens next year. Tuesday we drive home, after a day at the beach. Wednesday we start school.
[sigh] I wish summer would last longer.
...
I always have three problems (let's call them 'issues') with this weekend. The first is that, having spent two years in England, I feel like I never know how to spell it. (That's easy. I spell it like it is observed. It's not an English holiday.) The second is that I don't really know what it's for. If America really wanted to honour the working person, they would levy lower taxes on him and enable him to keep more of his own money for retirement or the costs of living... but maybe I digress. The third reason is that it's a sad observance of the end of summer vacation.
Jessy, Josie and I have been very dutiful about getting up and going off to work these three mornings in our cute Colonial outfits. Josie has got used to the routine already-- walking down the street at 6.30 am with fishermen and joggers saying hello and then serving breakfast in the quaint little building all morning. Our menu is very abbreviated-- you can get eggs, of course, bangers (sausage) usually, pancakes or waffles always. We add or subtract to it to lend the flavour of a real 1750s-era establishment-- on Sunday we imposed a ruse that we were out of orange juice. It was my idea this time-- but we do it a lot. If you think about it, how would a small breakfast shop in New Jersey in 1750 have got orange juice anyway? It would have to have come up in the form of fresh oranges from His Majesty's colony of Georgia, and by ship, which would have been fastest, and so all you'd need is one bad storm or a few desperate pirates and that ship was not going to arrive. Any citrus product would otherwise have been impossible to have here, then. And so I went out as acting hostess and explained to people.
'Terribly sorry, Ma'am, truly I am; but our ship has not got in, and what with the traffic yesterday,and the day before, and we have all but run out of the orange fruit. Might I suggest the tomato? --for we have got plenty of it; and we know not when we shall see another shipment of the orange, if we are to see it at all this season.'
This is usually met with groans and whines, not amusement. One man said-- not respectfully-- 'You could go across the street and buy some!'
To which I replied, 'Oh, but surely we would not get any bargain on it now, this late in the season; and if he should see our situation for what it is, I am sure he would only take us for it. And we have got the tomato-- grown right here in our own territory, Sir-- why not a cheery glass of that instead?'
The man groaned and waved me off like a pesky gnat then. I am used to it. And obviously, in New York he is used to getting anything he wants when he wants it-- why then did he come to an old-fashioned place noted for old-fashioned service?
The truth was that we only had half of one half-gallon of orange juice left in the refrigerator-- details that will NOT go along with our 1750s-period act!
After cleaning up we find ourselves walking down the busiest street at the busiest time of day, sometimes in the costumes. On Saturday we changed into swimsuits at the shop and walked up to the beach directly. It was a lovely day, sunny and not too hot, and we frolicked in the water and lay on our towels and had a very pleasant afternoon. We were not besieged by any impertinent older men and in fact met some nice boys whilst we were out in the water. They had a ball and started this three-way catch game in which they had to throw it very close to the three blonde girls from Virginia in order that they might have a closer look at them-- but the girls from Virginia retaliated, seizing the ball at the first opportunity and playing keep-away-from-the-boys as long as they could... so there. They asked us to a party for the evening but we said we had to work, and then they did not believe that we all worked at the same place and that we were only trying to be rid of them. We did not tell them where we worked-- that would have invited disaster. There is nothing worse than when some guy comes in to the shop when we are in costume and serving 'in period' and tries to pick us up. The worst, according to me stepmother who worked there when she was young, was when they would linger outside after closing, lying in wait as it were for when she would emerge. For at least the first season she stayed in the little apartment up stairs and so did not come out at night, which frustrated them. One older man who stalked her that summer walked circles round the building between 11.30 and midnight, insisting to himself that she must have got away from him. That was the guy who became a problem for her later.
We had no such problems because Dottie, our manager, insisted on driving us home both nights.
On Sunday we left the place at 11.30 in the morning, in our costumes, and Josie wanted to play mini golf, so we did-- just like that. Of course being so dressed we always run into people who stare at us like we're Mennonites or just weird, or else recognise us from the shop. For the interested we always carry with us coupon cards to pass out, offering half-price on a sundae for the evening (you don't want to give too much away, and we give out a lot of those cards. It keeps the place full). All three of us were barefoot-- the booties are usually awkward to walk fast in and also too hot. The guy at the mini golf place knows Jessy and me and was happy to watch us play through in our long skirts and cute bodices and hair up under bonnets. (Fortunately the skirts are long enough that we can bend over to retrieve the coloured ball and not worry about having on no underwear!) We played just ahead of a mother with two little girls who just gazed up at us like we were real-life Disney princesses. We gave them each a coupon card (the mother included). They promised to show up that evening.
