Tuesday 17 March 2009
Jessy took Daddy up on a dare this morning and came down stairs in her close-fitting khakis, black shoes, and a navy-blue long-sleeved tee with another tee over it... and the other tee was her St Patrick's Day shirt.
Daddy claims he has never been a fan of the Irish cause. The whole issue of the Troubles aggravates him so much that ever since Bloody Sunday he has been avoiding green on St Patrick's Day. But he has reasons.
1. Our family heritage does not include ANY Irish. Actually, my sister Jessy and I are ethnically English three times more than anything else.
2. We are not liberals. We do not support the overthrow of a monarchy that has worked, in one form of another, for over 1100 years.
3. We are nonviolent and Christian and believe in the Martin Luther King philosophy that all good things come to those who keep faith and refrain from violence, and not the Malcolm X philosophy that you have to achieve your goals by violence if it's easier or necessary, like Sein Fein and the IRA believe. (The British in Northern Ireland have used police force when necessary. The IRA have used terroristic tactics when expedient. They are not the same thing at all.)
4. We are not Catholic. In fact as a family we object to a culture that believes in 'one island, one nation, one religion' as Irish President Mary Fitzpatrick said in the 1980s. We also object to liberal American Catholics seeking capitalist American money to support a political action group who seek to establish 'one nation, one religion' in a foreign country. These are the same Americans who would object very loudly indeed if a president of this country were to take foreign money and say, 'one nation, one religion'-- unless of course it was THEIR religion. Being liberal relativists they should therefore understand my family's objections... but they don't because they're just liberal relativists.
5. We are more 'politically correct' than most people who say they are. The problem with the liberal/relativists' concept of 'politically correct' is that it's only considered 'correct' if it supports THEIR side. But if you look at it objectively you will see that, on a cultural level, it's kind of offensive to assume that 'everyone has a little Irish in them'. It's also kind of offensive to support a cause that deliberately offends what someone else believes in. I always thought 'political correctness' was about not offending anyone, but it seems to be more about certain people being allowed to offend only certain people. After all, in modern American culture, the English are the only people you're actually SUPPOSED to offend. As an Anglo-American, that offends me.
6. St Patrick was an English Roman Catholic monk who was sent to Ireland to convert druids in about 375 AD. Ironically, while the Irish complain that their native celtic (Druid) culture has been deliberately washed away or covered up by the English, as a nation they are firm supporters of the religion this Englishman gave them. Who is the hypocrite?
Jessy's St Patrick's Day shirt has a screen print of the Union Flag front and back (though it is intended to be a shirt and not a flag). I have one too-- we each bought one in London when we were visiting the Tower-- but as this is a new school I was a little wary of wearing it. Jessy would not shrink from the dare. Daddy congratulated her (laughing though. This is really only as serious as people wearing green is... but there is a point to it). All day at school people were coming up and saying to her, 'Cool shirt' (it's the first she's worn it since we moved here). It was funny because although everyone noticed it was not green, only a few people happened to notice that it was making a statement. Some people really don't see the significance of symbolism like this.
Then again-- maybe that's just living in America.
(Now all the liberal/relativists will email or IM me to say I have offended them for saying that I have been offended by a tradition they took for granted. Either you're tolerant of all points of view, or you're not.)
...
20 March 2009
07 March 2009
Bring it on
Saturday 7 March 2009
Well, the weather broke... finally... and you know what that means. I was up MUCH too late last night (this morning) and by the time I got up (late this morning) both my sisters had come up with an excuse to do... yard work. Yes, both of them were out there-- actually the moment I looked out my window both their bare bottoms were up in the air. Jessy and Lisa were out by the back garden wall, clearing out leaves and trash that had blown there over the winter. As I watched Jessy actually crawled in under one of the evergreen bushes and came out with a surprisingly large arm load of tumbleweeds and leaves. She saw me then, dropped the stuff into the bag Lisa held, and then Lisa turned round and they both waved. I giggled. Well-- it was about 65 degrees outside. Why not?
I washed, brushed teeth, and shuffled down the front stairs. Little J.J. (3) was sitting on the dining room floor playing with trucks. 'Uh-oh,' he said, looking up at me then. 'Someone has no clothes on!'
I laughed. 'And good morning to you too!' I teased.
'Mummy! She has no clothes on!'
I stepped in to the kitchen and Mother was there, just pouring out water for tea. 'Well,' she said, 'I was wondering when you would join the day.'
I smiled and leaned on the counter. 'Well, I saw those other two birds out there.'
'Yes,' they're out there.... I'm sure Lisa was up at the crack of dawn.'
'And tomorrow is Daylight Saving's....'
