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.
...
Showing posts with label mother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mother. Show all posts
28 December 2009
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.
...
03 August 2009
One thing and then another
or, How my family does a beach house party
Sunday 2 August 2009
We attended Holy Innocents' this morning, but they do not know us so well here (in spite of Daddy having given them so much money over the years-- mostly anonymously), so they did not know to announce Lisa's 6th birthday. We did inform the rector in the receiving line and she was very pleased and proud to be congratulated one this milestone. She has lived 17 percent of her whole life since this time last year, when we were just arrived from England. When we moved in to the house in Virginia Lisa had only fuzzy memories of having lived in the US at all. She still bears that cute accent, though it is not so much from having gone to nursery school and Sunday school with other children in England as it is because her mother is Anglo-Australian, one of the scant minority native to Australia but of English and Protestant ancestry. Mother has only a hint of an Australian accent-- she sounds more like she is from East Anglia, where we stayed for two years, and little Lisa talks a lot like her mummy does.
People began arriving at about 3.00 or 4.00. I had a shower and dressed at about 3.30-- the day was nasty with clouds and thundershowers till about then and I had been inside, on the computer and not exactly dressed (okay, stark-naked), the closest I ever am to actually being bored. Then the house filled up. We eventually were able to move most of the party out to the deck. There was Daddy's uncle and aunt, having come up from their place down the Island. There was Gran, of course, and Daddy's brother and his family. There was Mother's dear best friend, having come up on the Ferry from Delaware, with her fiance, just for the occasion. Three of the girls from the ice-cream shop who were free came by. And Jessy's friends, Claire, Scotia and Edie, made sure to wander in round 5.00. Also Edie's mother showed up-- not so much out of some parental protection, to watch over her daughter at this party full of beer and wine and loud jokes and live music, of course, but because she carries something of a crush on Daddy, of whom she has been a fan these twenty-odd years or more now. Needless to say Daddy was in his element, telling funny stories, mugging with his family for the camera, serving up more food and drink to everyone than they wanted and making sure no one felt left-out. So I think Edie's mother had a really good time.
Mother (our stepmother) may be the most natural party-hoster next to Daddy. I remember my own mother was very good at it, preparing everything to the very highest standard and then presiding over the festivities-- that is to say, being a charming and gracious hostess who never let anyone down-- always with a smile and a hug and kiss for everyone. She was just like that naturally, and from having known her and learnt from her, our stepmother follows that example. Only Mother, being young in age and even younger at heart, is far more casual. For example, she rang the deli for a tray of food, and the bakery did the cake for the party. (She made a lovely homemade cake-- from scratch-- last night for our immediate-family celebration. She wouldn't dare not make one herself.) She wore a very pretty royal-blue bikini with a blue-and-white wrap-skirt draped round her hips, with her hair up and high-heeled shoes (okay, Easy-Walkers). This is remarkable because she is young and looks it, in spite of having borne two children, and of course she is very beautiful, and especially because she is... shall I say... well-endowed. She has the perfect figure for a bikini and always has had-- I do not mean she is anything other than pleasantly proportioned. And she wears the shoes really because of being so short. But I really think no one could overlook her at any party no matter what people are wearing. She just seems to exude sweetness and hospitality.
Of course Lisa takes after her as much as she takes after Jessy and me too. She wanted to wear a swimsuit and heels too, though of course she does not own any shoes with heels and discovered with near-tearful lament that both her swimsuits here were damp in the basket for the washing. Jessy soothed her-- I might have guessed-- and next she appeared, for her own birthday, in front of family and friends, everyone but J.J. being quite older than she is, in-- you guessed it-- the bandanna bikini. She absolutely loves it, you know. Jessy did fit her with another bandanna tied round her ribs as a top, and then did her hair up on her head like she was going to a prom, and everyone raved over how 'native' she looked even whilst she looked like a princess.
The bandanna bikini top didn't last all night, but she is six and no one really cared. I have to admit I thought she was even cuter with it off... bikini tops on little girls just seem so pretentious to me somehow!
I have to confess that by the time I was done playing piano and singing and crooning along with whoever else played, I had had about three full glasses of wine and was in no condition to be very gracious or hospitable to anyone. Fortunately Edie's mother did not notice. Scotia did, teased me about it, and then slyly asked me where the wine was. I made a face at her and pranced (okay, staggered) away from her. Fortunately Jessy is no drinker and would not enable her friends to either. But I was disappointed in Scotia-- she's younger than Jessy, having only turned 15 this June, and very cute... but what makes someone like that ask for a glass of wine at someone else's party? And what do we know of her history with it? I've had wine at the table since I was much younger than she is now, and so what if I have three glasses at one party? I don't have to defend my sense or propriety to someone who just wants to drink so she can say later that she was drinking.
Oh, sorry-- this is not the kind of thing I should write about before a good night's sleep, you know.
Anyway this party served as kind of a sendoff for Jessy and me, since we leave tomorrow for Virginia and will not be back here in New Jersey till nearly Labor Day. I have enjoyed it all, even though I have missed my friends at home, and missed Stephen (more on that later) and missed out on a few somewhat important events that were at the end of a four-hour drive because of having to work here that evening or the morning after, you know. I love this house and love this whole town, and the beach here is like no other in the world. But England calls, and I will heed that call. This time next week I will be five time zones away. And there will be friends there too.
There is a bit of wine left in this glass. I drink to the summer, well-spent.
...
Sunday 2 August 2009
We attended Holy Innocents' this morning, but they do not know us so well here (in spite of Daddy having given them so much money over the years-- mostly anonymously), so they did not know to announce Lisa's 6th birthday. We did inform the rector in the receiving line and she was very pleased and proud to be congratulated one this milestone. She has lived 17 percent of her whole life since this time last year, when we were just arrived from England. When we moved in to the house in Virginia Lisa had only fuzzy memories of having lived in the US at all. She still bears that cute accent, though it is not so much from having gone to nursery school and Sunday school with other children in England as it is because her mother is Anglo-Australian, one of the scant minority native to Australia but of English and Protestant ancestry. Mother has only a hint of an Australian accent-- she sounds more like she is from East Anglia, where we stayed for two years, and little Lisa talks a lot like her mummy does.
People began arriving at about 3.00 or 4.00. I had a shower and dressed at about 3.30-- the day was nasty with clouds and thundershowers till about then and I had been inside, on the computer and not exactly dressed (okay, stark-naked), the closest I ever am to actually being bored. Then the house filled up. We eventually were able to move most of the party out to the deck. There was Daddy's uncle and aunt, having come up from their place down the Island. There was Gran, of course, and Daddy's brother and his family. There was Mother's dear best friend, having come up on the Ferry from Delaware, with her fiance, just for the occasion. Three of the girls from the ice-cream shop who were free came by. And Jessy's friends, Claire, Scotia and Edie, made sure to wander in round 5.00. Also Edie's mother showed up-- not so much out of some parental protection, to watch over her daughter at this party full of beer and wine and loud jokes and live music, of course, but because she carries something of a crush on Daddy, of whom she has been a fan these twenty-odd years or more now. Needless to say Daddy was in his element, telling funny stories, mugging with his family for the camera, serving up more food and drink to everyone than they wanted and making sure no one felt left-out. So I think Edie's mother had a really good time.
Mother (our stepmother) may be the most natural party-hoster next to Daddy. I remember my own mother was very good at it, preparing everything to the very highest standard and then presiding over the festivities-- that is to say, being a charming and gracious hostess who never let anyone down-- always with a smile and a hug and kiss for everyone. She was just like that naturally, and from having known her and learnt from her, our stepmother follows that example. Only Mother, being young in age and even younger at heart, is far more casual. For example, she rang the deli for a tray of food, and the bakery did the cake for the party. (She made a lovely homemade cake-- from scratch-- last night for our immediate-family celebration. She wouldn't dare not make one herself.) She wore a very pretty royal-blue bikini with a blue-and-white wrap-skirt draped round her hips, with her hair up and high-heeled shoes (okay, Easy-Walkers). This is remarkable because she is young and looks it, in spite of having borne two children, and of course she is very beautiful, and especially because she is... shall I say... well-endowed. She has the perfect figure for a bikini and always has had-- I do not mean she is anything other than pleasantly proportioned. And she wears the shoes really because of being so short. But I really think no one could overlook her at any party no matter what people are wearing. She just seems to exude sweetness and hospitality.
Of course Lisa takes after her as much as she takes after Jessy and me too. She wanted to wear a swimsuit and heels too, though of course she does not own any shoes with heels and discovered with near-tearful lament that both her swimsuits here were damp in the basket for the washing. Jessy soothed her-- I might have guessed-- and next she appeared, for her own birthday, in front of family and friends, everyone but J.J. being quite older than she is, in-- you guessed it-- the bandanna bikini. She absolutely loves it, you know. Jessy did fit her with another bandanna tied round her ribs as a top, and then did her hair up on her head like she was going to a prom, and everyone raved over how 'native' she looked even whilst she looked like a princess.
The bandanna bikini top didn't last all night, but she is six and no one really cared. I have to admit I thought she was even cuter with it off... bikini tops on little girls just seem so pretentious to me somehow!
