I learn a new word

Friday, 9 January 2010

It snowed over the night, but it was not very much and in fact the house wasn't even as chilly as I expected. I had a soothing warm shower in the morning and stood at my mirror doing my face wash for a while before Lisa came in. She was in her nightgown, one of the ones Mother made, like a long version of an 18th-century shift but in flannel, white with little red-and-gold roses scattered about it. She padded in with socks on her feet and leaned back against the wainscot beside the basin where I daubed at my face. I had my long white towel draped round my shoulders and the regular-sized one binding up my hair, but it was not cold enough to worry about more than that even though the basin is right next to the window. 'Hey,' she said.

'Hey,' I said.

'How was your shower?'

'Hot,' I said. 'Only way to have it on a cold morning.'

She smiled at me, leaning back against the wall and folding and refolding her hands in front of herself. 'You don't look cold,' she said.

I shrugged. 'I'm not.'

She leaned there, going on with her hands like that and swivelling a little, back and forth, on her heels. I realised she was looking me over, but I've always known she likes to look me over. When you're six and you have teenaged sisters, you're going to be fascinated by them. Jessy and I know we're her role models. When you're sixteen or eighteen and your six-year-old sister looks up to you, it's a pretty high honour.

Then again, having a six-year-old sister does have its awkward moments. She spent a long few minutes just looking at me-- as I said I wasn't dressed-- and then said, 'When can I get fuzz on my cootie?'

I moved the eyeliner pencil away before I laughed. 'What?!'

She got a little red, swivelling on her heels like that, and looked down-- at about my hip, maybe lower. 'I just wondered,' she said.

'Wondered about your... what was it--?' I looked down at her.

'Cootie,' she said quietly. 'That's what the boys call it.'

I scowled then. 'What boys?'

She got redder. 'Well, Richard and his friends call it that. They say it's what girls have.'

I nodded. 'We do, but I don't think Richard and his friends have any business talking about it like that in front of you.'

She shrugged then. 'Richard says his mother doesn't have fuzz on hers.'

I went red then. 'Good Lord!' I said. 'How on earth would he know?'

'He says he saw it,' Lisa said.

'Good Lord!' I put down the makeup bag on the back of the basin, wrapped the towel round my shoulders and strode round her and out to my room.

'Are you mad?' she asked, following me.

'No. Not at you, anyway. I just think this Richard character is a little unnecessarily rakish for my little sister to be fraternising with.'

'He's just a boy,' she said. 'They're all like that.'

'Remind me to tell Mother to say something to the school then,' I said, and took out my clothes to get dressed.

'Jessy says you get fuzz when you get your buppies,' Lisa said.

I smiled a little then. 'Yes, a little before, sometimes.'

'Will I get it when I'm eleven?'

I smiled at her. 'Maybe. Maybe a little after that.'

'Will I get it when I'm twelve?'

I nodded. 'I would think so.'

She nodded too. 'Okay,' she said, and she turned to go then.

'Out of curiosity,' I said, and waited for her to turn back, 'why are you wondering about it?'

Lisa got a little red then. For whatever she doesn't know, she makes up for it by blushing really well. She's studied in all the ladylike graces already-- thanks to Mother, me, and Jessy, as well as Gran. I have no doubt that when she's twelve she will be the most dastardly little charmer in whatever school she's in then. 'I don't know....' She stood swivelling on her heels again-- she does that when she's shy or embarrassed. 'Will I be as pretty as Jessy is?'

I smiled and went to her, bent down, and kissed her head. 'You already are,' I said.

'No I'm not. She's pretty and has pretty hair and pretty eyes and pretty buppies.'

'And fuzz on her cootie?' I giggled.

Lisa giggled too. 'Yes.'

I bent over and kissed her again. When I do that, especially naked, she looks upwards and I know what she sees. But she never says much about me. It's well carried in the family that Lisa takes after Jessy more than me anyway-- they are two of a kind, separated by ten years, both playful, witty, cuddly and with a tendency to pamper themselves. Jessy may be her role model, but I am almost a second mother. I'm the one she comes in to snuggle with when she's having a bad dream or feeling too chilly, not Jessy, and I'm the one she asks the important questions to. And as I said, it's a pretty high honour, especially when I think that I am actually closer to Mother (my stepmother, Lisa's mummy) in age than I am to her child.

I remember one time when Mother was still our nanny, a beautiful young woman (actually a teenager) living with us as an au pair, and I happened to wander in to her room and came upon her just putting on her bra. And I stood there and stared at her as though she were a goddess. We always thought she was pretty, and I had seen her in swimsuits (almost always a bikini unless she was swimming laps) plenty of times, but suddenly I was eight and she was gorgeous and I felt terrifically envious. And I started asking her about things, when she got her first period and how she knew it was coming and how she felt when parts of her started developing, and she never flinched and never got embarrassed and never refused to answer anything I asked. She realised then I was her role model and she considered it a very high honour. And so when I think about that, I realise that the way I pay back my terrific role model is to be the best one I can be for her child.

'Well,' I said, 'you are already very pretty, and your mother is pretty, and your sister Jessy is pretty, and I know you will only get prettier and prettier as you grow up. So I want you to remember that, and don't worry too much about when everything will happen to you. God provides in His own time, you know.'

She nodded. 'I know. But what if it never comes?'

'What if what never comes?'

'My... you know. Fuzz on my cootie.'

'Oh, it will come, sweetie.'

'You have it and Jessy has it,' she said-- and now she looked down at me as though to remind herself-- but Richard's mother doesn't. And I'm pretty sure she's old enough.'

I got red then. 'Well, all girls get it, but some girls just shave it off.'

'Shave it? Like with a razor?'

I nodded.

'Isn't that sharp?'

'Very sharp,' I said.

'Ewww!' And she covered her crutch, in the nightgown, with both hands then. 'What if I don't want it off?'

I laughed. 'Then don't shave it,' I said simply.

She nodded then. 'I won't!'

There it is-- common sense from the mouths of babes. 'There's a good girl,' I said, and turned to go back and step into my panties.

'I want to be pretty like you are,' she said softly then.

I stood up, shimmying into the panties, and smiled over at her. 'You will be, sweetie.'

She giggled a little and scampered off.

On the way down to the car Jessy asked me, 'Did she come into your room again last night?'

'No,' I said. 'Just after my shower.'

'She adores you,' Jessy told me. 'She's lucky to have you.'

'And you,' I said.

Jessy shrugged. She's heard that before. 'She learns more from you.'

'I learn from her too. Like, this morning, she taught me a new word,' I said, and when we got into the car I told her about it.

...

Role modelling

Sunday, 30 Auguast 2009

Josie is still staying with us-- her mother rang today and said she was expected home tomorrow, just to 'touch base'. We laughed at this. The dear girl has been a part of our household in everything (except maybe one or two points) since July or so. She even has her own toothbrush in our common bathroom.

After church today the three of us drove out and had ice cream, met with some of the girls from the club, and sort of congregated over at the high school for a kind of 'let's see how the old place is preparing for us' visit. There were some boys there attempting to play soccer-- I say 'attempting' because there wasn't enough dribbling or volleying to make it even remotely interesting. I was in a skirt so when some of the girls wanted to join in I just sat on the bleacher seats and watched.

Josie was in a skirt too (Jessy's gold-coloured one, which she wore to church with us) and we got to talk a little. At one point she turned to me and said, straight out of the blue, 'I know you don't always trust me, Janine.'