'Yes.'
I took the cup she gave me and made my way back to the small parlour and stepped outside. The late-morning sun was actually hot-- out of the breeze, at the back of the house, it must have been 75. 'Wow,' I sighed.
'Janine!' Lisa ran up past the pool to me. 'You're up!'
I nodded. 'I see you two are busy.'
She nodded. 'Daddy told us to do something while we are out here. Jessy picked cleaning up.'
Daddy was somewhere else; I heard the tractor off past the kitchen. 'Well, I'll help if you want. Though I'd rather....'
Lisa giggled. 'Do nothing?'
I nodded and we both laughed.
I had missed breakfast and so only ate when Mother served grilled-cheese sandwiches at noon. It's Lent, so we won't be having meat. We all came in to eat, even Daddy. The three of us unclothed people sat outside at the table. Afterwards Jessy and dragged out chaises out to the lawn and read. Lisa brought a blanket and lay on the grass beside me. About an hour later Mother sent J.J. out to collect her for a nap. She complained, but went. Jessy and I lay out in the sun for another hour or more. It was absolutely delightful.
As I write this I have not had clothes on all day (except for sneakers but I never count footwear). I will have to get dressed for church tomorrow, of course... and that's not quite a good enough reason to not go, but believe me I've been tempted. I can't believe this weather trend will last; if I were a bettor my money would be on more snow, closer to Easter, just enough to ruin everyone's optimism, not because I'm a pessimist but because this winter season has just been weird we should expect what we're afraid to expect.
So for now I am enjoying it, savouring the sensation, so to speak. After supper Jessy and I watched 'Bring It On' on Oxygen and I sat down in the TV theatre wrapt up in two blankets because it's been chilly in the basement all day. But the blankets were way more than I needed and I was actually uncomfortable. I just kept them on because Daddy came down to watch it with us... and Lisa though Daddy was uncomfortable with the language Oxygen allowed in their TV edit and sent her up stairs. That's funny because all week there have been commercials about being the boss of your TV and blocking certain shows. I hope he doesn't block Oxygen just because of a few words. I don't use those words and neither does Jessy, and neither of us would ever let Lisa use them. Sometimes the best influences are ourselves, you know.
Speaking of influences, little Lisa was naked all night too. Mother tucked her in and she insisted on not wearing pyjamas. Oh, well.
...
Well, the weather broke... finally... and you know what that means. I was up MUCH too late last night (this morning) and by the time I got up (late this morning) both my sisters had come up with an excuse to do... yard work. Yes, both of them were out there-- actually the moment I looked out my window both their bare bottoms were up in the air. Jessy and Lisa were out by the back garden wall, clearing out leaves and trash that had blown there over the winter. As I watched Jessy actually crawled in under one of the evergreen bushes and came out with a surprisingly large arm load of tumbleweeds and leaves. She saw me then, dropped the stuff into the bag Lisa held, and then Lisa turned round and they both waved. I giggled. Well-- it was about 65 degrees outside. Why not?
I washed, brushed teeth, and shuffled down the front stairs. Little J.J. (3) was sitting on the dining room floor playing with trucks. 'Uh-oh,' he said, looking up at me then. 'Someone has no clothes on!'
I laughed. 'And good morning to you too!' I teased.
'Mummy! She has no clothes on!'
I stepped in to the kitchen and Mother was there, just pouring out water for tea. 'Well,' she said, 'I was wondering when you would join the day.'
I smiled and leaned on the counter. 'Well, I saw those other two birds out there.'
'Yes,' they're out there.... I'm sure Lisa was up at the crack of dawn.'
'And tomorrow is Daylight Saving's....'
'Yes.'
I took the cup she gave me and made my way back to the small parlour and stepped outside. The late-morning sun was actually hot-- out of the breeze, at the back of the house, it must have been 75. 'Wow,' I sighed.
'Janine!' Lisa ran up past the pool to me. 'You're up!'
I nodded. 'I see you two are busy.'
She nodded. 'Daddy told us to do something while we are out here. Jessy picked cleaning up.'
Daddy was somewhere else; I heard the tractor off past the kitchen. 'Well, I'll help if you want. Though I'd rather....'
Lisa giggled. 'Do nothing?'
I nodded and we both laughed.
I had missed breakfast and so only ate when Mother served grilled-cheese sandwiches at noon. It's Lent, so we won't be having meat. We all came in to eat, even Daddy. The three of us unclothed people sat outside at the table. Afterwards Jessy and dragged out chaises out to the lawn and read. Lisa brought a blanket and lay on the grass beside me. About an hour later Mother sent J.J. out to collect her for a nap. She complained, but went. Jessy and I lay out in the sun for another hour or more. It was absolutely delightful.