I have to confess that by the time I was done playing piano and singing and crooning along with whoever else played, I had had about three full glasses of wine and was in no condition to be very gracious or hospitable to anyone. Fortunately Edie's mother did not notice. Scotia did, teased me about it, and then slyly asked me where the wine was. I made a face at her and pranced (okay, staggered) away from her. Fortunately Jessy is no drinker and would not enable her friends to either. But I was disappointed in Scotia-- she's younger than Jessy, having only turned 15 this June, and very cute... but what makes someone like that ask for a glass of wine at someone else's party? And what do we know of her history with it? I've had wine at the table since I was much younger than she is now, and so what if I have three glasses at one party? I don't have to defend my sense or propriety to someone who just wants to drink so she can say later that she was drinking.
Oh, sorry-- this is not the kind of thing I should write about before a good night's sleep, you know.
Anyway this party served as kind of a sendoff for Jessy and me, since we leave tomorrow for Virginia and will not be back here in New Jersey till nearly Labor Day. I have enjoyed it all, even though I have missed my friends at home, and missed Stephen (more on that later) and missed out on a few somewhat important events that were at the end of a four-hour drive because of having to work here that evening or the morning after, you know. I love this house and love this whole town, and the beach here is like no other in the world. But England calls, and I will heed that call. This time next week I will be five time zones away. And there will be friends there too.
There is a bit of wine left in this glass. I drink to the summer, well-spent.
...
01 August 2009
When I am doing nothing
Friday 31 July 2009
I got a call at about 9.00 to go in to the shop to cover for one of our servers, so I rushed through getting dressed and got out of the place, in my good yellow-and-cream gown, at like 9.30. One good thing about working in a Colonial-themed place is that you don't have to wear makeup! --in fact you shouldn't! Only actresses and harlots (which in the 18th C were pretty much the same thing) wore face paint., you know.
Whilst I was working Jessy went out 'to lunch' with some of her friends here. Mother came with JJ and Lisa and picked me up in the car. When I got back Jessy had left me a text message inviting me to come along... but when I called her she didn't pick up and I realised they were probably seeing HP6 again down at the Beach. So I came up here, got out of my outfit, and went online.
This constituted most of my afternoon then. The sun has been going in and out of clouds all morning and I hadn't decided if I wanted to get dressed just to lie out and get nothing for it. Besides, I'm tan enough! Lisa came up, as naked as I am, and asked if I was going to the beach. But then Mother called her back down. 'No one's going anywhere till after lunch!'
Lisa rolled her eyes and went back down. I descended most of the way and called down, 'Mother! I'm not hungry, so do I have to eat?'
Then her sweet voice came back, from round the corner in the dining room, 'Not if you don't want to, sweetheart. But no unfair snacks later then!'
'Yes, Mother,' I called, and came back up here.
People were chatting and I was too busy with that to do much writing for myself. Lisa came back and promised to go to the beach with me whenever I wanted to. She was, of course, still naked in the house but suggested we could wear our bandanna bikinis (see blog from yesterday). 'When will you want to?' she asked, standing a foot from my elbow as I typed and rocking side-to-side on her heels as she does.
I reached over and pinched her. 'We'll wait till you've settled your stomach first, okay?'
'Okay!' she said, and went back down.
I went down for a banana later (oh, do not ASK what people online thought of that!) and found Mother sitting out on the deck, in her chaise, reading. She was in her good blue-and-black print bikini and looked absolutely gorgeous... as usual. I should remind you all that 'Mother', my stepmother, is 27. She was our nanny till after Mommy died. Lisa and JJ are hers and Jessy and I are Mommy's. Lisa will be 6 in a week. She is as precocious as any child of Mother's could be expected to be, adorable, fiercely brave, sweet-natured, and absolutely enraptured with Jessy who is almost exactly 10 years older. This afternoon little JJ, who is 3-1/2, was arranging trucks and blocks all over the deck. He's never naked-- he says it is for girls and is probably getting protective over his maleness anyway-- and was in a cute little bikini swimsuit like Daddy wears in the pool. And Lisa was naked, both of them slathered heavily in SPF 60 and playing on our nice big white-painted cedar deck that extends from the front door and the parlour to the dunes. I thought it was charming and cute that the two of them had both Barbies and trucks all over the deck, playing somewhat separately and yet sometimes together in the sun. Daddy strung a 'safety net' under the lower railing mainly to keep dolls and trucks from going overboard. It's green and tends to become opaque in bright sunlight, so Lisa crawling round the deck with JJ was pretty much safe from prying eyes on the street, which gives access to the beach, or from the walkway leading over the dunes that's between our house and the one we rent out next door.
Of course I only peered out the front door (which faces the dune, not the street) from behind the screen door. Mother turned her head and waved back at me. 'I'm not coming out,' I said.
'I should hope not,' she smiled.
'Just wanted to see what you're all doing.'
'They're kind of in the middle of this,' Mother said.
Lisa stood up and padded over to me then. 'Are you coming out to play?'
I smiled. 'Not like I am sweetie!'
She shrugged and then smiled shyly at me. 'Okay,' she said-- recognising that older girls have issues with playing outside naked on a deck visible to the public that younger girls do not. I really believe she would have expected Jessy to join her.
'We'll go for a walk later, okay?'
She nodded and ran right back to the Barbies. I went back up stairs.
Finally round 2.30 I had not heard from Jessy and decided to go out. I put on the pale-blue bandanna bikini, which I had not worn outside yet, and a plain white tanktop and descended to the deck again. 'Are we going out?" Lisa asked, rushing up.
I caught her; her skin was drying and she'd need more SPF 60. 'You need to go up and get your suit,' I said. 'And a top too.'
She ran off for the stairs. 'Can I come too?' JJ asked, rushing up too.
I looked at Mother. 'Do you mind if I take them both? If you want to read....'
'I'll be fine, sweetheart. Go and have fun.'
Lisa brought down the bandanna-bikini, one of the ones Jessy and I made for ourselves that didn't work and got altered for someone smaller, and I sat her on a dining-room chair and tied it up at her hips for her. JJ went to the potty and emerged, and I got them both well coated in sunblock-- as well as myself-- and we descended to the yard and went under the deck to the walkway over the dune. On the beach, which had got hot, we ran down to the water's edge and then wandered off down to the next jetty, about three and a half blocks. We met some people we know, said hello to some new people, got slightly wet-- well, JJ got soaked when he slid in the sand and was overwhelmed by an anklesnapper-- and got some exercise. When I am with our little ones I don't feel a need to be Miss Popular Young Woman In A Swimsuit On The Beach, you know. I feel like a nanny myself sometimes. And I like it. It is really true what Daddy says, that being around children on the beach and in the ocean makes you feel younger. I suppose that is why he has made a lifetime's career about of being youthful and fun and interesting and entertaining!
When we got back Jessy and her friends had come. At once Jessy pointed out to them that I was wearing one of our bandanna-bikini creations. 'That's a bandanna?' her friend Scotia said in amazement.
I giggled, and turned round then. 'Actually it's two,' I said.
'Oh my God!' they all seemed to say at once. 'And you wore that out?'
I shrugged, smiling somewhat proudly now. 'Of course.'
'It was kind of Janine's idea,' Jessy said. 'I have two of them too.'
'And you made that?'
'But it's only cotton!'
'And you wore it to go out?'
They remained amazed. So I have gone from feeling lonely and left-out (and very nearly bored!) to being a role model for girls again. This is the kind of day I like!
...
I got a call at about 9.00 to go in to the shop to cover for one of our servers, so I rushed through getting dressed and got out of the place, in my good yellow-and-cream gown, at like 9.30. One good thing about working in a Colonial-themed place is that you don't have to wear makeup! --in fact you shouldn't! Only actresses and harlots (which in the 18th C were pretty much the same thing) wore face paint., you know.
Whilst I was working Jessy went out 'to lunch' with some of her friends here. Mother came with JJ and Lisa and picked me up in the car. When I got back Jessy had left me a text message inviting me to come along... but when I called her she didn't pick up and I realised they were probably seeing HP6 again down at the Beach. So I came up here, got out of my outfit, and went online.
This constituted most of my afternoon then. The sun has been going in and out of clouds all morning and I hadn't decided if I wanted to get dressed just to lie out and get nothing for it. Besides, I'm tan enough! Lisa came up, as naked as I am, and asked if I was going to the beach. But then Mother called her back down. 'No one's going anywhere till after lunch!'
Lisa rolled her eyes and went back down. I descended most of the way and called down, 'Mother! I'm not hungry, so do I have to eat?'
Then her sweet voice came back, from round the corner in the dining room, 'Not if you don't want to, sweetheart. But no unfair snacks later then!'
'Yes, Mother,' I called, and came back up here.
People were chatting and I was too busy with that to do much writing for myself. Lisa came back and promised to go to the beach with me whenever I wanted to. She was, of course, still naked in the house but suggested we could wear our bandanna bikinis (see blog from yesterday). 'When will you want to?' she asked, standing a foot from my elbow as I typed and rocking side-to-side on her heels as she does.
I reached over and pinched her. 'We'll wait till you've settled your stomach first, okay?'