I looked at her. 'Josie, when have I ever not trusted you?'

She shook her head. 'You don't have to say that. I know you worry.'

'I will always worry,' I said.

'About me and your little sister?'

I looked at her. 'I love you,' I told her, 'and I love my little sister. I will always worry about both of you.'

She looked at me for a long moment and then lowered her eyes, and I could see she was blushing. 'Well-- maybe "worry" is the wrong word then. But I just thought I should ask you something.'

'Sure, hun,' I said. 'What is it?'

She drew a breath and said, 'Do you really think it's all right, what we all do together?'

I smiled at her. 'Playing in stockings? Swimming naked? Hiking the great outdoors? What's so terrible about it?'

'Well, you know. Jessy and I... sleeping together.'

I nodded. 'Hm. Is there anything I should worry about then?'

She shook her head. 'No. It's just that--' She looked about herself as though she couldn't find the right thing to say, and then she just said, 'Well. I mean-- well....'

'Josie,' I said, 'sweetheart... if there's anything you want to say, I promise you can just say it.'

So she did. 'Do you think it's weird that sometimes I feel attracted to your sister?'

I didn't even flinch. This was what I'd expected. 'Josie, sometimes I feel attracted to her too.'

She looked up at me. 'Really?'

'Sure,' I said. 'She's a cute girl, very sweet, intelligent, beautiful, everything good. Anyone would be a fool who wasn't at least a little bit crazy about her.'

Josie smiled then, and let out a sigh. 'Well.... I guess maybe I'm not so crazy then.'

'You do mean, don't you, that this isn't anything more than just feeling like you love her to death, riught?'

Josie nodded. 'Yes. I mean-- I think so. Sometimes I lie in the bed and watch her sleep. She's so beautiful.... And it gives me goosepimples.'

I nodded. 'And at other times?'

'Other times.... Well, I thank God she is my friend. I would hate to not be able to know her.'

I smiled. On the bench I saw her hand and took it. 'You are a good friend,' I said softly to her, 'and I know Jessy loves you very much. And she trusts you. And I trust you. This is what the girls' club is about, you know. We need to be good for each other.'

She nodded, staring down at where I held her hand. 'I know. And I'm sorry.'

'Don't apologise, sweetie--'

'But I should. I've had... impure thoughts.' Then she looked at me and smiled. 'That is what you would call it, right?'

Still holding her hand I looked her in the eye and said, 'Does this have anything to do with yesterday when I sort of walked in on you?'

Josie went very red and looked away then. 'Um, maybe. I don't know. I guess, a little. I mean--' now she went even redder-- 'I was wearing her panties. It's just so embarrassing--'

'It's all right,' I said. 'I get like that sometimes too. But I don't think it has anything to do with Jessy, or what I'm wearing. Sometimes I just....'

'Yes,' Josie said, and we looked at each other. 'Sometimes you just have to.'

'Sure. But do you confuse that with whom you're with? Other people nearby, or--?'

'I don't think so,' she said.' Then she smiled. 'Janine, you are so lucky to have her for a sister. And Lisa too. I will never know that. You're just so comfortable round other people. I'm not-- I know that. I just wish I were.'

'You're comfortable round me, right?'

She nodded a lot. 'Oh, yes. I feel like-- well, like I could tell you anything. Like you're the big sister-- Oh, that's not right.'

'It is,' I said, and squeezed her hand. 'If that's what you mean... I think it's lovely. And I'm happy to be your big sister.'

She stared at me for a very long moment and then suddenly reached up with both arms and hugged me. 'I love you, Janine. You may never know how much, but I do.'

'I love you too, Josie.'

She patted my back and hung onto me till her tears dried.

This evening, I was helping Mother clean up after dinner and I told her the gist of what Josie had said. 'I think she just feels like she needs to belong to someone, and she identifies with Jessy like that,' I said.

Mother nodded seriously. 'I was afraid of something like this,' she said.

'I don't think it means anything, Mother. I mean-- we're always together. If anything inappropriate were going to happen, it probably already would have happened.'

'Not necessarily,' she said.

I looked at her then. 'Do you want me to tell Jessy they shouldn't stay in the same room?'

Mother thought about that, not looking at me. Finally she said, 'I don't know. Maybe. I just think that your sister isn't ready for a decision like that, and if anything were to happen, she wouldn't be doing it out of a free choice.'

I nodded, thinking hard about that. Mother and I both know Jessy is very naive-- but it's the naievete that comes from pure innocence. Then I asked, 'Do you really think Jessy would?'

Mother looked right at me. 'What do you think?'

'I think she wouldn't dream of it. But-- that could end up hurting Josie, and I wouildn't want that.'

Mother smiled at me. 'Janine, you are too good sometimes.'

'Well I can't very well suggest doing anything that would hurt Josie's feelings. I'd rather trust her than tell her I don't trust her.'

Mother was still smiling. 'You do sound like me sometimes,' she said.

I shook my head. 'Josie isn't a lesbian, mother. She's lonely, and she needs a friend like a sister. A sister helps you stay in line, guides you, protects you, scolds you, you know, like Jessy and I do for each other. And she's only... exploring herself, the same way any girl would do. That's nothing terrible. I mean-- with the girls' club and all, we're all looking out for each other, so we'd trust each other with ourselves.'

'Do you think the other girls would tell you anything like this if they thought they were feeling it?'

'I don't know, Mother. I knew Josie would. I think Rita would. I think Becky would. Well, Becky did-- she told me she values me as a friend, loves me, trusts me implicitly. I hugged her in front of people and kissed her head. She said that was a very high compliment. She's not... in love with me.'

'Do you think Josie is in love with Jessy?'

'Oh, everyone is,' I said. Mother laughed. 'I mean-- everyone in school is a little in love with her. She's the princess, Mother. And sometimes people's feelings get... confused, on an issue like that. What did Daddy say? --there are three levels of admiration. You want to be like her, you want to be her, you want to possess her. It happens-- it's normal.'

'But you have never felt that way about someone else.'

I looked right at her. 'I haven't?'

My pretty stepmother stared right back at me. 'Well... have you?'

'Mother,' I said softly, 'you don't think I have?'

She went a little red then and looked down. 'Oh, Janine! Please!' And she laughed, to rid herself of the blush.

'You're my hero,' I told her. 'You're my role model, and my idol. You didn't know that?'

'I am not anyone for you to admire like that!' she insisted, and reached for a tissue.

'I have always loved you,' I said. 'From when I first met you, when you first came to live with us. And sometimes I didn't know what kind of love it was. I wanted to be just like you, I wanted to be so perfectly you that I became you. I wanted to live your life. I wanted you to never care about anyone but me. But I realised that it can't be like that. The reason I love you is because you love everyone, me and everyone else, so much and so well. So the most I can ever do is to take your example and try to do the things you would like to see me do.'

Mother blotted her eyes. For a moment she had nothing to say and I refused to go any further. Finally she said, 'You are much more like me than you know.'

I swallowed. 'If you really mean that, Mother--'

'I do mean it.'

'Then that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.'

She turned then and hugged me-- hard. 'Be a good angel,' she said into my ear. 'Be good to little J.J. and Lisa and to Jessy and to Josie. Be good to them, and you will be doing what I would want you to do.'