As I write this I have not had clothes on all day (except for sneakers but I never count footwear). I will have to get dressed for church tomorrow, of course... and that's not quite a good enough reason to not go, but believe me I've been tempted. I can't believe this weather trend will last; if I were a bettor my money would be on more snow, closer to Easter, just enough to ruin everyone's optimism, not because I'm a pessimist but because this winter season has just been weird we should expect what we're afraid to expect.
So for now I am enjoying it, savouring the sensation, so to speak. After supper Jessy and I watched 'Bring It On' on Oxygen and I sat down in the TV theatre wrapt up in two blankets because it's been chilly in the basement all day. But the blankets were way more than I needed and I was actually uncomfortable. I just kept them on because Daddy came down to watch it with us... and Lisa though Daddy was uncomfortable with the language Oxygen allowed in their TV edit and sent her up stairs. That's funny because all week there have been commercials about being the boss of your TV and blocking certain shows. I hope he doesn't block Oxygen just because of a few words. I don't use those words and neither does Jessy, and neither of us would ever let Lisa use them. Sometimes the best influences are ourselves, you know.
Speaking of influences, little Lisa was naked all night too. Mother tucked her in and she insisted on not wearing pyjamas. Oh, well.
...
03 March 2009
The Snow Bunny
Tuesday 2 March 2009
On Monday afternoon, even as the snow came cascading down all round us, Jessy came into my room, naked except for sneakers and socks, and said, 'I got an idea.'
I looked up from poking away at this computer. 'What is it? And aren't you cold?'
'No,' she said. 'I have a fire. I want to go out and take pictures.'
I narrowed my eyes at her, thinking. 'Okay.... What kind of pictures?'
She giggled. 'Cute pictures. Come on.'
Suddenly I realised what she meant. 'You are not thinking--'
'Well, it might be cute, you know. I saw this really good spot--' She leaned over the other chair, across from me, to see out the window. 'Just around the corner from here, against the wall.... I was thinking, just for a minute, I could kind of recline there, and--'
'You imbecile,' I said. 'It's coming down like crazy.'
'But it's supposed to stop, and then--'
'Jessy, you are not serious.'
She stood up straight, glanced at herself in my mirror, and then looked round at me again. 'Well.... I just thought it would be cute.'
'And cold!'
She shrugged. 'Only for a minute, and then I'll come in. My fire is going really well, so--'
'You could catch pneumonia out there!'
She made a face. 'I'm not that sickly,' she said. 'You and I have taken out the trash without coats. Without shoes. Gotten the mail. You know. It's not the end of the world for one minute.'
'It would take me that long to set up the camera,' I said. 'And you know nothing's going to come out with this much snow in the air.' I actually looked then. 'And the light is fading.'
She shrugged, disappointed, and went back to her room.
In a few minutes I followed her. She was right-- her room was toasty warm, illuminated only by the cracking birch-and-hickory fire and the fading lights outside her windows that face the ocean, away from the sunlight. Anyone would have happily taken refuge there from the cold outside. 'And you know,' I said, 'if Daddy ever found out....'
'All right, we won't do it. I just thought it'd be cute.'
I smiled. 'It would be cute,' I said. 'But what would you ever do with those pictures?'
She shrugged, as before. 'Just... have them. You know.'
I smiled at her. 'Just don't put them up on FaceBook!.'
'I can't,' she said. 'I would lose my general rating.'
I nodded. She would, you know.
Over dinner, just to tease her, I mentioned it. Daddy sat back and laughed. Mother looked from one of us to the other with this worried look, as though we were totally serious. 'That's really funny,' Daddy said. 'My cousin had a girlfriend who got him to take her picture lying in the snow in a bikini. But this is not quite the same thing....'
'No,' I said, 'it's not.'
'And,' said Daddy, 'you're not going to do it.'
Jessy nodded, blushing. 'Okay, Daddy.'
Lisa looked wide-eyed from one of us to the other. That evening she came into my room. 'Jessy wants to go outside with no clothes on?'
I nodded.
'Wouldn't that be cold?'
I laughed. 'Terribly.'
'That's silly.'
'She thought it would be cute,' I said.
Lisa giggled. 'It would be. Can I--?'
'No.'
Today (Tuesday) we had school again. The sun came out and the snow began to melt. It was not even very cold at all. Upon returning home we found ourselves alone in the house-- Daddy had gone out somewhere and Mother had taken J.J. to pick up Lisa at school. Jessy was ecstatic. 'Let's do it now!' she said.
'What? No-- you heard what Daddy said.'