'Okay!' she said, and went back down.
I went down for a banana later (oh, do not ASK what people online thought of that!) and found Mother sitting out on the deck, in her chaise, reading. She was in her good blue-and-black print bikini and looked absolutely gorgeous... as usual. I should remind you all that 'Mother', my stepmother, is 27. She was our nanny till after Mommy died. Lisa and JJ are hers and Jessy and I are Mommy's. Lisa will be 6 in a week. She is as precocious as any child of Mother's could be expected to be, adorable, fiercely brave, sweet-natured, and absolutely enraptured with Jessy who is almost exactly 10 years older. This afternoon little JJ, who is 3-1/2, was arranging trucks and blocks all over the deck. He's never naked-- he says it is for girls and is probably getting protective over his maleness anyway-- and was in a cute little bikini swimsuit like Daddy wears in the pool. And Lisa was naked, both of them slathered heavily in SPF 60 and playing on our nice big white-painted cedar deck that extends from the front door and the parlour to the dunes. I thought it was charming and cute that the two of them had both Barbies and trucks all over the deck, playing somewhat separately and yet sometimes together in the sun. Daddy strung a 'safety net' under the lower railing mainly to keep dolls and trucks from going overboard. It's green and tends to become opaque in bright sunlight, so Lisa crawling round the deck with JJ was pretty much safe from prying eyes on the street, which gives access to the beach, or from the walkway leading over the dunes that's between our house and the one we rent out next door.
Of course I only peered out the front door (which faces the dune, not the street) from behind the screen door. Mother turned her head and waved back at me. 'I'm not coming out,' I said.
'I should hope not,' she smiled.
'Just wanted to see what you're all doing.'
'They're kind of in the middle of this,' Mother said.
Lisa stood up and padded over to me then. 'Are you coming out to play?'
I smiled. 'Not like I am sweetie!'
She shrugged and then smiled shyly at me. 'Okay,' she said-- recognising that older girls have issues with playing outside naked on a deck visible to the public that younger girls do not. I really believe she would have expected Jessy to join her.
'We'll go for a walk later, okay?'
She nodded and ran right back to the Barbies. I went back up stairs.
Finally round 2.30 I had not heard from Jessy and decided to go out. I put on the pale-blue bandanna bikini, which I had not worn outside yet, and a plain white tanktop and descended to the deck again. 'Are we going out?" Lisa asked, rushing up.
I caught her; her skin was drying and she'd need more SPF 60. 'You need to go up and get your suit,' I said. 'And a top too.'
She ran off for the stairs. 'Can I come too?' JJ asked, rushing up too.
I looked at Mother. 'Do you mind if I take them both? If you want to read....'
'I'll be fine, sweetheart. Go and have fun.'
Lisa brought down the bandanna-bikini, one of the ones Jessy and I made for ourselves that didn't work and got altered for someone smaller, and I sat her on a dining-room chair and tied it up at her hips for her. JJ went to the potty and emerged, and I got them both well coated in sunblock-- as well as myself-- and we descended to the yard and went under the deck to the walkway over the dune. On the beach, which had got hot, we ran down to the water's edge and then wandered off down to the next jetty, about three and a half blocks. We met some people we know, said hello to some new people, got slightly wet-- well, JJ got soaked when he slid in the sand and was overwhelmed by an anklesnapper-- and got some exercise. When I am with our little ones I don't feel a need to be Miss Popular Young Woman In A Swimsuit On The Beach, you know. I feel like a nanny myself sometimes. And I like it. It is really true what Daddy says, that being around children on the beach and in the ocean makes you feel younger. I suppose that is why he has made a lifetime's career about of being youthful and fun and interesting and entertaining!
When we got back Jessy and her friends had come. At once Jessy pointed out to them that I was wearing one of our bandanna-bikini creations. 'That's a bandanna?' her friend Scotia said in amazement.
I giggled, and turned round then. 'Actually it's two,' I said.
'Oh my God!' they all seemed to say at once. 'And you wore that out?'
I shrugged, smiling somewhat proudly now. 'Of course.'
'It was kind of Janine's idea,' Jessy said. 'I have two of them too.'
'And you made that?'
'But it's only cotton!'
'And you wore it to go out?'
They remained amazed. So I have gone from feeling lonely and left-out (and very nearly bored!) to being a role model for girls again. This is the kind of day I like!
...
30 July 2009
The bandanna bikini
Thursday 30 July 2009
Long ago when we lived in Delaware, after Daddy married our nanny, our new mother taught Jessy and I at home as though we were girls of 250 years ago. And so to make it fun we dressed in our Colonial outfits, (even Mother) and sat every morning in the little tea room, read prayers, had lessons in two or three subjects a day (always including reading) and then had tea at 11.00. After that we had homework time and after lunch we went out to play in the yard, or walk the beach, or swim in the pool, or practise our crafts with Mother. And one of the crafts we learned was hand sewing. Mommy had begun to teach us and our nanny too, so when our nanny became our new mother she continued our sewing lessons. We made bonnets and capes and pockets and aprons as well as several sizes' worth of Colonial dresses-- and we still do make them and as a result I have six full outfits, most of which I wear to work Mommy's Colonial-themed ice-cream shop, and we still attend reenactment events when we can (even England, like last year).
Jessy and I were always encouraged to experiment and try new things, in art, music, and crafts. A few summers ago Jessy had the bizarre idea of making a swimsuit. She chose an old blue bedsheet, made pretty good patterns from a bikini she already owned, cut it out, hemmed it, did beautiful work really, and then one summer's day she bravely pranced out of the sewing room in her very pretty bedsheet bikini. The halter top tied in back and behind her neck and the bottom tied in knots at her hips. It was actually bvery cute and fit her surprisngly well.
I was somewhat envious and quickly set to work on my own. Jessy's sheet was a Martha Stewart one from K-Mart that was part polyester, but I used an old and rather well-worn white percale sheet (actually from my bed). And instead of making lace and sewing it to the corners to tie it, I just twisted the corners of the leftover fabric and managed to tie them at my back and at my hips. It was very cute and we were all impressed-- all of us except Mother who raised her eyebrows and made a sly smirk that I still remember. Then Jessy, who had already gone swimming in hers, prodded me to test it. Of course we went into the pool before trying it out at the beach-- it was much safer, and you can imagine why it mattered. Jessy was only 11 then-- she turned 12 later that summer. But I was 13-1/2. And there is a BIG difference between a girl almost 12 wearing a swimsuit she made out of a piece of dark-blue cotton-blend and a girl of 13-1/2 wearing one she made out of a well-bleached, well-worn all white cotton bedsheet. Let us just say that once I stood up, and Jessy and I had a look at how I looked in it dripping wet, it was the last time I would wear it in front of my parents!
One of the several things we learned that day (besides the value of garment LINING!) was that it's fun to make our own things. We've since made plenty of our own clothes, though not much in the way of swimwear intended for a public beach. Recently Jessy has been collecting colourful cotton bandannas and this past week we each had an opportunity sit down at the sewing machine and put some of them together. First Jessy made a skirt-- it's very '60s really, all bandannas, all the same size but of different colours and patterns, turned on edge, creased once, and sewn on an angle so that it flares out off her hips. She also made a very cute bikini top out of two of them sewn together which she wears just tied (snugly!) round herself. She has the figure for that, you know.
I don't have a figure that would tolerate anything like that, but I started a bikini bottom out of two bandannas that really made Jessy envious this time. We experimented some more, tearing stitches out a few times to redo and get it right. One I went so far as to finish before finding it was much too low-cut (it would not reach enough to tie!) so I altered it for little Lisa who absolutely loves it. But we did get it right and now we each have two. I will probably make at least another one soon.
It's very simple really. You bring two 20" square cotton bandannas (use a print that's opaque!) together at one point. Lay the point of the one that will be the back over the one that will be the front, then slide it up till you have enough doubled fabric to serve as a lining. I prefer to cut off the point itself and then fold in what will be the leg openings, front and back, till the crutch is about three inches wide (as much or as little as you dare-- this works for me). I fold them each on a little angle so that near the top of the front and from about halfway up my bottom they are not folded under any more but just one layer of fabric. You don't use elastic so it's really crucial that you get the fit right. As it turns out the front is always a little lower and therefore narrower than the back. If you get this wrong it looks terrible (the one that became Lisa's was like this). Sew the straight seam across what will be the bottom and then the leg openings, which you can along the sides. We each have double-stitched these.
When this is together you just sit on it on your bed, bring up the front and back start rolling from the point inwards to your body, neatly and tightly till you can pull it closely about yourself, and then tie them at your hips. (The first few times I stuck a paperclip on the rolled-up front so I could then do the back.) You might need to try it several times till you arrive at how you like to wear it. If you can't get it to tie right or fit right after three or four tries you probably have the two bandannas lapped incorrectly-- the front too far up or the back too far down. Actually when mine fit right there is quite a lot of material rolled up and it actually makes it very comfortable.
Of course if you make it like this, it doesn't matter what size you are. A 20"-square cotton bandanna, like the ones at Dollar Tree, where we got them, when folded in half diagonally has a sine/cosine of 28 inches. That's each half, front and back. If you can't tie it round yourself having over 55 inches to reach round your hips, maybe you shouldn't be wearing a bandanna bikini!