I nodded. 'Okay, Mother.'

'I adore you, sweet girl. I always have. Do not beat yourself up over anything like this.'

'Jessy will make the right decision,' I said.

'Yes. Jessy will make the right decision. And so will Josie, because she has your example, and Jessy's example. She adores you girls.'

'I know she does.'

'You must show her the right way to demonstrate that love,' she said to me.

I nodded again. 'I know. That's what the girls' club is for.'

She stepped back and looked at me, the mascara running down her cheeks and her eyes puffy and red. But the thing about Mother is that she never stands on pride. She doesn't care what she looks like as much as she cares about you. If it's appropriate to look at you, she will, and she won't hide that she's been weeping. 'The girls' club is for all of you,' she said. 'Not just girls looking up to you, Janine, by yourself. Being president of a club doesn't mean you have to carry them all. If you're worried about Josie, ask Josie. She a woman growing up and she needs to be able to explain herself, and, if she's been wrong, she needs to change. Not you. Not you, Janine-- whatever have you done that's so wrong?'

'I've done lots of wrong things.'

'Mistakes,' she said. 'Not bad judgement. Josie comes to you because she knows you won't judge her, you'll listen to her, and she'll gain something from asking you about it. If she wanted to do anything terrible she wouldn't have told you.'

I nodded. 'I know.'

'She needs your example. Do the right thing, and she will see it and do it too.'

I smiled then. 'As in "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify the Father which is in Heaven".'

Mother laughed a little and wiped her eyes then. 'Exactly, Janine. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.'

We smiled at each other. 'Okay,' I said quietly, and she kissed me and I went off, half moping with my arms folded over my tummy. I really did not feel as enthusiastic at all about it. I felt charged with a responsibility-- not to bear them all on my shoulders but to do something even harder-- to be perfect, as the Father is perfect, to do what is right in the face of every tendency I have to be lazy or selfish or arrogant about it. Josie needs my good example-- and I will show it to her.

In Jessy's room the two of them were lying close together on the floor looking into magazines. They were both naked-- no, Josie was in panties. 'What's up?' I asked them.

Josie looked up first. 'Hi, Janine.' And she smiled right at me. 'We're just... reading.'

I smiled and sat on the floor-- in the skirt-- and crossed my legs. 'Everything okay?' Jessy asked me then. 'You look... down.'

'Preoccupied,' I said, and smiled at her.

Josie smiled at me again. 'Are you chaperoning?' she asked me.

I nodded. 'Yes, Josie. That's exactly what I'm doing. Keeping you out of trouble.' Then I laughed.

Josie laughed too. 'Don't worry, doll,' she said to me. 'Nothing bad will happen here.'

We met eyes. Suddenly I was aware that whilst I had been talking with Mother these two had been talking up here. And it was already resolved. 'From now on,' Jessy said, not looking up but in fact still leafing through the magazine in front of herself, 'we have a new rule where we wear panties to bed.'

I giggled. 'Really? Why?'

'Because,' Josie said, 'as a very wise girl we know once pointed out, we are ladies, and we should be a little more proper. It's only for bed, you know. And, look-- we get to model cute things.' And she got up to her knees beside Jessy and wriggled her hips a little, showing off the panties. They're Jessy's of course-- she brought no extra clothes with her on Thursday night-- but very cute, pale pink cotton with little purple flowers round the front. 'Like them?'

I laughed. 'I've seen them before,' I said.

'Well, I'm wearing them to bed.'

I looked at Jessy's bare bottom. 'And what's the other one wearing to bed?'

'She'll get dressed,' Josie said, looking down at her. 'We promised each other. And we made another promise to each other, didn't we, sweetheart?' Jessy only shrugged. 'Yes,' Josie said. 'If we feel the need... we can go in the bathroom. The bed is off-limits if we're both in it.'

I giggled again. 'That works,' I said. 'But really, you don't have to--'

'No, Janine. Maybe we do have to. Or, I do. Anyway, it'll make us all feel more comfortable.' Then she smiled at me. 'Are you coming to bed soon?'

I shrugged. 'I'll go online first.'

Josie nodded. 'I'll read a little, I think.'

'Will you? What are you reading?'

She turned and lifted a book off the bedside table. '"Mansfield Park",' she said. 'Saw the movie. Need to read the book, right?'

I was impressed and smiled at her. 'Good girl.'

'Yes,' said Josie. 'That's me.'

...

To pack, or not to pack

To England....
Friday 7 August 2009

Jessy and I have made this trip enough times now that we know the routine. Even post-9/11 there are still things you can get away with and things you can't. For example they have basically given over that ridiculous rule where you can't have a bottle of shampoo in your carry-on bag, you know. It had been getting just a little too much. I mean honestly-- do I look like a Middle Eastern terrorist?

Being minors flying without adults is another issue-- actually this tends to be more off-putting than our appearance, when it comes to the airport security people perceiving us as a problem. They are so busy checking our travel documents-- passports, school ID, letter and signature from parents, letter and signature from person responsible for us when we get there, and so on-- that they really don't regard our luggage as much of a threat. Nevertheless we would be prudent.

We each have a nice canvas attaché bag from Land's End, into which we put a padded sleeve housing the laptop. In this bag also goes anything we need for the flight-- books or magazines, iPod, mobile phone, and the all-important supplies in case of lost luggage-- shampoo and soap, toothpaste and toothbrush, deodorant, hairbrush, a change of underwear and t-shirt, and something warm in case we're stuck outside in the rain, you know. Since the first time we flew with Mother, when she was our nanny, we have learnt to carry also a change of clothes for the ride, if only an extra pair of clean panties and a t-shirt. There is NOTHING like being able to duck into the airplane lavatory, and wash your face, brush your teeth and change your underwear before landing! --if you have never done this, do it at all costs next time. You won't be sorry. (Just make sure the panties you bring along are pretty conservative. They will open this bag in front of you, all their coworkers, and every other stranger in the queue. Horrors happen.)

As far as clothes we generally pack:
- Jeans, khaki pants
- One good sweatshirt nice enough to wear anywhere
- One good jacket, usually navy-blue or dark-grey (I actually am bringing my HOH blazer!)
- T-shirts, especially nice ones
- All the underwear (both parts) I can fit in my case, not to be less than 1-1/2 full sets per day, so, counting on doing washing at Lady B's before Thursday that means about 15 pairs of panties and at least 8 bras
- Socks
- COMFORTABLE dress shoes-- honestly, I have these $11.99 Easy-Walker knockoffs from Payless that are soft, navy, 2-1/4" and comfy. I will likely wear them to all my meetings and wear Adidas otherwise
- Sunglasses & hats
- Other stuff, you know, but this is the must-have list.

The rest of our stuff goes in the bigger bags which will be checked for the baggage compartment.

Things we DO NOT pack include:
- Bigger than travel-size of hair-care bottles and deodorant
- CDs. This is what the iPod is for.
- Anything too warm (no need), anything too dressy (only gets wrinkled to sin in bags), more than one swimsuit (really?), too-short shorts, irreplaceable jewellry.
- Food. They confiscate it.
- Fluffy animals. When we relocated back to the US from England, almost exactly one year ago, I had all mine sent in the FedEx shipment. Only Cinnamon travels with me-- he'll be in my checked case, though, poor soul-- there is no room for him in the computer bag.
- Pads. This is the very stupidest thing to pack-- they take up so much room! (It's like packing air!) Carry only what you would carry in your purse for a day or two and buy them when you get to where you are going. I've known girls who buy a full box (or two!) before they depart and pack it in their luggage. Do they really think there are no sanitary napkins in England? (Of course tampons are less of a space problem... but to a lesser degree the same truth holds for them too.)