It rained a little on Sunday afternoon, clearing up just long enough for us to run (barefoot) back to the shop and open for the evening. Daddy showed up by himself, having just got in, checked up on things in the kitchen, offered to take the deposit and then just hung round outside, shaking hands and so on. People recognise him, so he's kind of an asset even though he doesn't always buy something. I think he got a sundae eventually. I was behind the counter most of the evening, but the mother and two little girls from the golf place showed up at the window round 8.00 and I made sure to remember them, you know. They sat outside. Jessy tended tables out there and once I saw her showing the little girls the costume, letting them feel the natural fibres and explaining to them how the bonnet ties and all. They were fascinated by her. Josie worked the verandah with one of our other girls and we had another, and sometimes Jessy, in the main room. At at least two different times the whole place was full-- even outside. And we had a queue almost to the street at the window a few times. Normally we count on almost two thousand a night, including takeaway. Tonight we were well over that. Dottie said it was due to we girls working so hard. I said it was due to a winning business strategy that, yes, includes girls in cute costumes who work so hard. And this income was made in spite of imposing an 'embargo' (as it is called within doors) on strawberry ice cream ('out of season'), bananas (we don't do that much in banana splits anyway, and it's a foreign fruit) and ginger ale, which we were really just about out of and so had to push root beer, the only other soda we serve here. The contrived shortages add to the colour of the place and remind modern people that, once upon a time, a place like this was on the very fringe of survival because of its location and its chosen trade. No shop of this size, on a barrier island in New Jersey, would have been able to sell as much ice cream as we do in 1750-- that's a suspension of disbelief for every customer thinks he is the only one to be so well treated. We don't have to tell them we made over three thousand dollars tonight.
Daddy, Mother, Lisa and J.J. are here for the night but it was very late when we got in from walking up the beach in our costumes and bare feet. My good linen skirt is soggy and sandy and nearly fraying round the hem, but I will leave it like that for tomorrow because, after all, it's only in period. Then I will collect all my things out of the locker at the shop-- three skirts, four bodices, four shifts, two or three bonnets, a bedjacket (short cover-up) and about six pairs of cotton/wool stockings, plus the booties and slippers, and take my things home for the season. I will mend what I have to, undoubtedly make a few new things for myself, and use them for reenactments at Williamsburg and other places till the shop opens next year. Tuesday we drive home, after a day at the beach. Wednesday we start school.
[sigh] I wish summer would last longer.
...
30 August 2009
The modelling show, and other stuff
Saturday, 29 August 2009
I was saying to someone once how I love waking up naked. There really is nothing more refreshing. I kick off the sheet and prop myself up on my elbows and blink in the sunlight streaming in my windows here, and I feel new and pure and clean and happy. I thrust my feet way up and eject myself from the bed with all my morning energy, and I fling open the sash and the drapery and stand there, staring out at the sun over the bay and the ocean, at three thousand miles of natural view. Sometimes I imagine the people in Portugal are staring out across the ocean during their afternoon tea and wondering if there is some naked blonde girl at the other shore staring back. If they're not, there is no one else out there to see me like this, and so I rarely ever close my draperies at all.
Josie and Jessy slept like a litter of kittens in the other room, both of them curled round almost together under one sheet, hair loose and all over, tanned shoulders dark against the off-white bedclothes, Josie breathing gently over Jessy's head, sweet baby smiles on their faces. I woke them gently, poking their shoulders till they were both stirring. 'Pancakes,' I said softly. 'It's Saturday.'
So they got up.
Whilst the pancakes seethed on the cooker I sauntered out back and dove in. I was into the 18th lap when Mother came out, but she only watched me continue till I had done all 25. 'Are those other birds coming down?' she asked me in a gentle voice, almost too soft for outdoors.
I nodded. 'They said they would be.'
She nodded too and then stepped back as I rose, dripping with no towel, from the water. She smiled at me then. 'You've missed this pool,' she said.
'I did laps twice yesterday,' I told her.
'Did you? As though you need it!' And she laughed.
'I do need it,' I said.
'You don't,' she told me, 'not for your looks anyway. But the exercise never hurts.'
I went up to get dressed in the same shorts and t-shirt from last night, passing Jessy and Josie, now dressed too, coming down on the way.
Daddy excused himself early, having caught up with Roger, and drove up to Delaware at about 9.30. Mother announced she was taking J.J. down to the mall at Lynnhaven, 60 miles way, meeting some local friends (other mothers and kids from church) to make a day of it. So we girls would be alone.
'Well I know what you girls will be doing today,' Mother told us. 'Just remember your father will be home about five.'
This was for Josie, you know. 'We will,' Jessy said.
'And be good to Lisa. She looks up to you girls. You have to be the best you can be for her.'
I just met Mother's eyes. 'I promise we will be,' I said.
She nodded and took J.J.'s hand to go down to the car.
I followed her, my arms folded across my tummy, and gave her a hug and a kiss when she left. 'I love you, Mother,' I told her.
'And I love you, good girl. Have fun.'
I smiled. 'I'm sure we will.'
'And you'll stay in?'
'In, and round the house, yes. Do not worry.'
I waved as she drove off. J.J. waved back.
So it was another day essentially on our own. Jessy and Josie came down, both naked, and dove into the pool. Lisa asked me if I would join them and then ran, really ran, out across the terrace and cannonballed into the centre of the pool. Like her mother she is a born swimmer and absolutely indefatigable in the water.