Jessy's first one is made of two identical bandannas in that very common East Indian print on baby-blue. Her second one is made of two in the same watercolour pattern but of varying colours. Both mine are in the East Indian print, one dull brick-red in back and yellow in front and one in navy-blue in back and the same baby-blue as Jessy's in front. The one I gave to Lisa is pink and pale green (her two favourite colours anyway... see how that works?). Jessy is making one for Mother now too-- of course Mother is only 27 and has a beautiful bikini body as well. She admitted the other night she had tried making a handkerchief bikini at about the same age I was when I made my first failed attempt out of a white bedsheet-- though the handkerchiefs were a linen blend (dry-clean only! --ha!) she learned the same lesson about translucency when wet-- and that's why she looked at me sceptically before I had tried out mine in the pool!
I wore the brick-red-and-yellow one to the beach today, along with a plain swimsuit top in the same medium grey as the print on the bandannas. It was very comfortable to lie out in and I went down to stand with Lisa (in hers too) by the water as well. Two ladies asked where I'd got it. Most everyone else seemed to like it too.
(But no, I did NOT go into the water in it!)
...
Long ago when we lived in Delaware, after Daddy married our nanny, our new mother taught Jessy and I at home as though we were girls of 250 years ago. And so to make it fun we dressed in our Colonial outfits, (even Mother) and sat every morning in the little tea room, read prayers, had lessons in two or three subjects a day (always including reading) and then had tea at 11.00. After that we had homework time and after lunch we went out to play in the yard, or walk the beach, or swim in the pool, or practise our crafts with Mother. And one of the crafts we learned was hand sewing. Mommy had begun to teach us and our nanny too, so when our nanny became our new mother she continued our sewing lessons. We made bonnets and capes and pockets and aprons as well as several sizes' worth of Colonial dresses-- and we still do make them and as a result I have six full outfits, most of which I wear to work Mommy's Colonial-themed ice-cream shop, and we still attend reenactment events when we can (even England, like last year).
Jessy and I were always encouraged to experiment and try new things, in art, music, and crafts. A few summers ago Jessy had the bizarre idea of making a swimsuit. She chose an old blue bedsheet, made pretty good patterns from a bikini she already owned, cut it out, hemmed it, did beautiful work really, and then one summer's day she bravely pranced out of the sewing room in her very pretty bedsheet bikini. The halter top tied in back and behind her neck and the bottom tied in knots at her hips. It was actually bvery cute and fit her surprisngly well.
I was somewhat envious and quickly set to work on my own. Jessy's sheet was a Martha Stewart one from K-Mart that was part polyester, but I used an old and rather well-worn white percale sheet (actually from my bed). And instead of making lace and sewing it to the corners to tie it, I just twisted the corners of the leftover fabric and managed to tie them at my back and at my hips. It was very cute and we were all impressed-- all of us except Mother who raised her eyebrows and made a sly smirk that I still remember. Then Jessy, who had already gone swimming in hers, prodded me to test it. Of course we went into the pool before trying it out at the beach-- it was much safer, and you can imagine why it mattered. Jessy was only 11 then-- she turned 12 later that summer. But I was 13-1/2. And there is a BIG difference between a girl almost 12 wearing a swimsuit she made out of a piece of dark-blue cotton-blend and a girl of 13-1/2 wearing one she made out of a well-bleached, well-worn all white cotton bedsheet. Let us just say that once I stood up, and Jessy and I had a look at how I looked in it dripping wet, it was the last time I would wear it in front of my parents!
One of the several things we learned that day (besides the value of garment LINING!) was that it's fun to make our own things. We've since made plenty of our own clothes, though not much in the way of swimwear intended for a public beach. Recently Jessy has been collecting colourful cotton bandannas and this past week we each had an opportunity sit down at the sewing machine and put some of them together. First Jessy made a skirt-- it's very '60s really, all bandannas, all the same size but of different colours and patterns, turned on edge, creased once, and sewn on an angle so that it flares out off her hips. She also made a very cute bikini top out of two of them sewn together which she wears just tied (snugly!) round herself. She has the figure for that, you know.
I don't have a figure that would tolerate anything like that, but I started a bikini bottom out of two bandannas that really made Jessy envious this time. We experimented some more, tearing stitches out a few times to redo and get it right. One I went so far as to finish before finding it was much too low-cut (it would not reach enough to tie!) so I altered it for little Lisa who absolutely loves it. But we did get it right and now we each have two. I will probably make at least another one soon.
It's very simple really. You bring two 20" square cotton bandannas (use a print that's opaque!) together at one point. Lay the point of the one that will be the back over the one that will be the front, then slide it up till you have enough doubled fabric to serve as a lining. I prefer to cut off the point itself and then fold in what will be the leg openings, front and back, till the crutch is about three inches wide (as much or as little as you dare-- this works for me). I fold them each on a little angle so that near the top of the front and from about halfway up my bottom they are not folded under any more but just one layer of fabric. You don't use elastic so it's really crucial that you get the fit right. As it turns out the front is always a little lower and therefore narrower than the back. If you get this wrong it looks terrible (the one that became Lisa's was like this). Sew the straight seam across what will be the bottom and then the leg openings, which you can along the sides. We each have double-stitched these.
When this is together you just sit on it on your bed, bring up the front and back start rolling from the point inwards to your body, neatly and tightly till you can pull it closely about yourself, and then tie them at your hips. (The first few times I stuck a paperclip on the rolled-up front so I could then do the back.) You might need to try it several times till you arrive at how you like to wear it. If you can't get it to tie right or fit right after three or four tries you probably have the two bandannas lapped incorrectly-- the front too far up or the back too far down. Actually when mine fit right there is quite a lot of material rolled up and it actually makes it very comfortable.
Of course if you make it like this, it doesn't matter what size you are. A 20"-square cotton bandanna, like the ones at Dollar Tree, where we got them, when folded in half diagonally has a sine/cosine of 28 inches. That's each half, front and back. If you can't tie it round yourself having over 55 inches to reach round your hips, maybe you shouldn't be wearing a bandanna bikini!
Jessy's first one is made of two identical bandannas in that very common East Indian print on baby-blue. Her second one is made of two in the same watercolour pattern but of varying colours. Both mine are in the East Indian print, one dull brick-red in back and yellow in front and one in navy-blue in back and the same baby-blue as Jessy's in front. The one I gave to Lisa is pink and pale green (her two favourite colours anyway... see how that works?). Jessy is making one for Mother now too-- of course Mother is only 27 and has a beautiful bikini body as well. She admitted the other night she had tried making a handkerchief bikini at about the same age I was when I made my first failed attempt out of a white bedsheet-- though the handkerchiefs were a linen blend (dry-clean only! --ha!) she learned the same lesson about translucency when wet-- and that's why she looked at me sceptically before I had tried out mine in the pool!
I wore the brick-red-and-yellow one to the beach today, along with a plain swimsuit top in the same medium grey as the print on the bandannas. It was very comfortable to lie out in and I went down to stand with Lisa (in hers too) by the water as well. Two ladies asked where I'd got it. Most everyone else seemed to like it too.
(But no, I did NOT go into the water in it!)
...
15 July 2009
Full house
Tuesday & Wednesday, 14-15 July
Jessy, Josie and I left the castle early in the morning, went over and collected Becky, and got up to the Landing (house at Lewes) in time for lunch. Mother had a nice sandwich platter waiting, of which we girls ate pigs' shares. Well-- I am never much for breakfast and we had got nothing more than a bagel or so before we'd left. We had a nice visit and got to show Becky and Josie round our childhood home, including Mommy's cherished formal flower garden out back, newly rejuvenated by Mother (and a bit of paid help). They were especially touched to see Mommy's memorial stone, just a little statuette of an angel on top of the small square marble tablet lying over where her ashes rest. I was glad to be there at Lewes again-- I have not been there in some months. But I do not need Mommy's beloved house ot her gardens or the actual sight of her memorial tablet to remember her, you know.
We caught a ferry at 3.40 for Cape May. Neither Josie nor Becky had ever been on it. This is how provincial some of the people we have met in the Eastern Shore are. The ferry is a fun ride and Cape May is always a nice stop just for a day-- yet none of them have ever ventured two hours north to even see it. For them it is only a dotted line on a map. Jessy and I indulged them and we all went to the forwardmost gate and pretended to lean out like that scene in 'Titanic'. At least we did till we were scolded for it. Then we went up to the deck and leaned out over the railing there, which is more permissible. Needless to say those two dozen photos will make it on to three or four FaceBook sites shortly!