...

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!

...

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!)

...

Culture clash

Wednesday 25 February 2009

Mother and I drove up to the beach house last night so that we could have an early start this morning for my appointment. Georgian Court is a Catholic women's college in Ocean County, probably the closest campus to a beach in all of New Jersey and definitely-- by statistics-- the safest one. I had read over all their stuff and decided that in spite of all the Catholic influences-- they have nuns on campus-- I like it. For what it's worth jessy likes it too, which may be a good sign that she'll follow me there. But she's not allowed to have a day off from school for MY college visitation and so she's not here with us.

I drove the Regal, up to the Ferry terminal, up the Parkway, and today up Route Nine to Lakewood. We arrived a little early and were shown to a very pretty waiting room at the admissions office. Both Mother and I were in skirts and tights and sweaters, typical for both of us though I wore a pretty cute pink-and-black striped skirt and white sweater with my leather patchwork jacket and grey pumps. We sat with three other girls and their parents and listened to the school's presentation. Several times Mother caught my hand and squeezed it. I know she is excited about seeing me go off to university somewhere. It's what she did, but it's also that since I am not her actual child she hasn't had me round so long as to miss me. I am sure when Lisa goes away she will feel something a lot different. For example, I know Daddy hates the thought of it-- he would rather have me stay home till I become a forty-something spinster writing stupid romance novels... and he has said exactly that, more than once. Personally I am ambivalent about it all. Maybe Mother's enthusiasm for my university career will energise me. I really don't know yet.

We were given a campus tour by a very sweet girl with good manners and excellent diction who wore snug jeans and a school jersey. She seemed to embody everything good about the school itself, both pretty and pleasant as well as polite and proper. I suppose that was a good influence on me, then. I will say that Mother's accent, though mostly English, gave her away as Australian and since most Aussies are Catholic this seemed to make sense to the admissions people. And once or twice we were asked for our last name and someone knew who Daddy was. My being his daughter then began to hold some weight. Of course we cannot expect much from financial aid. Daddy has trust funds set up for all of us that have matured as we have, and mine is just about able to cover the whole tuition in cash. But we have applied anyway and found that Georgian Court offers scholarships for 'college-preparatory' study and also for church involvement, even if it's not a Catholic church. I also have come with letters of recommendation from HOH, my old school in England, and also from our church rector there who wrote about my organising a children's Epiphany pageant the year I turned 16. The people at Georgian Court were impressed by that and asked if I want to study for a schoolteacher. I said I don't know.

Actually I am inclined to study English, but I really don't know what I will do with that. Will I teach school? Will I take a graduate degree and teach at university? Will I go into journalism? Mother never applied her degree in English beyond writing her journal and hundreds of letters and the odd article or two... but she is a happy homemaker now and doesn't need to do more at this stage of her life. I am not anyone's nanny-- nor am I inclined to be, much as I love little ones-- and I do not have any grand penchant in my life at all. Listening to these other girls today made me feel like a profound nothing. They all have grand schemes for their futures. Somewhat sceptically I wonder how many of them will amount to anything in the way that they think they will. I mean, what is accounting? --but counting someone else's money? What is 'computer science'? --I don't even know what job that would be. What is business administration? --but becoming trained in a management job you might not ever have the experience to deserve?

I am sorry for how this sounds but I promise you I am very clueless about anything regarding my future.

I do have to say that Lakewood, where the university is, is a very funny community. From what we saw of it, there seems to be a large Mexican neighbourhood on one side of Route Nine and a positively enormous Orthodox Jewish community on the other side. One the one sides, idle Mexican men stand round street corners like the workers in the Gospel story waiting for someone to call them up and hire them for the day. On the other side Jewish men all in black stride rapidly about on some business that keeps them out of doors on a cold winter's day. Neither community seems to work very hard at anything-- they've all got too much time being outside in plain view doing, well, nothing. I wonder who pays the taxes in this town!

(I hope it's not the university!)

Mother and I had some errands to run and so I drove us over to the shopping arcade after our appointment. We had plenty to eat-- the admissions people are positively lavish with food and apparently feed everyone at every event. At the food market Mother needed the 'little blue box' as she calls it and I wanted to pick up some conditioner as I had brought the only bottle I had at home and it's run out. Whilst we stood in the checkout line her phone rang and she handed me some money and stepped aside to report to Daddy about our visit. A young Jew in his black clothes stepped up behind me. I could not tell if he were 16 or 21-- they all dress the same. But he was young and so gravely serious that I was nearly afraid of him. To be rid of my anxiety I said hello to him when we happened to meet eyes.

'Hello,' he replied, nodding more than he spoke.

'Is this place always so crowded?' I asked, merely for conversation.

He only shrugged and then looked away as though I were not worth any more of his time. That kind of hurt, you know-- I am not a monster and will always be friendly to strangers, even people who are markedly different from me. I just believe it's a way to bridge divides, you know. But the young man did not seem to care. I thought maybe that was because his belief system tells him to not meddle with Gentiles-- that's a terrible way to think but it's all I came up with at the time. And I did not like the thought. My belief system is the way of the Good Samaritan, to accept and respect all people regardless of their race or creed, in the same way as I would want to be respected by them. That means I say hello to people I don't know-- yet-- and I will help anyone who needs me. In that way I don't judge.

One thing about us girls, however, is that we can always tell when someone is checking us out. It's not such a difficult skill to master-- you first rule out your own ego and then sort of focus on people's eyes, and you can tell what they think of how you look. I usually get guys looking at my chest. To avoid feeling totally humiliated I usually amuse myself by saying something completely esoteric and profound to see if he can even hear me. Usually he cannot. Guys have a very narrow band of attention... it's about as wide as a girl's hips and doesn't allow for much past that.

The Jewish guy behind me was looking at me. I found that terribly hypocritical-- he will not exchange pleasantries with me, but he will look down at my short skirt and my legs in the white tights and have some kind of thought about me. Of course the girls my age in his community don't dress like I do. They're all in cute little button-up black jackets and calf-length black skirts and black socks and low-heeled black shoes. And they keep their eyes down when a guy looks at them. I didn't keep my eyes down. I looked right at his head till he looked up again and realised I had seen him looking. But he didn't blush. He didn't even flinch. He seemed to regard it as his right to check out Gentile girls in short skirts as though we don't matter. He doesn't have to safeguard my reputation or treat me with respect. He can just look, and imagine, and he doesn't even have to apologise for that because his creed only applies to other Jews. A Gentile is an outcast, a heathen-- any unclean thoughts about me don't count as sin because, since I don't matter, anything he thinks about me doesn't matter.