But soon even this got somewhat dull and we were at a loss for something interesting to do. 'We should do something we never get to do any other time,' Jessy said.
'Like what?' Josie asked eagerly.
Jessy shrugged, avoiding spending mental energy. We brainstormed a few ideas and finally decided to have a little photo shoot, dressing up in whatever we found that was cute, and modelling for each other and for a camera. 'What will we wear?' I asked.
'Something we can't usually wear,' Josie said. 'Something that's....'
'Nothing obscene,' Jessy said.
I made a face. 'Since when are we ever obscene?'
Josie laughed. 'We're not,' she said. 'It'll just be cute.'
So we decided we would all get dressed in panties and high heels, and then Josie suggested, when she had looked into Jessy's dresser, that we wear stockings too. Lisa, thrilled with the chance to do as the big girls do, scampered round to her room and proceeded to change outfits about every ten minutes till her bed was a heap of panties she had tried or rejected, her church tights, ballet tights, and cotton stockings from her Colonial outfits. Honestly she must have worn eight or ten pairs of panties, all the same but for colour or pattern, those simple cotton ones that she pulls up too high on her bottom and too tightly in her crutch. She was so enthusiastic for it that we began teasing her about being an underwear model. But really the pics of her are nothing terrible-- just pics of a nice little girl in her panties. In what way is that obscene?
I went in to my room and pawed through my dressers till I decided on something cute. The stockings are mostly cotton, thigh-high with gripper tops, in a pretty dense tone-on-tone textured pattern of roses and leaves. My shoes were my good ones for church, white cotton eyelet uppers with an open toe and about 2-1/2" heels. My hair was put up with a thick white terry Scünci. And my panties were just plain white cottons, some low-rise ones that are just about new and still very bright. I stepped out of my room feeling absolutely lovely, all in white, like an angel, sexy and pure at the same time, which is a pretty good look for any girl. Jessy and Josie, still getting dressed, raved over it. In front of Jessy's full-height mirror I turned and posed, admiring myself, and was quite pleased with how I looked.
Then little Lisa came in, in her plain black ballet leotard, pink shoes with no tights, and a little bright-pink scarf cleverly wrapt round her middle. 'Oh, all white,' she said to me. 'Is that all you have?'
I turned on my toes and smiled down at her. 'Don't you like it?'
Lisa shrugged. 'The stockings are pretty,' she said.
'They are, aren't they?' And I smiled at myself again.
Lisa stepped a little closer and when I turned she was right in front of me. 'What's that?' she asked.
We all looked. I looked down ahd she was pointing, her finger not six inches from the front of my panties. 'Uh-oh,' Jessy said. 'Is it a spot?'
No. The panties were clean. It's just that they were also very thin, and there it was, a dark shadow showing through the white cotton. 'It's just me, sweetie,' I said to Lisa.
'You?' she wondered.
I lifted the cotton away from my tummy and she peered in, seeing what I meant. 'It's just what I have,' she said.
'Oh,' said Lisa. Of course she knows what I look like. I'm sure she only didn't realise I would show through like that. I hadn't thought of it either. Really I hadn't wanted to think that there could be any way I could outgrow white cotton panties-- they're always my favourite.
'Well,' Josie said, 'while we're all getting made-up.... You know you wouldn't have to worry about it showing, if....'
'If what?' I asked, too innocently I guess.
Josie smiled at me and then shrugged. 'If you got rid of it,' she said.
I wrinkled my nose then. 'Ew. No way.'
'Why not? It would look better. And you wouldn't have to worry about certain bathing-suits....'
'I don't wear anything that what I do have would be a problem,' I told her.
Josie shrugged again. 'Well, it might make you feel or look sexier,' she said.
I met eyes with Jessy, who only rolled hers. Then I said, 'I would say that takes a very particular kind of vanity, wouldn't you?'
Jessy giggled. Josie looked at her, not knowing what I had meant or why Jessy had laughed, and Jessy said, 'Why would anyone do that? So they can admire how they look themselves or show off to other people?'
Josie got red then, now realising how it sounded. 'Oh,' she said. 'Well, I just thought....'
'Remind me not to let her take any pictures of herself naked now,' I said to Jessy, and we both laughed till Josie got over it.
Lisa trotted back into the room, now in her own white panties, the pink scarf round her middle, and the ballet shoes. Josie reached out and tickled her, which Lisa likes. 'This one doesn't have the problem at all, lucky little thing!' Josie said.
'What problem?' Lisa wanted to know.
'Never mind,' I said.
'Is it lady stuff?' she asked.
I smiled at her. 'Kind of.'
'Okay, never mind,' she said-- for she's sure she's heard it all enough before.
'So change,' Jessy said to me then, and then shrugged, like to encourage me.
I shrugged too and went back to my room, a little disappointed. But I found some lacy ones in my drawer, also white and mostly cotton, but with elegant lace appliqués that sort of complement the stockings. Lisa stood and watched as I peeled the other ones off over my shoes and pulled up the lacy ones. 'Those I like better,' she said.
'Can you still see--?'
Lisa actually bent and examined me. 'No.'