We did not stay for supper in Cape May but drove up directly to the Island and got settled in at the beach house. Jessy and Josie got the idea to stay in the little attic room, the one on the ocean side, where Lisa and J.J. usually sleep, and that might have been sensible. But in the end we all ended up sleeping all over our own room, the one on the western end of the house-- and when I say 'all over' I mean ALL OVER, for after a long game of 'Apples to Apples' we fell asleep where we were, mostly on the floor, though Becky was half up on top of my bed and when I woke up I found Josie curled up on her side with my foot under her pillow. The place was atrociously sweaty. Jessy and I got out of the house, in costume, for our shift at the shop, leaving Josie and Becky a note. They came down for breakfast at about 9.00, in swimsuits under their shorts and t-shirts, and the went to the beach. Jessy and I met them there-- still in costume of course. Of course people stare when we walk down the beach in-season, dressed like 1750s working girls. We put on smiles and carry hand baskets from which we give out discount coupons. The cards are for a free breakfast or sundae if you buy three, because Mommy always said she'd rather have families than dates. It's a different kind of clientele, one that tends to come back a few times during a vacation and then again and again, year after year. Besides giving away one out of for makes more business sense than giving away half, you know.
We sat with Becky and Josie in their swimsuits only for a few moments and then went up to change. We had successfully got out of working this evening (whilst I am typing this) and so spent the afternoon off on the mainland seeing 'Harry Potter 6' (sad movie, and very dark). We went shopping and got back here.
Tomorrow we will be working the evening shift. We hope to be on the beach most of the day. I always wonder if I will run into any of my online friends there... they ought to know by now how to find me. Till then I wish them luck! (ha)
...
Jessy, Josie and I left the castle early in the morning, went over and collected Becky, and got up to the Landing (house at Lewes) in time for lunch. Mother had a nice sandwich platter waiting, of which we girls ate pigs' shares. Well-- I am never much for breakfast and we had got nothing more than a bagel or so before we'd left. We had a nice visit and got to show Becky and Josie round our childhood home, including Mommy's cherished formal flower garden out back, newly rejuvenated by Mother (and a bit of paid help). They were especially touched to see Mommy's memorial stone, just a little statuette of an angel on top of the small square marble tablet lying over where her ashes rest. I was glad to be there at Lewes again-- I have not been there in some months. But I do not need Mommy's beloved house ot her gardens or the actual sight of her memorial tablet to remember her, you know.
We caught a ferry at 3.40 for Cape May. Neither Josie nor Becky had ever been on it. This is how provincial some of the people we have met in the Eastern Shore are. The ferry is a fun ride and Cape May is always a nice stop just for a day-- yet none of them have ever ventured two hours north to even see it. For them it is only a dotted line on a map. Jessy and I indulged them and we all went to the forwardmost gate and pretended to lean out like that scene in 'Titanic'. At least we did till we were scolded for it. Then we went up to the deck and leaned out over the railing there, which is more permissible. Needless to say those two dozen photos will make it on to three or four FaceBook sites shortly!
We did not stay for supper in Cape May but drove up directly to the Island and got settled in at the beach house. Jessy and Josie got the idea to stay in the little attic room, the one on the ocean side, where Lisa and J.J. usually sleep, and that might have been sensible. But in the end we all ended up sleeping all over our own room, the one on the western end of the house-- and when I say 'all over' I mean ALL OVER, for after a long game of 'Apples to Apples' we fell asleep where we were, mostly on the floor, though Becky was half up on top of my bed and when I woke up I found Josie curled up on her side with my foot under her pillow. The place was atrociously sweaty. Jessy and I got out of the house, in costume, for our shift at the shop, leaving Josie and Becky a note. They came down for breakfast at about 9.00, in swimsuits under their shorts and t-shirts, and the went to the beach. Jessy and I met them there-- still in costume of course. Of course people stare when we walk down the beach in-season, dressed like 1750s working girls. We put on smiles and carry hand baskets from which we give out discount coupons. The cards are for a free breakfast or sundae if you buy three, because Mommy always said she'd rather have families than dates. It's a different kind of clientele, one that tends to come back a few times during a vacation and then again and again, year after year. Besides giving away one out of for makes more business sense than giving away half, you know.
We sat with Becky and Josie in their swimsuits only for a few moments and then went up to change. We had successfully got out of working this evening (whilst I am typing this) and so spent the afternoon off on the mainland seeing 'Harry Potter 6' (sad movie, and very dark). We went shopping and got back here.
Tomorrow we will be working the evening shift. We hope to be on the beach most of the day. I always wonder if I will run into any of my online friends there... they ought to know by now how to find me. Till then I wish them luck! (ha)
...
26 May 2009
Coming right up
Friday, May 22nd
We arrived at the beach house at about 3.05. Roger had driven well but avoiding the ferry in the dead of night he was left with mainly back roads, especially though New Jersey. He carried up our bags and checked over the house for us and ensured that we set the alarm again, and then he took the car over to his own place on the mainland for the night. Jessy had wanted to get changed in the car, or at least to get out of her gown, but I dissuaded her and now we got out of everything and let down our hair and turned in, in the attic bedroom that was once our regular room when we were much littler.
We had set no alarm and I got up at about ten. It was sunny and bright, already very warm, and without putting on anything I went down stairs and put on tea for myself. Jessy remained in bed past noon. I typed up the bit about the prom then. My mobile phone had about six messages, all from people asking how it had gone. I answered a few of them by telling them to read the blog when I got back! --well,that's what it's there for. The closer friends got a short text message-- 'It was fun. Jessy says there are developments. Talk when we get back.' They all know we are here for the weekend and will likely be here all summer. I hope to invite some people here for the odd weekend or so as the season progresses.
I rang Dottie, who is the manager this year, and in mid-afternoon Jessy and I got dressed and walked down the street in our Colonial-era costumes to the ice cream parlour. Dottie was already there, in her pale green bedjacket and dull tan work skirt. I had on my rose-pink ensemble and Jessy her navy-blue bodice and pale-blue skirt. Everyone here wears costume, even the kitchen staff in their work shirts and sailor slops (loose short pants). Dottie went over the schedule for the weekend and we sorted our inventory and got ready for 5.00. Normally the hours are 7.00 till 11.00 in the morning for pancakes and waffles, and 7.00 till 11.00 at night for ice cream. That's it. The girls all like it because they can hold down a real job, working one shift or the other, and still have valuable beach time. During the day sometimes some of them work the day shift in the bookstore next door. That's a job I want-- I prefer literature to serving food, you know.
Today we opened at 5.00, according to the sign and our advertisements. It was not slow, as people arriving at the shore for the weekend often expect some little treat for their having arrived here. Dottie made sure she introduced us both to everyone she knew. It has been over two years since Jessy and I last worked here and few of them recognised us. Dottie's younger daughter, going into her second year at university, worked with us. We made a good team and all went well, and we closed at 9.00 pm and cleaned up.
I cannot even look at this building, or think about it, or especially work here without thinking of Mommy. This was her pride and joy, the very dream she always had as a little girl, running her own shop, a happy place where people crave to come and enjoy sweet treats and an unique atmosphere. Then when Mother was our au pair and nanny she worked here too, lending it even more colour with her cute accent and her old-fashioned manners and aristocratic pretensions. And though it was always somewhat theatrical, Mother made it even more like acting, a four-hour improvisational show, in which nothing is modern and everything is like a veiled joke. Like, she would complain about the menu-- 'Orange juice! No, of course there is none of that! We have not got a ship in from Barbados in weeks! I do apologise. I can offer you some weak tea-- how will that be instead?' And all the while there would be four gallons of orange juice in the 'fridge, you know. But the customer would get weak orange pekoe tea, and he would laugh, and consider it part of the fun.
Dottie is less theatrical herself, but she always encourages it in the rest and mainly from Mother's teaching has got really good at being able to instruct the wait staff in period-accurate comments. For example a 1700s-style ice cream parlour would seem like a contradiction-- but the French had ice cream in Louis XIV's time and it was always considered a delicious delicacy-- and so our higher-than-average prices are justified. We always put a fine point on its being a kind of anachronism-- 'Ice!' Mother used to exclaim. 'We have got ice! And this being July! Can you imagine!' I mean how would they have ice here in 1740? --it would have been dug out of a river in winter and stored under ground packed in hay, and there are no basements here on a barrier island and hardly any hay-- you know. But it is part of the fun that this place doesn't seem to exist at all.
The costumes, though, are a big part of the fun, and hardly as expensive as you might think. We take advantage of commercial makers of these clothes, but they are always authentically hand-stitched and correct in design and sensible in material, mostly cotton, some linen, little wool and always summer weight, and NO manmade fibres. Without air-conditioning it's actually quite comfortable. You sweat, but you have got powder on and everything near your skin is lightweight cotton and breathes well enough. My biggest complaint is my stockings sliding down when my legs get sweaty. Jessy rolls hers right down on top of her shoes-- you're not supposed to show an ankle anyway. And then there is the bonnet-- I have half a dozen, one bought, one made by Mother and the rest by me, and though they are all well-used now I still love them. You must never show too much hair either-- it was considered heinous flirting if you did. So Jessy's hair, which never stays in place, is always falling out one side or the other, and we tease her by calling her 'hussy' and 'trollop' and so on. This draws attention from the patrons which is the effect it should have. Even as girls in swimsuit tops and short shorts are coming through the place for ice cream, we get noticed for a glimpse of stocking.