'Then we won't tell him! Come on, Janine, please! For me!' And she began peeling off her clothes.
Five minutes later, after standing in Gran's first-floor room studying the corner of the garden wall outside, we had set up the shots. I stood, with no coat even, on a clear place of the garden walk and my twittish sister dropped her robe-- really dropped it in the snow, as there was nothing to hang it on-- and in her sneakers and socks again bounded across some untouched snow to her chosen place along the garden wall. I snapped about 14 pictures of her, standing by the gate, waving, posing, and even reclining in the snow itself. Actually most of them are really cute. Jessy is always cute, and in the bright sunlight, with her hair blown about in the bit of breeze that carried inside the garden, and her skin still carrying a pretty good suntan (yes--all over), she looked great. But she became red and cold and by the time her lips were turning blue there was really no point in taking photos of her any more, so I threw her the robe and ushered her back inside.
The pics are up on her computer and on mine, for safekeeping.
And, NO--- they WILL NOT be made available on FaceBook or by either of us to anyone. Do not ask.
...
On Monday afternoon, even as the snow came cascading down all round us, Jessy came into my room, naked except for sneakers and socks, and said, 'I got an idea.'
I looked up from poking away at this computer. 'What is it? And aren't you cold?'
'No,' she said. 'I have a fire. I want to go out and take pictures.'
I narrowed my eyes at her, thinking. 'Okay.... What kind of pictures?'
She giggled. 'Cute pictures. Come on.'
Suddenly I realised what she meant. 'You are not thinking--'
'Well, it might be cute, you know. I saw this really good spot--' She leaned over the other chair, across from me, to see out the window. 'Just around the corner from here, against the wall.... I was thinking, just for a minute, I could kind of recline there, and--'
'You imbecile,' I said. 'It's coming down like crazy.'
'But it's supposed to stop, and then--'
'Jessy, you are not serious.'
She stood up straight, glanced at herself in my mirror, and then looked round at me again. 'Well.... I just thought it would be cute.'
'And cold!'
She shrugged. 'Only for a minute, and then I'll come in. My fire is going really well, so--'
'You could catch pneumonia out there!'
She made a face. 'I'm not that sickly,' she said. 'You and I have taken out the trash without coats. Without shoes. Gotten the mail. You know. It's not the end of the world for one minute.'
'It would take me that long to set up the camera,' I said. 'And you know nothing's going to come out with this much snow in the air.' I actually looked then. 'And the light is fading.'
She shrugged, disappointed, and went back to her room.
In a few minutes I followed her. She was right-- her room was toasty warm, illuminated only by the cracking birch-and-hickory fire and the fading lights outside her windows that face the ocean, away from the sunlight. Anyone would have happily taken refuge there from the cold outside. 'And you know,' I said, 'if Daddy ever found out....'
'All right, we won't do it. I just thought it'd be cute.'
I smiled. 'It would be cute,' I said. 'But what would you ever do with those pictures?'
She shrugged, as before. 'Just... have them. You know.'
I smiled at her. 'Just don't put them up on FaceBook!.'
'I can't,' she said. 'I would lose my general rating.'
I nodded. She would, you know.
Over dinner, just to tease her, I mentioned it. Daddy sat back and laughed. Mother looked from one of us to the other with this worried look, as though we were totally serious. 'That's really funny,' Daddy said. 'My cousin had a girlfriend who got him to take her picture lying in the snow in a bikini. But this is not quite the same thing....'
'No,' I said, 'it's not.'
'And,' said Daddy, 'you're not going to do it.'
Jessy nodded, blushing. 'Okay, Daddy.'
Lisa looked wide-eyed from one of us to the other. That evening she came into my room. 'Jessy wants to go outside with no clothes on?'
I nodded.
'Wouldn't that be cold?'
I laughed. 'Terribly.'
'That's silly.'
'She thought it would be cute,' I said.
Lisa giggled. 'It would be. Can I--?'
'No.'
Today (Tuesday) we had school again. The sun came out and the snow began to melt. It was not even very cold at all. Upon returning home we found ourselves alone in the house-- Daddy had gone out somewhere and Mother had taken J.J. to pick up Lisa at school. Jessy was ecstatic. 'Let's do it now!' she said.
'What? No-- you heard what Daddy said.'
'Then we won't tell him! Come on, Janine, please! For me!' And she began peeling off her clothes.