I am sorry if this sounds prejudiced. I know a little about the Orthodox faiths from my evangelism study at my old church, and I won't pretend to be an expert on any of them. But I do know that most of them consider themselves as set apart by God, for some special treatment, and that it is their responsibility to keep themselves 'unstained by the world'. To them that means not mixing up with nonbelievers in social situations. They don't go to parties, they don't go to the beach, they don't go to concerts or anywhere they might be exposed to outside influences. I find that cowardly and foolish. Jesus scolded the Pharisees when they attempted to correct Him and His disciples for eating with unclean hands. He told them that nothing that goes into a man can defile him, only what comes out of him can. I could go to wild parties every night of the week and sit there, sip tea, and talk with other people about the Lord's work in my life, and would that be a sin? But if I were go to church every day of the week, participate in ECW, teach Sunday school, and attend evangelism seminars and Bible study whenever it was held, but take drugs and sleep around and lie and condemn God in the rest of my life, I would not be a Christian.

People online have asked me why I go into questionable chat rooms, and this is the reason. I challenge those people-- have I ever done anything wrong in those rooms? Jesus went and sat with sinners and tax collectors, because it was there that His influence was needed. Nothing anyone says to me in a chat room can defile me, only what I say to other people can. I remain unafraid of outside influences. I am not the frightened little Jewish guy in the market at Lakewood. I am stronger and better than that. I am a Christian.

...

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.

...

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.

...

Looking back

Friday 13 February 2009

Jessy and I packed last night and we drove in to school in the Regal. Both of us were in skirts-- this is only typical. We also brought nice stuff to wear for church on Sunday though we have both admitted we are not sure we will go. Holy Innocents' has services at odd times during the off season.

After school we hurried out to the car and got on our way. The light fades fast here and so we went directly to the Ferry, not even checking on the house at Lewes, where Mommy is buried, that's even just a few blocks farther on. It was my first time driving onto the boat but I did well and Jessy was totally composed as though we had done this a hundred times before.

The boat ride is 70 minutes. It was one of the new boats and we got tea, but it was too cold to stay outside and we took a table by the windows. The wind seemed very strong in the middle of the Bay-- the water was mostly whitecaps and the boat tended to roll a lot. We were both happy to get ashore.

Of course I had never driven this way either by myself but it was not hard, and Route 9 turns into the Parkway and then it's just 65 MPH till you get there. I also had never driven this fast before, but I was very careful and not long before our exit Jessy rang Daddy and told him we were fine.

Our house in Surf City was the house we had when I was born. In fact this was to be our only home, I was to start school on the Island and to high school at Southern, and Mommy started her ice-cream parlour and the book store and we might have been very happy here. But my parents thought we should have the experience of growing up with a yard and a swimming pool and a slightly bigger house, so they built the place at Lewes and just after Jessy was born we moved there. So the house at Surf City has always been mainly a summer place for us. It is modest and old-fashioned (like everything about my parents and my family anyway) and has a lovely view of the ocean as well as up and down the beach.

The room that was always meant for Jessy and me to share is on the third floor, facing across the Island at the Bay actually. We each have an old-fashioned four-posted bed and there is a desk and wide dresser. It is an attic room with low walls and a sloping ceiling,. Round the top of the low walls, and across the end walls at the same level, is a cute wallpaper border of sailboats and seashells and dune grass that Mommy put up for us, sort of by surprise, about ten years ago. Neither of us has ever had any inclination to ever take it down. Also we have no inclination to take separate rooms-- there is a very nice guest room below our room that one of us could take, but neither of us could ever decide to be the one to not stay in this room where Mommy's wallpaper border is and so we continue to share. For now Lisa and little J.J. share the other room up here, a smaller, narrower, lower room over Mother and Daddy's room that sticks out in front towards the ocean. Some day one of them (probably Lisa) will adopt the guest room anyway, so it's just as well Jessy and I keep this one together.

Jessy and I have slowly been coming to the idea that we would like to stay here and work in Mommy's ice-cream parlour all summer. It is only what Mother (our stepmother) did when she was our nanny, the summer before and the summer after Mommy died. And she was only a year older then than I am now. I think Mommy would like us to do that, and, like Mother did, help manage the ice-cream parlour and carry on her tradition.

I have begun to believe that I would much rather do something like that than even to go to university somewhere. I could stay at this house all year and commute to Ocean County and try to figure out what I really do want to do. I only know I would miss Jessy, at least for that first year when I have done with school and she is still finishing. I suppose I could work with Daddy for that period. I know he would like that, especially because I would be home near him, which is what he really wants.

I apologise for rambling like this. I confess it is how I write when I am here-- I am less single-minded.

As soon as we got to this house we got changed into our Colonial dresses, just for fun. I have about eight different outfits, mostly handmade, of which I brought three for this weekend. In about 1750 I would have worn one not till I was sick of it but till I could not wear it any more. This weekend we're going to try to live at least in some ways like that. This afternoon I put on my light-blue skirt and bed-jacket with a plain muslin shift (undershirt like a nightgown) and stays (not exactly like a corset) under it and high socks with garters (round my calf of course) and slippers that are like ballet flats. This would have been typical for someone who was not a princess 250 years ago (and yes, I have said ALL that I have on... also typical). Jessy has on her dark-green bodice and plain muslin skirt over her shift and stays.

There are no boys to see us right now but in my experience they tend to love this gear on us girls. The bodice flatters her (I'll leave it for you to imagine why). We both feel very comfortable-- I often wish I could dress like this forever, but for now it is like a little game we are playing, like we did when Mother used to tutor us in the tea room at home in Lewes.

We made a fire in the kitchen, heated water for tea and, though we did (shamefully) cook two of the instant dinners we brought along in the microwave, we did eat by candlelight. I hooked up the laptop to the house network and by about 18.00 I was able to report to Daddy that everything was all right. Afterwards we put on our long winter coats and boots and went over the dunes to the beach. I remember happy times with Mommy, and later with our stepmother, dressing like this and skipping round the beach like we were living here 250 years ago. In the off-season there is hardly anyone here and when we were littler we didn't think that we may have looked odd to modern people. If Mommy could stroll the beach in her gorgeous handmade gowns and black stockings certainly we young girls could. I remember, the summer after she died, my nanny (as she was then) and I hiking the beach to work at the ice-cream parlour, in our long gowns and carrying our shoes, in front of everyone who was on the beach on a summer's evening in the high season. People stared, you know. But they all knew where we were going and smiled and waved as though we were celebrities. That's usually people's reaction, and it always makes me feel, even then, that something was good and right about being a girl who dressed in traditional clothes.

We saw only one person, some blocks down, with a dog. The night was going bitter. We returned to the house, set ourselves up at the kitchen table, and did our homework by candlelight till the fire faded, and then we watched DVDs ('Emma' AND 'Persuasion') till we went to bed. However I woke up at like midnight and typed in this, and I am going online to post it.

I will post more later as our 'retro' weekend proceeds.

...

I am sick

Wednesday 7 January 2009

This is a poem my stepmother wrote when she was 15 and staying with us as an exchange student. She had been sick for about three days-- blaming it on this weird American climate, I am sure! --and being the genius that she is she was able to depict the mad delirium of a high fever with a such wonder and compassion that anyone can feel her sense of utter helplessness... 'an intelligent being laid low in infirmity'.

I was of course by no means as sick as this yesterday (just had a tummy-ache and sleeping most of the day helped) but I think of this poem often and thought I might share it in my blog.

...

Lewes, Delaware
24-26 September 1997

I am sick.

Deprived of energy, devoid of strength, depraved of will,
enveloped in the strange world of the fever
where temperature
and density
and thirst
and aches throughout my body
are all my sensation.

Eyes water,
with a stinging sadness;
I weep for pain, or to relieve pain, I know not;
so I shut them:
I see not.