And the best part of all is that guys, especially younger guys, absolutely rave over girls dressed like this. The dresses are nothing if not exquisitely feminine, with things tied and cinched here and there and subtle pleats and darts to accentuate the shape underneath. And of course, in the mid-1700s style was to show off as much bare chest as God-fearing women should dare to. The stays wrap round your ribs and lace up at the sides in an effort to make your upper body sort of like a cylinder, which really means that if you have got anything at all up front it's lifted up and out and very nearly has to be restrained! If your waist is well-defined then, too, the result is pretty dramatic-- it's an excellent look for anyone who has got anything of a figure at all, and if you haven't got one it will make you look like you do. I only wish other girls believed me. The eye attention from the opposite sex could almost be enough to bring this stuff back into fashion all over!
...
We arrived at the beach house at about 3.05. Roger had driven well but avoiding the ferry in the dead of night he was left with mainly back roads, especially though New Jersey. He carried up our bags and checked over the house for us and ensured that we set the alarm again, and then he took the car over to his own place on the mainland for the night. Jessy had wanted to get changed in the car, or at least to get out of her gown, but I dissuaded her and now we got out of everything and let down our hair and turned in, in the attic bedroom that was once our regular room when we were much littler.
We had set no alarm and I got up at about ten. It was sunny and bright, already very warm, and without putting on anything I went down stairs and put on tea for myself. Jessy remained in bed past noon. I typed up the bit about the prom then. My mobile phone had about six messages, all from people asking how it had gone. I answered a few of them by telling them to read the blog when I got back! --well,that's what it's there for. The closer friends got a short text message-- 'It was fun. Jessy says there are developments. Talk when we get back.' They all know we are here for the weekend and will likely be here all summer. I hope to invite some people here for the odd weekend or so as the season progresses.
I rang Dottie, who is the manager this year, and in mid-afternoon Jessy and I got dressed and walked down the street in our Colonial-era costumes to the ice cream parlour. Dottie was already there, in her pale green bedjacket and dull tan work skirt. I had on my rose-pink ensemble and Jessy her navy-blue bodice and pale-blue skirt. Everyone here wears costume, even the kitchen staff in their work shirts and sailor slops (loose short pants). Dottie went over the schedule for the weekend and we sorted our inventory and got ready for 5.00. Normally the hours are 7.00 till 11.00 in the morning for pancakes and waffles, and 7.00 till 11.00 at night for ice cream. That's it. The girls all like it because they can hold down a real job, working one shift or the other, and still have valuable beach time. During the day sometimes some of them work the day shift in the bookstore next door. That's a job I want-- I prefer literature to serving food, you know.
Today we opened at 5.00, according to the sign and our advertisements. It was not slow, as people arriving at the shore for the weekend often expect some little treat for their having arrived here. Dottie made sure she introduced us both to everyone she knew. It has been over two years since Jessy and I last worked here and few of them recognised us. Dottie's younger daughter, going into her second year at university, worked with us. We made a good team and all went well, and we closed at 9.00 pm and cleaned up.
I cannot even look at this building, or think about it, or especially work here without thinking of Mommy. This was her pride and joy, the very dream she always had as a little girl, running her own shop, a happy place where people crave to come and enjoy sweet treats and an unique atmosphere. Then when Mother was our au pair and nanny she worked here too, lending it even more colour with her cute accent and her old-fashioned manners and aristocratic pretensions. And though it was always somewhat theatrical, Mother made it even more like acting, a four-hour improvisational show, in which nothing is modern and everything is like a veiled joke. Like, she would complain about the menu-- 'Orange juice! No, of course there is none of that! We have not got a ship in from Barbados in weeks! I do apologise. I can offer you some weak tea-- how will that be instead?' And all the while there would be four gallons of orange juice in the 'fridge, you know. But the customer would get weak orange pekoe tea, and he would laugh, and consider it part of the fun.
Dottie is less theatrical herself, but she always encourages it in the rest and mainly from Mother's teaching has got really good at being able to instruct the wait staff in period-accurate comments. For example a 1700s-style ice cream parlour would seem like a contradiction-- but the French had ice cream in Louis XIV's time and it was always considered a delicious delicacy-- and so our higher-than-average prices are justified. We always put a fine point on its being a kind of anachronism-- 'Ice!' Mother used to exclaim. 'We have got ice! And this being July! Can you imagine!' I mean how would they have ice here in 1740? --it would have been dug out of a river in winter and stored under ground packed in hay, and there are no basements here on a barrier island and hardly any hay-- you know. But it is part of the fun that this place doesn't seem to exist at all.
The costumes, though, are a big part of the fun, and hardly as expensive as you might think. We take advantage of commercial makers of these clothes, but they are always authentically hand-stitched and correct in design and sensible in material, mostly cotton, some linen, little wool and always summer weight, and NO manmade fibres. Without air-conditioning it's actually quite comfortable. You sweat, but you have got powder on and everything near your skin is lightweight cotton and breathes well enough. My biggest complaint is my stockings sliding down when my legs get sweaty. Jessy rolls hers right down on top of her shoes-- you're not supposed to show an ankle anyway. And then there is the bonnet-- I have half a dozen, one bought, one made by Mother and the rest by me, and though they are all well-used now I still love them. You must never show too much hair either-- it was considered heinous flirting if you did. So Jessy's hair, which never stays in place, is always falling out one side or the other, and we tease her by calling her 'hussy' and 'trollop' and so on. This draws attention from the patrons which is the effect it should have. Even as girls in swimsuit tops and short shorts are coming through the place for ice cream, we get noticed for a glimpse of stocking.
And the best part of all is that guys, especially younger guys, absolutely rave over girls dressed like this. The dresses are nothing if not exquisitely feminine, with things tied and cinched here and there and subtle pleats and darts to accentuate the shape underneath. And of course, in the mid-1700s style was to show off as much bare chest as God-fearing women should dare to. The stays wrap round your ribs and lace up at the sides in an effort to make your upper body sort of like a cylinder, which really means that if you have got anything at all up front it's lifted up and out and very nearly has to be restrained! If your waist is well-defined then, too, the result is pretty dramatic-- it's an excellent look for anyone who has got anything of a figure at all, and if you haven't got one it will make you look like you do. I only wish other girls believed me. The eye attention from the opposite sex could almost be enough to bring this stuff back into fashion all over!
...
01 March 2009
Something in the atmosphere
Sunday 1 March 2009
It is March now. Snow falls from a leaden sky, swirlling round the corners of Terncote Castle like an ominous portend. Out beyond the garden wall a leaden sky hovers over the slow, rolling slate-grey sea. Behind me a small fire of hickory crackles and seethes soothingly, and, illuminated by the firelight and the glow of the computer screen, my room is comfortably warm and dry. I am in a long flannel nightgown and socks now, but this afternoon I was in much less as I lay curled up in bed reading over my writing. A glass of wine, unfinished since dinner, sits with the last of its second ice cube dissipating into the golden sheen. I am content.
Jessy came in earlier, herself much less dressed than I, to report that 'Amazing Race' is on again and asking if I would watch it. I declined, and she dragged a quilt wrapt round her shoulders out to the stairs and descended with little Lisa to watch it in the TV room down below. I believe the whole wing this end to be dark but for my computer and firelight. But we often leave Terncote in darkness here. It is no gothic mansion, but we are frugal and not a little bit romantic. I often carry a candle round with me rather than switch on unnecessary lights. Mother (my stepmother) came in with one not an hour ago, 'checking on' me, as she said, but really to find like-minded company, for she knows I am always a little dramatic and much more traditional than most people my age, and she likes that about me.
Sometimes I really like to think I belong to another century. It's something I got from my own mother, I know. She so loved living a traditional kind of life. All Daddy's experience in the limelight meant little to her. It was not what she loved about him. To her, he was just a man, gentle, kind, intelligent, cultured, affectionate, and a little vulnerable, who needed to be loved for who he was, not what he was. From that marriage came Jessy and me. And we cannot escape the inevitability of what we have become any more than we can avoid being human beings. If Mommy were here right now she would have lit this fire herself, sat back with me in bed to read along with me, worn her flannel nightshirt and socks like I'm wearing mine and declined the invitation to watch a modern 'reality show' on TV for the chance to type some atmospheric philosophies on a personal online journal during a late-evening snowstorm in March.
...
It is March now. Snow falls from a leaden sky, swirlling round the corners of Terncote Castle like an ominous portend. Out beyond the garden wall a leaden sky hovers over the slow, rolling slate-grey sea. Behind me a small fire of hickory crackles and seethes soothingly, and, illuminated by the firelight and the glow of the computer screen, my room is comfortably warm and dry. I am in a long flannel nightgown and socks now, but this afternoon I was in much less as I lay curled up in bed reading over my writing. A glass of wine, unfinished since dinner, sits with the last of its second ice cube dissipating into the golden sheen. I am content.
Jessy came in earlier, herself much less dressed than I, to report that 'Amazing Race' is on again and asking if I would watch it. I declined, and she dragged a quilt wrapt round her shoulders out to the stairs and descended with little Lisa to watch it in the TV room down below. I believe the whole wing this end to be dark but for my computer and firelight. But we often leave Terncote in darkness here. It is no gothic mansion, but we are frugal and not a little bit romantic. I often carry a candle round with me rather than switch on unnecessary lights. Mother (my stepmother) came in with one not an hour ago, 'checking on' me, as she said, but really to find like-minded company, for she knows I am always a little dramatic and much more traditional than most people my age, and she likes that about me.