I patted her head and pranced back round to Jessy's room then. Jessy had on her navy-blue stockings and shoes and cute panties with yellow-and-white flowers on the blue cotton. Josie had found Jessy's old bright fuscia stockings (from a Hallowe'en costume party-- don't ask) and a pair of bright pink panties almost the same tone. They were debating what shoes she would wear with that ensemble. I suggested plain black. Of course Josie and Jessy wear the same sizes (in all but bras) but at least Jessy has got so many clothes and shoes, including panties and lingerie, that it's not likely the two of them together could ever run out of combinations they both could wear.
Josie supervised everyone's makeup-- she's the best one at that. The plan was that we would all have something showy done for the camera but neutral enough that it could go with any other outfits (okay, panties and stockings). I wasn't exactly thrilled with how she made me look but I have to admit that I turned out all right in the pictures.
Grabbing a few other things to change into we all went down the side stairs to the basement. There we hung up a plain white bedsheet against one wall and set up the camera on a tripod and a few lights with the shades cocked to illuminate us. Of course Jessy and I have done this before and by now it's a pretty reliable system. Mostly the pics were taken of one girl at a time-- we would set up, say, Jessy, let her pose as much as she wanted, and shoot about 35 frames. Then whilst she changed her outfit we'd do someone else.
Jessy looks like an angel in her shots. She always does. In some she let her hair down, in others it was pinned up-- the difference was so extraordinary that she looked like two different girls sometimes. I look like... me. Really it's all right... I just didn't really surprise myself. I guess I am not fond of having my pic taken. But I have to admit the makeup made me look great. Josie pouted, rolled her tongue behind her teeth, stuck out her chest and rocked her up bottom, doing all the carefully-exaggerated manoeuvres that exotic models do in those pictures we've all seen on the Web. In one she had her legs spread apart, which didn't really flatter her in any modest way, you know. (I wanted to delete that one but she made me keep it.) It's really kind of scary that she knows how to do things like that-- but she is an only child and has lots of time alone in her room in the evenings, I guess.
The surprising one was Lisa, of course-- she has a very practised smile and a very good idea of how to pose herself. She's no JonBenet-- she's only a normal 6-year-old girl-- but she's very pretty and is very comfortable in front of the camera. She was the one who came up with the idea of lying down on the piano bench like a classical odalisque, which we all did later. She really ought to make a great model or actor some day.
We hooked up Jessy's laptop to the camera so we could review the pics straight away. Some were bad. Most were pretty good. I saved about 40 of mine.
Lisa came down once in her bandanna bikini, the one Jessy and I made for her (only the bottom half of course) and Jessy was shooting her a while. That made some pretty cute shots-- and she becomes the first of us to formally model the bandanna bikini--mainly because, being 6, she can get away with wearing only a bottom piece, you know. I contributed some ideas but got too many ideas for myself and bolted back up stairs to change. On my way by Jessy's open door I happened to peer in.
Josie was sitting up against the pillows and headboard of Jessy's bed, the heels sort of digging into the covers, her knees up and her hand occupied in the bright-pink panties. At first she did not see me. But when she did she could hardly have stopped anyway. 'Oh!' she sighed, going on even faster. 'I'm sorry! I just--'
I only smiled. 'It's okay,' I said, and stepped back to pull the door closed.
'Oh! Thank you!' And she put back her head then and dug in.
I stepped into my room feeling myself blush. Of course Jessy and I have seen each other self-engaged before. I had never seen Josie, though, but it was hardly anything worse than whatever I could have expected. Of course she was aroused by this. I was myself, a little. (Some of the pics showed it.) I only giggled and then I couldn't even think about getting changed and just went back down as I was, all in white. I think I was really just hoping to divert Lisa from going into Jessy's room till Josie was done
Jessy went up later and about 15 minutes later they were both back down. 'It's so hot,' Jessy said.
That was for Josie, you know. I am sure she was very warm. So I suggested we have a walk or something outside, in all our finery, you know. So in our fancy shoes, cute panties and completely over-the-top stockings, we strolled out across the garden terrace and descended to the side yard. We went round the front lawn of the house and through the driveway area to the preserve path that leads through the trees and bushes to the softball field. It was hot and there ought to have been rain, but the sky actually had cleared more. We were all sweating in the stockings-- but we looked great!
Lisa wanted to play on the swings but none of the rest of us did-- it was just too hot, and I didn't want any of us to tear the stockings, and of course there was always a chance someone would drive by on the road and happen to look in the gate and see us there. So we strolled back to the garden, put the preserve gate safely closed behind us, and then stripped on the terrace for the pool. Jessy and Josie got off their shoes and stockings and then dared each other to dive in wearing the panties. I knew why-- Josie's (which were Jessy's actually) were probably in need of a good rinsing!
I was feeling cute and prised off the panties first. As I stood up straight, in just the lacy white stockings and the shoes, Lisa looked up admiringly and finally said, 'Ohhh. I see why now.'
I smiled down at her. 'But you know what I look like,' I said.
She nodded. 'I know. But those don't show.'