Ears rumble,
thick and loud like thunder upon my head;
and so I ignore everything:
I hear not.

Mouth burns,
with a hot anxious constriction,
every swallow a briar down my throat;
and so I dare not part my lips:
I speak not.

I know nothing, feel nothing, want nothing,
but from within.


I rest.

Stretched upon this couch with hands crossed above my chest,
like a Queen in state,
dead to the world behind the rosecoloured glasses
of my mad mind's eye.

My head spins,
slow, dull spirals downward, ever downward,
with no end in sight.

Unworldly thoughts drift by,
like vagrants from the city street
with nowhere to call home
but the vague recesses of my mind
where they beck and call to me,
nagging, nagging, nagging,
for answers I cannot provide
like strange alien torture
to an intelligent being
unused to grave weakness
laid low in involuntary infirmity.

When I am strong enough to reply
they will be gone,
unanswered, eternally a mystery
why they ever appeared and posed a question.

That they would be gone,
I try to imagine things of my own will
as if to show my waylaid mind
that I still have control.

But my will is but a page
against the army of my sickness.

Little girls run hand-in-hand to the beach:
their vivid colours searing in my sight,
their bright voices piercing in my ears,
their happiness incomprehensible.

What girls?
What beach? What colours? What words?

Boys hang a swing in a tree,
dangling daringly above the ground
like dauntless acrobats,
dizzying to me,
frightening to me.

What boys? What tree? What swing?
Is it sunny? Cloudy? Cold? Warm?
Day? Night? Dream? Reality?

Angry, I demand an image
of the swells of the sea
rising and falling with animate regularity,
that it might be a lovely vision of contentment.

But not for me.

What sea? What colour?
What weather-- sunny, hot, cold, wind, calm, rain, day, night?
Am I afraid or at ease?
Am I happy or sad?
Do I swim or sail?
Would I drown? Would I care?

Can I ever know rest with these questions in my head?

For the first time in my life
I take sleeping-tablets
and worry that I have taken too much
and that the last tenants of my mind
are these wild tortured contrivances of my madness.


I sleep.

Still they will not leave me,
haunting my repose
like pins and needles upon the receptors of my brain
nagging me, nagging me, nagging me
that they have required my soul
at a cost too dear
to make Death itself look awful to me.

Eternal sleep:
would that it might overwhelm me!
like a kind dream
in which I know no sickness, no weakness, no madness,
only sleep, beautiful sleep,
floating upon some buoyant bright cloud
while all the saints smile and whisper,
'Isn't she content?'

There I might know no weakness or infirmity,
no sensations,
not even my own mind,
only peace.


I wake.

Joyful sunlight bounces in the windows;
I hear the cheers of the sea-birds
and the gay whistle of the kettle
and I embrace the loving scent of soup on the cooker.

I am warm-- nay, hot,
and toss back the coffin of my blanket,
drained, but refreshed
despite the soilies so vile upon my body
and the knots of my hair resisting my hand's tenuous rake.

Sweat clings like some horrid vine about my skin
but I can sense it
and dislike it
and know it for what it is,
the last vestige of my illness,
that mad mindless state
in which I lay for three days' fast
like a forgotten doll upon the couch.

I wonder what I have missed of the world
and then, care not
for I have survived,
and can face anything now
that I have my mind again.

...

From Rover to Regal

Monday 15 December 2008

The day dawned cloudy and grey but I would not be dismayed. After an early and thorough shower I dressed in well-worn jeans, my navy-blue sweater, and my dark-brown maryjanes with the heels that are like 1-1/2" and the plain wide belt that matches them (sort of). And I wore my new (for my birthday) patchwork leather jacket with its hood and white (faux) fur trim. Roger arrived to drive us to school. This was arranged, for if I were to drive myself we would have the problem of Daddy getting to school to meet me. I was adamant about going directly from school.

At school I was very anxious all day. I say 'anxious'-- I do not say 'nervous'. It was the excited flutter of a child looking forward to seeing Father Christmas-- um, Santa Claus again, sorry. (I have not seen him as 'Santa Claus' in two years, but it is definitely something I will have to do later this week... of course.) After English I deposited everything in my locker (what care I for homework when there is driving to be done?) got my jacket, and skipped out to the kerb. There was the queue of buses, but no Daddy. Rita and Jessy (those two a pretty steady pair by now) came out, waved to Roger as he pulled in, and then said good-bye to me. I stamped my foot, frustrated. Jessy stopped halfway to the open door. 'What's wrong?' she asked me.

I made a pout. 'Daddy's not here yet,' I said.

'Yes he is.'

I whirled round, seeing the now-familiar blue-and-white Buick coming in from the road. 'Yay,' I said, honestly still doing the little-kid thing.

Daddy pulled up behind the dark-green Cadillac and got out. 'Sorry,' he said over the bonnet. 'I had to get gas.'

I nodded, smiling happily. Jessy and Daddy said good-bye and stepped off the kerb and went round to the offside-- um, driver's side. Then Daddy opened the other door and got in. 'All set?' he asked.

I nodded. 'Ready when you are.'

He nodded too and then laid a hand on my leg, like he often does, like to give comfort. At once he bent his fingers and pinched me-- or, actually, could not. 'What's this, paint?' he teased. 'I thought it was pants.'

I blushed. 'It's just jeans, Daddy!'

'Hmmm.'

I have mentioned before somewhere that my daddy collects cars. His collection is by no means ostentatious nor even very extensive, consisting merely of half a dozen older Buicks, the Jensen-Healey, and an unfinished restoration project of a Camaro convertible. Being sentimental he acquired copies of the first two cars he ever drove, a powder-blue 1968 Riviera and a navy-blue 1965 Wildcat convertible. Both the Wildcat and the 1961 Invicta are fitted with manual gearchange. One came from the factory specially-ordered like that and one Daddy had installed (I forget which). When Mother was our nanny he provided her with a silver-blue 1962 Skylark for commuting to and from university. That is the car I secretly suspected he would endow me with-- but that was not to be.

The car I have been learning on is a 1985 Regal T-Type coupe, all beautifully restored in a soft medium blue with a white hood (okay, roof) and white seats on a black carpet. It has alloy wheels and the 4.3-litre v-6 engine which Daddy says is one of his favourites (like the one in Mother's Skylark till he changed it back to the original v-8) and-- yes-- a 5-speed manual gearbox also was custom-fitted and the car is probably one-of-a-kind.

I have to apologise since all my terminology about the car is so British. It's only been since we've had Mother (meaning our stepmother, who's from Australia) and since we went to England that I began to get even remotely interested in cars and driving. At HOH we had a part-time class in driving and it was all 'propshaft' and 'dampers' and 'silencer' and 'bonnet' and 'windscreen' and I just learned it the way it was taught. Daddy gave me a few lessons in the car park when we were in Norwich, with the grey-green Rover we had there. Now I know some people find switching over from right to left to be a problem, especially when the shift patterns are different. The Rover in England had first gear up by your passenger's knee, Daddy's Jensen-Healey has it next to your own knee, since it's on your right hand, and the T-Type has it back by your hip. But I just look at the top of the gear lever, which usually has a diagram of the pattern, and I do not find it a problem at all to find the co-ordination, whichever hand I have to use.