Five minutes later, after standing in Gran's first-floor room studying the corner of the garden wall outside, we had set up the shots. I stood, with no coat even, on a clear place of the garden walk and my twittish sister dropped her robe-- really dropped it in the snow, as there was nothing to hang it on-- and in her sneakers and socks again bounded across some untouched snow to her chosen place along the garden wall. I snapped about 14 pictures of her, standing by the gate, waving, posing, and even reclining in the snow itself. Actually most of them are really cute. Jessy is always cute, and in the bright sunlight, with her hair blown about in the bit of breeze that carried inside the garden, and her skin still carrying a pretty good suntan (yes--all over), she looked great. But she became red and cold and by the time her lips were turning blue there was really no point in taking photos of her any more, so I threw her the robe and ushered her back inside.
The pics are up on her computer and on mine, for safekeeping.
And, NO--- they WILL NOT be made available on FaceBook or by either of us to anyone. Do not ask.
...
01 March 2009
Something in the atmosphere
Sunday 1 March 2009
It is March now. Snow falls from a leaden sky, swirlling round the corners of Terncote Castle like an ominous portend. Out beyond the garden wall a leaden sky hovers over the slow, rolling slate-grey sea. Behind me a small fire of hickory crackles and seethes soothingly, and, illuminated by the firelight and the glow of the computer screen, my room is comfortably warm and dry. I am in a long flannel nightgown and socks now, but this afternoon I was in much less as I lay curled up in bed reading over my writing. A glass of wine, unfinished since dinner, sits with the last of its second ice cube dissipating into the golden sheen. I am content.
Jessy came in earlier, herself much less dressed than I, to report that 'Amazing Race' is on again and asking if I would watch it. I declined, and she dragged a quilt wrapt round her shoulders out to the stairs and descended with little Lisa to watch it in the TV room down below. I believe the whole wing this end to be dark but for my computer and firelight. But we often leave Terncote in darkness here. It is no gothic mansion, but we are frugal and not a little bit romantic. I often carry a candle round with me rather than switch on unnecessary lights. Mother (my stepmother) came in with one not an hour ago, 'checking on' me, as she said, but really to find like-minded company, for she knows I am always a little dramatic and much more traditional than most people my age, and she likes that about me.
Sometimes I really like to think I belong to another century. It's something I got from my own mother, I know. She so loved living a traditional kind of life. All Daddy's experience in the limelight meant little to her. It was not what she loved about him. To her, he was just a man, gentle, kind, intelligent, cultured, affectionate, and a little vulnerable, who needed to be loved for who he was, not what he was. From that marriage came Jessy and me. And we cannot escape the inevitability of what we have become any more than we can avoid being human beings. If Mommy were here right now she would have lit this fire herself, sat back with me in bed to read along with me, worn her flannel nightshirt and socks like I'm wearing mine and declined the invitation to watch a modern 'reality show' on TV for the chance to type some atmospheric philosophies on a personal online journal during a late-evening snowstorm in March.
...
It is March now. Snow falls from a leaden sky, swirlling round the corners of Terncote Castle like an ominous portend. Out beyond the garden wall a leaden sky hovers over the slow, rolling slate-grey sea. Behind me a small fire of hickory crackles and seethes soothingly, and, illuminated by the firelight and the glow of the computer screen, my room is comfortably warm and dry. I am in a long flannel nightgown and socks now, but this afternoon I was in much less as I lay curled up in bed reading over my writing. A glass of wine, unfinished since dinner, sits with the last of its second ice cube dissipating into the golden sheen. I am content.
Jessy came in earlier, herself much less dressed than I, to report that 'Amazing Race' is on again and asking if I would watch it. I declined, and she dragged a quilt wrapt round her shoulders out to the stairs and descended with little Lisa to watch it in the TV room down below. I believe the whole wing this end to be dark but for my computer and firelight. But we often leave Terncote in darkness here. It is no gothic mansion, but we are frugal and not a little bit romantic. I often carry a candle round with me rather than switch on unnecessary lights. Mother (my stepmother) came in with one not an hour ago, 'checking on' me, as she said, but really to find like-minded company, for she knows I am always a little dramatic and much more traditional than most people my age, and she likes that about me.
Sometimes I really like to think I belong to another century. It's something I got from my own mother, I know. She so loved living a traditional kind of life. All Daddy's experience in the limelight meant little to her. It was not what she loved about him. To her, he was just a man, gentle, kind, intelligent, cultured, affectionate, and a little vulnerable, who needed to be loved for who he was, not what he was. From that marriage came Jessy and me. And we cannot escape the inevitability of what we have become any more than we can avoid being human beings. If Mommy were here right now she would have lit this fire herself, sat back with me in bed to read along with me, worn her flannel nightshirt and socks like I'm wearing mine and declined the invitation to watch a modern 'reality show' on TV for the chance to type some atmospheric philosophies on a personal online journal during a late-evening snowstorm in March.
...
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.
...
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.
...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)