Sometimes I really like to think I belong to another century. It's something I got from my own mother, I know. She so loved living a traditional kind of life. All Daddy's experience in the limelight meant little to her. It was not what she loved about him. To her, he was just a man, gentle, kind, intelligent, cultured, affectionate, and a little vulnerable, who needed to be loved for who he was, not what he was. From that marriage came Jessy and me. And we cannot escape the inevitability of what we have become any more than we can avoid being human beings. If Mommy were here right now she would have lit this fire herself, sat back with me in bed to read along with me, worn her flannel nightshirt and socks like I'm wearing mine and declined the invitation to watch a modern 'reality show' on TV for the chance to type some atmospheric philosophies on a personal online journal during a late-evening snowstorm in March.
...
21 February 2009
No bloomers
Sunday 15 February 2009
Jessy and I continue our 'retro' weekend here at the beach house on Long Beach Island. It has been so uneventful that I shall spare the details except to say that Jessy's time is passed. Mine was done about two days ago. I mention hers only because last night she took advantage of being free and clear. Now we have been wearing our Colonial outfits exclusively since we got here Friday evening, including the shift which is like a long cotton nightshirt. People have asked if we wear bloomers or anything else under it. Now bloomers are too new for the 18th century; they were invented by a Mrs Bloomer who in about about 1875 wanted to ride a bicycle, so she hitched up her shift and sewed it on the middle to keep it from tangling in the sprockets. Therefore... before the bicycle, no 'bloomers'. When Jessy and I were very young we used to wear panties under our shifts when we dressed up for reenactments, till we found out that Mommy wasn't wearing panties under hers and so we both promptly stopped, I suppose mainly to not offend her by not keeping 'to period'. Mother (our stepmother) used to work the ice-cream parlour the summer before and the summer after Mommy died and really did keep to period, at least at first, till she found out the other girls insisted on wearing panties. It's just a little strange to be serving food and not having on... you know. S she discovered a woman online who makes old-fashioned underpants, really like short bloomers, with authentic drawstrings, not elastic, and cute gathered legs, some of which look more like Can-Can-girl knickers. So Mother as acting manager began prescribing that all the girls wear those instead of modern panties, and as far as she knows they all did. I have heard that some of the younger girls thought they were incredibly sexy (and no, I haven't heard much more than that, but I can imagine!). I know most of the adult women who worked there liked them too.
Jessy and I usually stay completely in period when we're reenacting, or even when we're doing like we're doing now, just like we did when Mother used to home-school us. In short, there's nothing under the shifts that God didn't give us. Of course there are considerations you have to keep in mind, but most of it is not a problem because the skirts are so long that there's no chance of it blowing up or giving away too much as you ascend stairs or even bend over, you know. And it honestly does feel comfortable once you get used to it. That's the funniest thing about all this gear-- bedjacket, stays, bodice, skirt, underskirt, shift, stockings, and shoes-- it's actually very comfortable. But of course it is-- these clothes would have been made by women who had to work in them every day, and there's no way a woman would be so stupid as to make something she had to wear every day that was uncomfortable. The stays and bodice actually help keep your back straight when you bend over. The drawstring waists can all be layered over each other so as not to bunch up. The garters actually do stay up, without elastic, because they go round your leg only just above the calf and not the thigh like they would if your skirt was shorter. My booties are straight-lasted, meaning the left and right are identical, not mirror patterns of each other, and of course the heels are not too high so my foot is well supported heel and toe. I really mean it when I say I could wear this stuff, to work, all day-- and I really mean it when I say I have, and often.
Oh, as to Jessy-- We have been going to bed early, as we would have 250 years ago, so it was only about 11.00 last night when I woke up from an almost-sleep because I heard her in the other bed. 'What's wrong?' I asked in the dark.
'Mm,' she sighed, 'nothing....'
I blushed. I should not have. In the dim light from the window behind me I saw her lift her bottom off the bed. Under the comforter, under the sheet, under the shift, she was busy with her hand. 'Oh, dear,' I sighed, and rolled over.
'Mmmm,' she sighed, more deeply, and the bed creaked as she began bouncing.
This is how my sister observes the end of her period.
...
Jessy and I continue our 'retro' weekend here at the beach house on Long Beach Island. It has been so uneventful that I shall spare the details except to say that Jessy's time is passed. Mine was done about two days ago. I mention hers only because last night she took advantage of being free and clear. Now we have been wearing our Colonial outfits exclusively since we got here Friday evening, including the shift which is like a long cotton nightshirt. People have asked if we wear bloomers or anything else under it. Now bloomers are too new for the 18th century; they were invented by a Mrs Bloomer who in about about 1875 wanted to ride a bicycle, so she hitched up her shift and sewed it on the middle to keep it from tangling in the sprockets. Therefore... before the bicycle, no 'bloomers'. When Jessy and I were very young we used to wear panties under our shifts when we dressed up for reenactments, till we found out that Mommy wasn't wearing panties under hers and so we both promptly stopped, I suppose mainly to not offend her by not keeping 'to period'. Mother (our stepmother) used to work the ice-cream parlour the summer before and the summer after Mommy died and really did keep to period, at least at first, till she found out the other girls insisted on wearing panties. It's just a little strange to be serving food and not having on... you know. S she discovered a woman online who makes old-fashioned underpants, really like short bloomers, with authentic drawstrings, not elastic, and cute gathered legs, some of which look more like Can-Can-girl knickers. So Mother as acting manager began prescribing that all the girls wear those instead of modern panties, and as far as she knows they all did. I have heard that some of the younger girls thought they were incredibly sexy (and no, I haven't heard much more than that, but I can imagine!). I know most of the adult women who worked there liked them too.
Jessy and I usually stay completely in period when we're reenacting, or even when we're doing like we're doing now, just like we did when Mother used to home-school us. In short, there's nothing under the shifts that God didn't give us. Of course there are considerations you have to keep in mind, but most of it is not a problem because the skirts are so long that there's no chance of it blowing up or giving away too much as you ascend stairs or even bend over, you know. And it honestly does feel comfortable once you get used to it. That's the funniest thing about all this gear-- bedjacket, stays, bodice, skirt, underskirt, shift, stockings, and shoes-- it's actually very comfortable. But of course it is-- these clothes would have been made by women who had to work in them every day, and there's no way a woman would be so stupid as to make something she had to wear every day that was uncomfortable. The stays and bodice actually help keep your back straight when you bend over. The drawstring waists can all be layered over each other so as not to bunch up. The garters actually do stay up, without elastic, because they go round your leg only just above the calf and not the thigh like they would if your skirt was shorter. My booties are straight-lasted, meaning the left and right are identical, not mirror patterns of each other, and of course the heels are not too high so my foot is well supported heel and toe. I really mean it when I say I could wear this stuff, to work, all day-- and I really mean it when I say I have, and often.
Oh, as to Jessy-- We have been going to bed early, as we would have 250 years ago, so it was only about 11.00 last night when I woke up from an almost-sleep because I heard her in the other bed. 'What's wrong?' I asked in the dark.
'Mm,' she sighed, 'nothing....'
I blushed. I should not have. In the dim light from the window behind me I saw her lift her bottom off the bed. Under the comforter, under the sheet, under the shift, she was busy with her hand. 'Oh, dear,' I sighed, and rolled over.
'Mmmm,' she sighed, more deeply, and the bed creaked as she began bouncing.
This is how my sister observes the end of her period.
...
Olden days at the beach
Saturday 14 February 2009
This is St Valentine's Day but neither Jessy nor I has a date so we are doing our own thing here at the beach house on Long Beach Island. Last night we slept in our Colonial-costume shifts in our old bedroom here on the third floor. Jessy and I shared a room when we were in England and sharing again with her here reminds me of that. When our classmates, especially the boarding girls, would come over to the house we rented in Norwich, our room was little different than the typical HOH room, with too much of our stuff crowded in and the walls full of posters and photos. This room here is a little more genteel, though it is on the third floor and has a terrific view down the Island and across towards the Bay. That means it's on the cold side, but we weren't chilly last night.
This morning dawned lovely. Down in the kitchen I made a fire and heated water for tea. We made oatmeal and did a bit of homework (meaning Jessy went on the computer) and then we got dressed, in our other Colonial outfits, as we would wear for working at Mommy's 18th-century-themed ice-cream parlour. When the fire was out we went down to the street, and over the dunes to the beach.
Of course this is the off-season and the place was deserted. But it is a Saturday and you'd be surprised how many people eventually turn up. Today was bright and breezy, not quite comfortable enough for no coats, and we wore our long woollen ones with scarves. In our old-fashioned booties and long skirts we were not uncomfortable at all. Luckily we both have experience walking this beach in heels!
It is some blocks up the beach to the street where the ice-cream parlour is. I typed in the pass-codes for the alarm and we went through the whole place, checking up on whatever Daddy said to check up on. The computer here is tied to the same network as the ones at home and the one at the beach house and the ones in Lewes. We sent Daddy a memo on the condition of the store, the ice-cream parlour, and the three apartments, and he responded almost immediately. 'Be careful,' he sent to us.