'No,' I said, dropping the panties into a chair. 'I just wish the others didn't.'
Lisa shrugged. 'Oh well. Do you think I can go swimming in this?'
She was still in the all-cotton bandanna bikini. I bent and inspected the knots, retying one side more snugly. 'Sure, try it,' I said. 'If it comes off, you can just leave it.' I giggled at her then. 'None of us will mind.'
'Yes, but-- do you think it will show?'
The other two, in the pool, and I all laughed. 'You don't have anything to show!' Jessy teased her.
Lisa got a little red, looking over at me. 'I wish I did,' she said quietly.
I reached down and hugged her. 'You sweet little girl!' I told her. 'Don't worry about that. You don't want to grow up too soon.'
'I want to be beautiful,' she said, 'like you are.'
I squeezed her. 'You are beautiful. And, trust me, sweetheart, when you are my age, you will be more beautiful than any of us. I can tell already from how beautiful you are now.'
She smiled at me. 'Do you think this will stay on if I jump? I want it to stay on.'
I smiled and stood up straight. 'Only one way to find out,' I said.
Lisa giggled and jumped into the water. The bandanna bikini stayed on.
Daddy did not come home by 5.00 and when I went in I saw a message blinking beside the phone. He had rung and said he would be at the studio till maybe 8.00 or 9.00. Mother had not come home yet either and so I prepared some frozen pizza and we all decided to curl up in the TV room and watch videos. For Lisa's sake we watched the Hannah Montana movie first. We were all in our panties-and-stockings outfits again-- Josie actually in the pink-and-fuscia ensemble she had worn up in Jessy's room. Jessy sat down front with Lisa but before starting '17 Again' (which we had watched in England but which Lisa and Josie had never seen) Lisa sat up with me. Josie had a potty break, sat with Jessy, then ended up down front with Lisa, and Jessy sat in back with me. Those two did not see then as Jessy went on petting herself in her all-blue outfit. I ignored her-- this is old news for me. Lisa fell asleep in the chair right in front of me, which was a good thing since Lisa began to make some inevitable noise. Josie finally turned round and realised what she was doing. 'Oh, God,' she said, and shivered.
'Mm,' Jessy said, pretty committed to it by then.
'Ohhh....' Josie was going weaker. 'Oh, I really need to--'
'No, you don't,' I said to her.
She looked at me. 'Um, no,' she said softly, 'I guess I don't. Still....'
'Let her go,' I whispered.
'Ahhh!' Jessy sighed deeply, and pushed the panties right off then. From what we heard she was pretty successful in what she hoped for.
Josie remained very good and by the time we were all going in to bed the episode had faded into the past. But sometimes I worry about those two. When they stay over each other's house they sleep in the same bed, usually naked or at least very close to it. I know neither of them is inappropriate about it-- they're just good friends, really much more like little kids than anything else. But I do worry about how much they will indulge themselves or encourage each other in it.
Tonight I was online with a friend, whom I'll call 'Kelly', and I told her about what happened in Jessy's room and in the TV room. Kelly admitted she masturbates a lot, nearly every day. I said I do it so infrequently that I usually don't remember the exact date of the last time. 'I'm just not very sexually oriented, like that,' I said to her. Kelly admitted that chatting about intimate details like this often arouses her a little and that it's kind of hard to avoid the temptation. I really don't mind that my friends yield so easily to it, so long as they don't hold it against me that I don't. In turn I expect my real friends to not judge me as a hypocrite if I occasionally yield to it myself.
Kelly and I promised we'd do it when we signed off AOL tonight. I kept my promise-- and my bed has got the puddle from it!
...
I was saying to someone once how I love waking up naked. There really is nothing more refreshing. I kick off the sheet and prop myself up on my elbows and blink in the sunlight streaming in my windows here, and I feel new and pure and clean and happy. I thrust my feet way up and eject myself from the bed with all my morning energy, and I fling open the sash and the drapery and stand there, staring out at the sun over the bay and the ocean, at three thousand miles of natural view. Sometimes I imagine the people in Portugal are staring out across the ocean during their afternoon tea and wondering if there is some naked blonde girl at the other shore staring back. If they're not, there is no one else out there to see me like this, and so I rarely ever close my draperies at all.
Josie and Jessy slept like a litter of kittens in the other room, both of them curled round almost together under one sheet, hair loose and all over, tanned shoulders dark against the off-white bedclothes, Josie breathing gently over Jessy's head, sweet baby smiles on their faces. I woke them gently, poking their shoulders till they were both stirring. 'Pancakes,' I said softly. 'It's Saturday.'
So they got up.
Whilst the pancakes seethed on the cooker I sauntered out back and dove in. I was into the 18th lap when Mother came out, but she only watched me continue till I had done all 25. 'Are those other birds coming down?' she asked me in a gentle voice, almost too soft for outdoors.
I nodded. 'They said they would be.'
She nodded too and then stepped back as I rose, dripping with no towel, from the water. She smiled at me then. 'You've missed this pool,' she said.
'I did laps twice yesterday,' I told her.
'Did you? As though you need it!' And she laughed.