I will say here that Jessy, who is over a year younger than me, has never driven on either the right or the left-- all she has ever driven has been the garden tractor, motor-scooters, and the junior Formula cars and karts she raced in England, and none of them are specific to any particular side.

Daddy has been the ideal driving teacher, more of a coach than a police officer about it. I cannot say I have not made mistakes and some of them have been almost dangerous and definitely illegal. That is in the nature of learning to drive. What I cherish so much about Daddy is that he is by nature very sweet-hearted and forgiving. He does not expect me to be perfect, at anything, really, and so treats me not with exacting standards but as a pretty decent person doing a pretty decent job. To please him I have done my level best, and I have to say I have learned it all pretty well.

We drove up to the DMV agency in Onancock and Daddy came in with me when I presented my paperwork. They assigned me an examiner and told me where to wait with the car. Daddy came with me (I would have insisted even if they had let me, as a student, drive the car round the building alone, because I was not feeling pretty nervous) till the DMV examiner came. The examiner was about 35, tall, exceedingly slender, with jet-black hair and steel-grey eyes, wearing silver metal-framed glasses and an official-looking black wool overcoat. He seemed like the coldest, severest examiner in the world and my heart rose to my throat. He got in to the car beside me and looked at the clipboard. 'You are... Janine?'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Nice car,' he said, looking round inside it. 'What year?'

I looked at him, trying not to appear terrified, although I really think I could not have looked too flirtatious either. Some girls try that, you know. ' 'Eighty-five,' I said.

He nodded. 'Very good.' Then he noticed. 'It's a stick.'

I nodded. 'Yes, Sir.'

'Why the Delaware plates?' he asked.

'Oh,' I said, not having expected that. 'My daddy collects cars, and that's where they're kept. He just let me learn on this one.'

The guy nodded. 'Very good.' Then he looked at me and smiled. 'Well, shall we go, then? Buckled up?'

I was. He wasn't, and got his belt on. He directed me to pull out and I signalled for it, and we proceeded with the driving course. I was not nervous. I was very smooth with all the changes and especially with the brakes. Daddy had taught me what his father had once taught him and called 'the chauffeur stop'. No matter how hard you have to brake, just before the car comes to a full stop, you lift the pedal and then bring it to a stop from that very low speed. Your passengers will not snap backwards from the sharp stop. I have practised it and can do it almost without notice. Exactly once the examiner indicated one of the turns too late-- it's said they do this on purpose-- and I had to brake hard and come to a full stop which I did to, well, perfection-- if I have to be the one to say it.

'Very good,' the examiner said, and then he was all too willing to overlook my slight awkwardness with the clutch during my k-turn. (No, I did NOT stall it. Not once.) In parallel parking I just remembered what I had been taught, to line myself up with the driver's seat in the other car, turn when my shoulder passes the other car's corner, and then turn back when my front corner will pass clear. I got it to within a foot or so of the kerb on the first try.

'Where did you get your lessons?' the examiner said. 'Nandua--?'

I shrugged. 'No, not at school, Sir. Just... my dad.'

'This is your first try?'

I nodded, looking at him as he looked at me again.

'Very good,' he said. 'Now, out here, and up to the corner.'

I nodded. 'Yes, Sir.'

Fifteen minutes later I had a plastic card in my hand with my photo on it and the words 'Commonwealth of Virginia' across the top. The examiner saw me as we stepped out of the building. 'Good luck,' he said, smiling at me. He didn't look so severe now. 'Be careful, now.'

'Yes, Sir. Thank you.'

'Thank you,' he said, and Daddy and I got into the T-Type then.

On the ride back Daddy asked me all about how my exam had gone, what I had to do, how I did, what the guy said. Finally I got up my nerve and said, 'So, Daddy....'

'Yes?' he asked warily-- as well he might have.

'I was wondering.... Well, Jessy and I, and some of the girls, want to finish our Christmas shopping, and I was going to ask....'

'Here if comes,' he said.

'... if would be all right if we could... go down to the mall. In VB. You know....'

'Wait-- tonight?'

'No,' I said quickly. 'Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow... after school.'

He made a wry smile at me. 'I am assuming you'll want to drive this car to school tomorrow.'

I blushed. 'Well....'

'Drive to school tomorrow, but let Roger drive you down to VB. I would worry about you coming home over that bridge in the dark. And this road can be dangerous. The people here drive like they're asleep half the time.' Then he thought a moment. 'I'd feel better about it if you were able to come home in daylight, you know.'

I nodded, hiding a smile. 'Yes, Daddy. It's all right.' That's my daddy.

...

Over the bridge and far away

Saturday 11 October 2008

Today marks the eighth anniversary of Mommy's passing. At some time in the wee hours of the morning of the 11th she sat up in her hospital bed, caught my father's hand, and said aloud, 'I see stars!' And with that she proceeded to our loving God who submits even all things unto Himself. When Jessy and I awoke that morning Daddy was leaning over the bed-- for we had slept together that night for being so anxious about how she was doing-- and he told us that Mommy was 'out of danger'. Having both seen 'Sense and Sensibility' we knew how most people would have taken that line, but we knew also that in his faith Daddy meant it entirely another way. Mother (our nanny then) wrote that day calling our reaction The Wailing. 'I do not know how it could ever stop,' she wrote. And it did go on, if not as a sound of tears then as a cold empty pit in our souls, for quite some time till we realised what she had actually prayed for, that there could be some form of happiness without Mommy, not in spite of her absence nor because of it, but along with it. Mommy abides in Heaven, and we abide here, and we are both happy because we simply must be. There is no life without hope, and as Gran says, 'As long as there is life, there is hope.' The two are interrelated, because that's the only way life makes any sense.

I spent a little time in prayer this morning before I actually got out of bed, because I had slept through the actual moment that marked the event and I have promised myself I will never begin an October 11th without remembering her. I know this does not matter to Mommy. She is happy where she is and smiles down upon us all with confidence that we will all be all right. As Daddy has often reminded us, mourning is for those who are left. Pity for the one who has gone on is pointless-- she is the happy one, happy at home in the arms of God, and we are left to carry on in the cold cruel world.

Sometimes, even here, where Mommy never lived, I will walk in to the kitchen and for a moment imagine her standing there in her church dress and apron cleaning carrots or mixing cake batter and I will get a sudden pang down inside when I realise it's only what I might like, not what will ever be. And then I worry that I will forget her smile, or her scent, or the sound of her voice. I know Jessy believes she already has. But then we will watch her on a home video, look over our photos and revisit some of the toys and dolls she gave us, and we know her all over again as we always have. Those who leave us in the body do not leave us in the heart. This is why we call our stepmother 'Mother', like Maria gets called in 'The Sound of Music' (which is where we got the idea) and never 'Mommy' or 'Mum' like Lisa calls her instinctively. Mommy is not replaced at all-- indeed we live on with her, all of us, even our stepmother who loved her like an older sister or even a second mother... as Jessy and I love her in turn. Without Mommy having been what she was to each of us, none of what we have now could have been possible. It is really this profound-- even Mother when she was still our nanny wrote, on the day of her engagement to Daddy, that Mommy was her own saviour, the perfect sister, wife, mother, and friend, a lamb without blemish who suffered a painful and incurable condition and at age 33-- if you can believe that symbolic coincidence-- died to allow us all a new life.

...