We typed back, 'We will. We love you!'
It was only eleven then, Jessy had an idea and so we helped ourselves to two books from the store and two chairs from where the outside ones are stored, and we carried it all back up to the beach and situated ourselves there to read. The outside chairs at the ice-cream parlour are authentic wooden ladderbacks with rush seats, precisely what would have been found in a small but tasteful tavern in about 1750. In the beach they sank in pretty far, but again this was no different than we would have done 250 years ago. If we were sitting in chairs on the beach back then, these would have been the chairs we would have had to sit in. So we made do.
In a book we have at the beach house there is a lovely photograph, taken from the top of a water tower, of Beach Haven in about 1880. Whenever we are at this house I can stare at that picture for eons. It's in black-and-white of course, but the houses still look grey and well weathered, surrounded by sandy yards inside paintless picket fences and always with the small barn, like a garage, standing out back for the chickens and pigs. There in the photo is a tavern with a front verandah, the police or lifesavers' station, and the schoolhouse-- how I wish I could have taught there then! It would have been Miss Janine as the school-madam and twelve or fifteen boys and girls, up to about age 13, after which they would have gone to work. I would have taught them spelling and maths and reading and history. Science would have been tending a garden and studying the ocean. People would queue up to use the outhouse. We would have had lunch from a pot on the wood-stove and the elder ones would have helped the little ones. I would have made sure they all washed hands first. The little ones would have naps at 2.00. As it got dark round 4.00 or 4.30, the older boys would sweep the floor and the girls would stack all the books. Then I would let them all go with a kiss on the head and they would run home to tell their parents both of them) all about what they had learnt today.
That's what I dream of when I think about a teaching career. The closest it's ever come to reality for me was when Mother (our young stepmother) home-schooled us when we were still at Lewes. We used to wear these Colonial clothes (even her) and have lunch off the fire, just like that. It was education coming from love... the way it always should be.
Jessy and I sat in our well-settled chairs in the sand and read. I had chosen 'The Lovely Bones'. I have seen it many times but had not got a chance to read it till today. Jessy read a book called 'Everlost'. I have not looked into that one yet, but she keeps telling me about it, so I suppose I shall.
We saw a few people stroll by who waved to us. There was one dog. There really is no ordinance against dogs on the beach in the off-season, but their masters are responsible for cleaning up after them. The one time I have seen a dog leave a mess on the beach, the people were content to leave it there. I was younger then, of course, but I called out to remind them of their responsibility, and the man just said, 'It won't matter much.' I put my hands on my hips and scowled at him till he took a few steps back and kicked sand over the mess. I am sure it really did not matter much after all, but I hate to see people assuming they have some right to be an exception to the rules.
We carried the chairs back to the beach house and sat on the porch there and went on reading. I heated some water, this time on the cooker (stove, sorry) and we sat out there sipping our tea till we were cold enough to go in. Jessy had wanted to go for a ride up the Island, but now she decided on a bath and went up stairs. I put down 'The Lovely Bones' and lay on the sofa in the parlour, with all my Colonial gear on and all the draperies wide open to the ocean sky. I really do think I would like to live here in future. Jessy and I know that Daddy (and Mother too) will eventually agree to endow us each with a house. Between us she and I have decided that she will have Lewes, where Mommy's ashes are interred, and I will have this place. Lisa and J.J. are too young for us to be concerned with them yet, but Jessy and I are agreed that Lisa can have Terncote and J.J. can have... the boat or whatever else. It does not matter what. We'll always have enough room to visit each other and, in the case of this little house, my visitors can stay at the apartments over the ice-cream parlour and the book store. I am sure my husband would not mind living at the beach so much. And if I do not marry, which seems likely anyway, I will grow old here and write my novels like a good little eccentric spinster... like Jane Austen... or Emily Dickinson.
...
This is St Valentine's Day but neither Jessy nor I has a date so we are doing our own thing here at the beach house on Long Beach Island. Last night we slept in our Colonial-costume shifts in our old bedroom here on the third floor. Jessy and I shared a room when we were in England and sharing again with her here reminds me of that. When our classmates, especially the boarding girls, would come over to the house we rented in Norwich, our room was little different than the typical HOH room, with too much of our stuff crowded in and the walls full of posters and photos. This room here is a little more genteel, though it is on the third floor and has a terrific view down the Island and across towards the Bay. That means it's on the cold side, but we weren't chilly last night.
This morning dawned lovely. Down in the kitchen I made a fire and heated water for tea. We made oatmeal and did a bit of homework (meaning Jessy went on the computer) and then we got dressed, in our other Colonial outfits, as we would wear for working at Mommy's 18th-century-themed ice-cream parlour. When the fire was out we went down to the street, and over the dunes to the beach.
Of course this is the off-season and the place was deserted. But it is a Saturday and you'd be surprised how many people eventually turn up. Today was bright and breezy, not quite comfortable enough for no coats, and we wore our long woollen ones with scarves. In our old-fashioned booties and long skirts we were not uncomfortable at all. Luckily we both have experience walking this beach in heels!
It is some blocks up the beach to the street where the ice-cream parlour is. I typed in the pass-codes for the alarm and we went through the whole place, checking up on whatever Daddy said to check up on. The computer here is tied to the same network as the ones at home and the one at the beach house and the ones in Lewes. We sent Daddy a memo on the condition of the store, the ice-cream parlour, and the three apartments, and he responded almost immediately. 'Be careful,' he sent to us.
We typed back, 'We will. We love you!'
It was only eleven then, Jessy had an idea and so we helped ourselves to two books from the store and two chairs from where the outside ones are stored, and we carried it all back up to the beach and situated ourselves there to read. The outside chairs at the ice-cream parlour are authentic wooden ladderbacks with rush seats, precisely what would have been found in a small but tasteful tavern in about 1750. In the beach they sank in pretty far, but again this was no different than we would have done 250 years ago. If we were sitting in chairs on the beach back then, these would have been the chairs we would have had to sit in. So we made do.
In a book we have at the beach house there is a lovely photograph, taken from the top of a water tower, of Beach Haven in about 1880. Whenever we are at this house I can stare at that picture for eons. It's in black-and-white of course, but the houses still look grey and well weathered, surrounded by sandy yards inside paintless picket fences and always with the small barn, like a garage, standing out back for the chickens and pigs. There in the photo is a tavern with a front verandah, the police or lifesavers' station, and the schoolhouse-- how I wish I could have taught there then! It would have been Miss Janine as the school-madam and twelve or fifteen boys and girls, up to about age 13, after which they would have gone to work. I would have taught them spelling and maths and reading and history. Science would have been tending a garden and studying the ocean. People would queue up to use the outhouse. We would have had lunch from a pot on the wood-stove and the elder ones would have helped the little ones. I would have made sure they all washed hands first. The little ones would have naps at 2.00. As it got dark round 4.00 or 4.30, the older boys would sweep the floor and the girls would stack all the books. Then I would let them all go with a kiss on the head and they would run home to tell their parents both of them) all about what they had learnt today.
That's what I dream of when I think about a teaching career. The closest it's ever come to reality for me was when Mother (our young stepmother) home-schooled us when we were still at Lewes. We used to wear these Colonial clothes (even her) and have lunch off the fire, just like that. It was education coming from love... the way it always should be.
Jessy and I sat in our well-settled chairs in the sand and read. I had chosen 'The Lovely Bones'. I have seen it many times but had not got a chance to read it till today. Jessy read a book called 'Everlost'. I have not looked into that one yet, but she keeps telling me about it, so I suppose I shall.
We saw a few people stroll by who waved to us. There was one dog. There really is no ordinance against dogs on the beach in the off-season, but their masters are responsible for cleaning up after them. The one time I have seen a dog leave a mess on the beach, the people were content to leave it there. I was younger then, of course, but I called out to remind them of their responsibility, and the man just said, 'It won't matter much.' I put my hands on my hips and scowled at him till he took a few steps back and kicked sand over the mess. I am sure it really did not matter much after all, but I hate to see people assuming they have some right to be an exception to the rules.
We carried the chairs back to the beach house and sat on the porch there and went on reading. I heated some water, this time on the cooker (stove, sorry) and we sat out there sipping our tea till we were cold enough to go in. Jessy had wanted to go for a ride up the Island, but now she decided on a bath and went up stairs. I put down 'The Lovely Bones' and lay on the sofa in the parlour, with all my Colonial gear on and all the draperies wide open to the ocean sky. I really do think I would like to live here in future. Jessy and I know that Daddy (and Mother too) will eventually agree to endow us each with a house. Between us she and I have decided that she will have Lewes, where Mommy's ashes are interred, and I will have this place. Lisa and J.J. are too young for us to be concerned with them yet, but Jessy and I are agreed that Lisa can have Terncote and J.J. can have... the boat or whatever else. It does not matter what. We'll always have enough room to visit each other and, in the case of this little house, my visitors can stay at the apartments over the ice-cream parlour and the book store. I am sure my husband would not mind living at the beach so much. And if I do not marry, which seems likely anyway, I will grow old here and write my novels like a good little eccentric spinster... like Jane Austen... or Emily Dickinson.
...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)