'I do need it,' I said.
'You don't,' she told me, 'not for your looks anyway. But the exercise never hurts.'
I went up to get dressed in the same shorts and t-shirt from last night, passing Jessy and Josie, now dressed too, coming down on the way.
Daddy excused himself early, having caught up with Roger, and drove up to Delaware at about 9.30. Mother announced she was taking J.J. down to the mall at Lynnhaven, 60 miles way, meeting some local friends (other mothers and kids from church) to make a day of it. So we girls would be alone.
'Well I know what you girls will be doing today,' Mother told us. 'Just remember your father will be home about five.'
This was for Josie, you know. 'We will,' Jessy said.
'And be good to Lisa. She looks up to you girls. You have to be the best you can be for her.'
I just met Mother's eyes. 'I promise we will be,' I said.
She nodded and took J.J.'s hand to go down to the car.
I followed her, my arms folded across my tummy, and gave her a hug and a kiss when she left. 'I love you, Mother,' I told her.
'And I love you, good girl. Have fun.'
I smiled. 'I'm sure we will.'
'And you'll stay in?'
'In, and round the house, yes. Do not worry.'
I waved as she drove off. J.J. waved back.
So it was another day essentially on our own. Jessy and Josie came down, both naked, and dove into the pool. Lisa asked me if I would join them and then ran, really ran, out across the terrace and cannonballed into the centre of the pool. Like her mother she is a born swimmer and absolutely indefatigable in the water.
But soon even this got somewhat dull and we were at a loss for something interesting to do. 'We should do something we never get to do any other time,' Jessy said.
'Like what?' Josie asked eagerly.
Jessy shrugged, avoiding spending mental energy. We brainstormed a few ideas and finally decided to have a little photo shoot, dressing up in whatever we found that was cute, and modelling for each other and for a camera. 'What will we wear?' I asked.
'Something we can't usually wear,' Josie said. 'Something that's....'
'Nothing obscene,' Jessy said.
I made a face. 'Since when are we ever obscene?'
Josie laughed. 'We're not,' she said. 'It'll just be cute.'
So we decided we would all get dressed in panties and high heels, and then Josie suggested, when she had looked into Jessy's dresser, that we wear stockings too. Lisa, thrilled with the chance to do as the big girls do, scampered round to her room and proceeded to change outfits about every ten minutes till her bed was a heap of panties she had tried or rejected, her church tights, ballet tights, and cotton stockings from her Colonial outfits. Honestly she must have worn eight or ten pairs of panties, all the same but for colour or pattern, those simple cotton ones that she pulls up too high on her bottom and too tightly in her crutch. She was so enthusiastic for it that we began teasing her about being an underwear model. But really the pics of her are nothing terrible-- just pics of a nice little girl in her panties. In what way is that obscene?
I went in to my room and pawed through my dressers till I decided on something cute. The stockings are mostly cotton, thigh-high with gripper tops, in a pretty dense tone-on-tone textured pattern of roses and leaves. My shoes were my good ones for church, white cotton eyelet uppers with an open toe and about 2-1/2" heels. My hair was put up with a thick white terry Scünci. And my panties were just plain white cottons, some low-rise ones that are just about new and still very bright. I stepped out of my room feeling absolutely lovely, all in white, like an angel, sexy and pure at the same time, which is a pretty good look for any girl. Jessy and Josie, still getting dressed, raved over it. In front of Jessy's full-height mirror I turned and posed, admiring myself, and was quite pleased with how I looked.
Then little Lisa came in, in her plain black ballet leotard, pink shoes with no tights, and a little bright-pink scarf cleverly wrapt round her middle. 'Oh, all white,' she said to me. 'Is that all you have?'
I turned on my toes and smiled down at her. 'Don't you like it?'
Lisa shrugged. 'The stockings are pretty,' she said.
'They are, aren't they?' And I smiled at myself again.
Lisa stepped a little closer and when I turned she was right in front of me. 'What's that?' she asked.
We all looked. I looked down ahd she was pointing, her finger not six inches from the front of my panties. 'Uh-oh,' Jessy said. 'Is it a spot?'
No. The panties were clean. It's just that they were also very thin, and there it was, a dark shadow showing through the white cotton. 'It's just me, sweetie,' I said to Lisa.
'You?' she wondered.
I lifted the cotton away from my tummy and she peered in, seeing what I meant. 'It's just what I have,' she said.
'Oh,' said Lisa. Of course she knows what I look like. I'm sure she only didn't realise I would show through like that. I hadn't thought of it either. Really I hadn't wanted to think that there could be any way I could outgrow white cotton panties-- they're always my favourite.
'Well,' Josie said, 'while we're all getting made-up.... You know you wouldn't have to worry about it showing, if....'
'If what?' I asked, too innocently I guess.
Josie smiled at me and then shrugged. 'If you got rid of it,' she said.
I wrinkled my nose then. 'Ew. No way.'
'Why not? It would look better. And you wouldn't have to worry about certain bathing-suits....'
'I don't wear anything that what I do have would be a problem,' I told her.