Dressing up

Tuesday 26 August 2008

I love underwear. I think my fascination with comfortable cotton underthings may have began when I very accidentally walked in on my stepmother, when she was still our nanny, while she was changing. I had not even seen my mother in her underwear very often and I thought seeing someone else would be very embarrassing, but our nanny only said hello politely and went on getting dressed. I was about eight years old then but she would not let either of us feel even the least awkward no matter what she was doing. That was her way of showing trust; and we have always trusted her and she has always been open and honest with us.

A big part of it may have been that our nanny (as she was then) was so pretty. Our mother was very pretty, but a child always looks at her mother as an adult, and here we had a very pretty girl living with us, with the body and authority of an adult and the innocence and youth of just a big sister. And she was always very ladylike and proper; she wore skirts and stockings and high heels (maybe because she is so short!) and put up her hair and wore makeup. In summers she wore bikini swimsuits; she had about four including a very elegant bright blue one, but none of them were immodest at all. I have to say that our nanny, while young and beautiful and very trusting, was (and still is!) very modest. Like our mother she showed us the example of what a lady should be, and I think that is why we all (including our father, when that time came) have always been so respectful and fond of her.

When she was still our nanny she took me bra shopping for the first time. She was the one I asked about when you get your period. I also consulted her, after she had become my stepmother, about how to behave on a first date (which oddly enough was an experience she had never really had!). At each of these times she did her best to give me good advice and to sympathise with the fact that I was a total twit about what I was asking. She has always been very gentle and thoughtful with these issues and Jessy and I have never felt that we have no one to turn to. We have lost our mother, eight years ago now, but we have found someone who does not replace her but adds to our experience of having known her, mainly because our nanny loved our mother too, almost as another daughter would have. (Okay, maybe it's kind of complex.)

The Olympics are over and Jessy and I have had marked on the calendar for some time now that the season premiere of 'Greek' is Tuesday evening. For some reason, totally independently, we each decided to make an event of it. I let our stepmother know that we'd be 'reserving' the down stairs TV room for this event. Jessy dug out from the freezer some microwave eclairs (we have a microwave in the hall just outside the TV room). And, for some reason we did not discuss and did expect beforehand, we both decided to dress up.

In England we went shopping with our stepmother often, not always buying a lot, but just because the shops are so great. You will walk down a high street in Norwich, instead of a mall, and they will have the nicest little shops in the world. While there we bought plenty of pyjamas (we had not brought any with us, only nightgowns), and socks and stockings and underwear. With our stepmother I think it makes her feel feminine and ladylike that she has other 'women' (us) to shop with. With us I think we feel honoured and respected. She treats us as young women but with the knowledge that we are not so experienced in the world, and we trust her with whatever questions we have.

I came home with, among other stuff, three sets of panties and bra, very soft, well-fitting, and comfortable, all the same in different pastel colours, in celery, salmon, and a robin's-egg blue. The bottom is trimmed in soft flat lace and the top is a sweetheart cut, which works well on me... even alone, which is what I am trying to talk about in this blog.

After a very thorough shower I towelled off and put on the celery-coloured set, adjusting the fit very carefully. Good underwear will always look great on you; it lies flat and pretty much stays where you put it. If you've ever felt the waist or legs rolling under, you have got bad underwear. The top should fit properly round underneath and not have to be readjusted after you raise your arms or twist about. These don't at all, which is a big reason why I got them.

I dried and pinned up all my hair, not too carefully, and put on a little makeup, not too much, just doing my eyes and patting my cheeks a little, for like Mother says a carefree, natural look is always best. I put on a little gold necklace and stepped into my sandals, which are natural basket-weave with white straps, and I went down to the kitchen first for a pitcher of iced tea and then back through the house to the side stairs to the basement TV room. I didn't see my father or stepmother or little J.J., but it wouldn't have mattered if I had!

Jessy was already there, stylishly dressed in a plain black leotard and little black ballet flats, with makeup on and her hair put up almost the same as mine. We stood there, me in the doorway and she down at the corner of the couch, and looked at each other and giggled. 'You too?' I laughed.

'Me? But I did it first!' And we laughed some more.

Then, to make it even cuter, little Lisa who just turned five this month came down, in her little flowery lavender panties and what Mother, who is really English, calls a 'vest' and Americans call a tank-top. But we knew that she had seen one or the other of us going down tonight and chose to join us... as she often does. She ended up sitting between us on the sofa.

So, all dressed up like we could never have done to go anywhere else, we sat down to microwave creampuffs and iced tea, tuned in to 'Greek' and watched snooty Rebecca get her butt kicked for what she truly deserved. Lisa didn't get all the finer points but she did understand that the girls (and the boys) were all guilty of having been mean to each other at least a little, and that's what anyone is supposed to have got out of that episode.

When it was over, at 10.00, little Lisa was nearly asleep. I prodded her up two flights of stairs while Jessy put away the movie and put out the lights. Lisa went into the potty and brushed her teeth, and I went into mine, and then Mother came down the gallery and tucked in Lisa. So when I came out she was just going and Lisa was lying in bed with the sheet pulled up to her neck. 'Janine?' came the small voice.

I had stepped out of the sandals in my bathroom and tiptoed into the darkened room. 'Yes, sweetie?'

She looked up at me with those wide admiring eyes as I came in and sat down on the edge of her bed. 'I had fun tonight. Watching your show with you and Jessy.'

I smiled, stroking her head gently to keep the hair out of her face. 'I had fun, too, sweetie.'

We sisters always call each other things like 'Sweetie'. It's something we got from our stepmother too... from when she was our nanny and Lisa wasn't even an idea anyone would think to think of.

'Can I ask you something?'asked the little voice above the sheet.

'Of course, sweetie.'

'When can I get a bra?'

I blushed. I knew why she asked me that, why she would not have asked Jessy, for example, and why also she did not ask her own mother. After all this bra fits really well-- 'Aw, sweetie.... You will get one when it's your time to get one. I promise.'

'And when is that?'

I didn't know to explain all the physiological evidence about it, not while she is still five, so I just said, 'God will decide. Just trust God about it.'

She nodded a little. 'Okay.' she said. 'I just hope I'm as beautiful as you are.'

I blushed again, and it made me lean down and kiss her head. 'Oh, I'm sure you'll be as beautiful as you are!'

She smiled up at me. She is too young to know that what I said was no answer at all. She thinks it is the perfect answer.

'I love you, Janine.'

I smiled. 'And I love you.' And I kissed her goodnight and went back to my own room.

...

I cannot say it had not occurred to me when I got 'dressed', if you can call it that, for our TV event down stairs. But after my little sister's flattery it was suddenly hard to leave the mirror. Very uncharacteristically I stood for some minutes just staring at myself. The fit of the bra IS really good-- the sweetheart neck kind of lifts what little I need it to and with my back straight my shape is really healthy. And the bottoms are close-fitting without being awkward; it's really a good fit.

At first I reached round behind myself and opened the bra. I tossed it over into the chair and reached up to undo my hair which fell down round my shoulders, tickling my skin, and made me shiver. For a second I closed my eyes. Then I pushed off the panties, kicking them a little over towards the chair. Stepping back till my legs bumped the bed, I sat on it, still staring at myself in the mirror. Then, keeping my legs together as a lady should, I got myself up into the bed and drew up the sheet.

But it did not stay up long. Even before I'd put out the bedside lamps it was kicked down past my feet and I was well on my way.

...