Josie shrugged again. 'Well, it might make you feel or look sexier,' she said.
I met eyes with Jessy, who only rolled hers. Then I said, 'I would say that takes a very particular kind of vanity, wouldn't you?'
Jessy giggled. Josie looked at her, not knowing what I had meant or why Jessy had laughed, and Jessy said, 'Why would anyone do that? So they can admire how they look themselves or show off to other people?'
Josie got red then, now realising how it sounded. 'Oh,' she said. 'Well, I just thought....'
'Remind me not to let her take any pictures of herself naked now,' I said to Jessy, and we both laughed till Josie got over it.
Lisa trotted back into the room, now in her own white panties, the pink scarf round her middle, and the ballet shoes. Josie reached out and tickled her, which Lisa likes. 'This one doesn't have the problem at all, lucky little thing!' Josie said.
'What problem?' Lisa wanted to know.
'Never mind,' I said.
'Is it lady stuff?' she asked.
I smiled at her. 'Kind of.'
'Okay, never mind,' she said-- for she's sure she's heard it all enough before.
'So change,' Jessy said to me then, and then shrugged, like to encourage me.
I shrugged too and went back to my room, a little disappointed. But I found some lacy ones in my drawer, also white and mostly cotton, but with elegant lace appliqués that sort of complement the stockings. Lisa stood and watched as I peeled the other ones off over my shoes and pulled up the lacy ones. 'Those I like better,' she said.
'Can you still see--?'
Lisa actually bent and examined me. 'No.'
I patted her head and pranced back round to Jessy's room then. Jessy had on her navy-blue stockings and shoes and cute panties with yellow-and-white flowers on the blue cotton. Josie had found Jessy's old bright fuscia stockings (from a Hallowe'en costume party-- don't ask) and a pair of bright pink panties almost the same tone. They were debating what shoes she would wear with that ensemble. I suggested plain black. Of course Josie and Jessy wear the same sizes (in all but bras) but at least Jessy has got so many clothes and shoes, including panties and lingerie, that it's not likely the two of them together could ever run out of combinations they both could wear.
Josie supervised everyone's makeup-- she's the best one at that. The plan was that we would all have something showy done for the camera but neutral enough that it could go with any other outfits (okay, panties and stockings). I wasn't exactly thrilled with how she made me look but I have to admit that I turned out all right in the pictures.
Grabbing a few other things to change into we all went down the side stairs to the basement. There we hung up a plain white bedsheet against one wall and set up the camera on a tripod and a few lights with the shades cocked to illuminate us. Of course Jessy and I have done this before and by now it's a pretty reliable system. Mostly the pics were taken of one girl at a time-- we would set up, say, Jessy, let her pose as much as she wanted, and shoot about 35 frames. Then whilst she changed her outfit we'd do someone else.
Jessy looks like an angel in her shots. She always does. In some she let her hair down, in others it was pinned up-- the difference was so extraordinary that she looked like two different girls sometimes. I look like... me. Really it's all right... I just didn't really surprise myself. I guess I am not fond of having my pic taken. But I have to admit the makeup made me look great. Josie pouted, rolled her tongue behind her teeth, stuck out her chest and rocked her up bottom, doing all the carefully-exaggerated manoeuvres that exotic models do in those pictures we've all seen on the Web. In one she had her legs spread apart, which didn't really flatter her in any modest way, you know. (I wanted to delete that one but she made me keep it.) It's really kind of scary that she knows how to do things like that-- but she is an only child and has lots of time alone in her room in the evenings, I guess.
The surprising one was Lisa, of course-- she has a very practised smile and a very good idea of how to pose herself. She's no JonBenet-- she's only a normal 6-year-old girl-- but she's very pretty and is very comfortable in front of the camera. She was the one who came up with the idea of lying down on the piano bench like a classical odalisque, which we all did later. She really ought to make a great model or actor some day.
We hooked up Jessy's laptop to the camera so we could review the pics straight away. Some were bad. Most were pretty good. I saved about 40 of mine.
Lisa came down once in her bandanna bikini, the one Jessy and I made for her (only the bottom half of course) and Jessy was shooting her a while. That made some pretty cute shots-- and she becomes the first of us to formally model the bandanna bikini--mainly because, being 6, she can get away with wearing only a bottom piece, you know. I contributed some ideas but got too many ideas for myself and bolted back up stairs to change. On my way by Jessy's open door I happened to peer in.
Josie was sitting up against the pillows and headboard of Jessy's bed, the heels sort of digging into the covers, her knees up and her hand occupied in the bright-pink panties. At first she did not see me. But when she did she could hardly have stopped anyway. 'Oh!' she sighed, going on even faster. 'I'm sorry! I just--'
I only smiled. 'It's okay,' I said, and stepped back to pull the door closed.
'Oh! Thank you!' And she put back her head then and dug in.
I stepped into my room feeling myself blush. Of course Jessy and I have seen each other self-engaged before. I had never seen Josie, though, but it was hardly anything worse than whatever I could have expected. Of course she was aroused by this. I was myself, a little. (Some of the pics showed it.) I only giggled and then I couldn't even think about getting changed and just went back down as I was, all in white. I think I was really just hoping to divert Lisa from going into Jessy's room till Josie was done
Jessy went up later and about 15 minutes later they were both back down. 'It's so hot,' Jessy said.
That was for Josie, you know. I am sure she was very warm. So I suggested we have a walk or something outside, in all our finery, you know. So in our fancy shoes, cute panties and completely over-the-top stockings, we strolled out across the garden terrace and descended to the side yard. We went round the front lawn of the house and through the driveway area to the preserve path that leads through the trees and bushes to the softball field. It was hot and there ought to have been rain, but the sky actually had cleared more. We were all sweating in the stockings-- but we looked great!
Lisa wanted to play on the swings but none of the rest of us did-- it was just too hot, and I didn't want any of us to tear the stockings, and of course there was always a chance someone would drive by on the road and happen to look in the gate and see us there. So we strolled back to the garden, put the preserve gate safely closed behind us, and then stripped on the terrace for the pool. Jessy and Josie got off their shoes and stockings and then dared each other to dive in wearing the panties. I knew why-- Josie's (which were Jessy's actually) were probably in need of a good rinsing!
I was feeling cute and prised off the panties first. As I stood up straight, in just the lacy white stockings and the shoes, Lisa looked up admiringly and finally said, 'Ohhh. I see why now.'
I smiled down at her. 'But you know what I look like,' I said.
She nodded. 'I know. But those don't show.'
'No,' I said, dropping the panties into a chair. 'I just wish the others didn't.'
Lisa shrugged. 'Oh well. Do you think I can go swimming in this?'
She was still in the all-cotton bandanna bikini. I bent and inspected the knots, retying one side more snugly. 'Sure, try it,' I said. 'If it comes off, you can just leave it.' I giggled at her then. 'None of us will mind.'
'Yes, but-- do you think it will show?'
The other two, in the pool, and I all laughed. 'You don't have anything to show!' Jessy teased her.
Lisa got a little red, looking over at me. 'I wish I did,' she said quietly.
I reached down and hugged her. 'You sweet little girl!' I told her. 'Don't worry about that. You don't want to grow up too soon.'
'I want to be beautiful,' she said, 'like you are.'
I squeezed her. 'You are beautiful. And, trust me, sweetheart, when you are my age, you will be more beautiful than any of us. I can tell already from how beautiful you are now.'
She smiled at me. 'Do you think this will stay on if I jump? I want it to stay on.'
I smiled and stood up straight. 'Only one way to find out,' I said.
Lisa giggled and jumped into the water. The bandanna bikini stayed on.
Daddy did not come home by 5.00 and when I went in I saw a message blinking beside the phone. He had rung and said he would be at the studio till maybe 8.00 or 9.00. Mother had not come home yet either and so I prepared some frozen pizza and we all decided to curl up in the TV room and watch videos. For Lisa's sake we watched the Hannah Montana movie first. We were all in our panties-and-stockings outfits again-- Josie actually in the pink-and-fuscia ensemble she had worn up in Jessy's room. Jessy sat down front with Lisa but before starting '17 Again' (which we had watched in England but which Lisa and Josie had never seen) Lisa sat up with me. Josie had a potty break, sat with Jessy, then ended up down front with Lisa, and Jessy sat in back with me. Those two did not see then as Jessy went on petting herself in her all-blue outfit. I ignored her-- this is old news for me. Lisa fell asleep in the chair right in front of me, which was a good thing since Lisa began to make some inevitable noise. Josie finally turned round and realised what she was doing. 'Oh, God,' she said, and shivered.
'Mm,' Jessy said, pretty committed to it by then.
'Ohhh....' Josie was going weaker. 'Oh, I really need to--'
'No, you don't,' I said to her.
She looked at me. 'Um, no,' she said softly, 'I guess I don't. Still....'
'Let her go,' I whispered.
'Ahhh!' Jessy sighed deeply, and pushed the panties right off then. From what we heard she was pretty successful in what she hoped for.
Josie remained very good and by the time we were all going in to bed the episode had faded into the past. But sometimes I worry about those two. When they stay over each other's house they sleep in the same bed, usually naked or at least very close to it. I know neither of them is inappropriate about it-- they're just good friends, really much more like little kids than anything else. But I do worry about how much they will indulge themselves or encourage each other in it.
Tonight I was online with a friend, whom I'll call 'Kelly', and I told her about what happened in Jessy's room and in the TV room. Kelly admitted she masturbates a lot, nearly every day. I said I do it so infrequently that I usually don't remember the exact date of the last time. 'I'm just not very sexually oriented, like that,' I said to her. Kelly admitted that chatting about intimate details like this often arouses her a little and that it's kind of hard to avoid the temptation. I really don't mind that my friends yield so easily to it, so long as they don't hold it against me that I don't. In turn I expect my real friends to not judge me as a hypocrite if I occasionally yield to it myself.
Kelly and I promised we'd do it when we signed off AOL tonight. I kept my promise-- and my bed has got the puddle from it!
...
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