It's curtains, sheee?

I am ashamed, loyal readers, to admit that until about, oh, three hours ago, we had no curtains in our bedroom. This wasn't a problem, since the house next to ours is set further back, so they were unable to see in our windows--a perk of living in the country. But now the house beyond that one has been renovated from a summer cottage into a year-round residence, and that one, loyal readers, is evenly set back from the river with ours. Giving those neighbors an unintentional front-row seat to our bedroom, and making curtains a priority.

Oh, sure, we covered up our windows, we're not heathens, after all...



Not shown: the English flag Nicki used during the 2006 World Cup, used for covering up the right window

...but somehow using a British flag seemed so...collegial.

(For educational purposes, must just point out that this flag is actually known as the King's Colours...we use this flag when we're reenacting. This flag was created just after the union of Scotland and England...St. David's cross, a red "X" was added later when the monarchy realised that they had Wales as well.)

So, curtains. I have been halfheartedly looking for something--anything--but the availability of curtains in my price range is depressingly limited. It's hard to pay $30 for some cheap polyester thing that I could make myself for half the price. I can sew, after all! But there again--I get distracted so easily. If I can't do a project in two hours, forget it. I think that's one of the reasons I'm not "crafty." I build things out of sheer desperate necessity, usually weeks after a deadline and only then if I can't buy it somewhere.

Today, after watching the neighbors enjoying their dock (the rockfish are running!), I finally decided to make some damme curtains already. I started by surfing around the internet...and quickly ran across this site. Using drop-cloths as curtains seemed right up my alley. However, I had a different set of criteria: first of all I wanted to spend no money. With the amount of fabric and notions we have floating around this house, there was no reason to go out and buy fabric. That included, secondly, a new curtain rod. There are several of the boring "cover up with anything that has a channel" variety of curtain rods out in the garage, and I was determined to use one to save money (see previous statement). Curtain clippies are nice, but they do require a curtain rod that is not ashamed to be seen. Thirdly, I had no drop cloths. And I have an inherent dislike of sewing projects that involve no actual sewing...in my humblest, most polite of opinions, if you're gonna be crafty, you're gonna have to put in a hem every now and then.

So, to start with. I had no drop cloths, but I have sheets. Lots and lots of random sheets. I pulled out a plain white one with a bit of satin edging at the fall and thought "great." Except this sheet didn't belong to me, and, while I was totally willing to slice it in half and hem it, I wasn't sure that Jeff's mom would appreciate it. Also, a curtain that opened to the side would mean revealing an ugly curtain rod. Roman shades perhaps? But, urgg, that would require measuring and sewing rings and being fiddly and perfect and that just seemed...like a lot of work.

In the end, what I ended up doing was this. I folded the top of the sheet down enough so that the fall of body reached the top of the window almost to the floor. Then I ran a straight seam using a basting stitch along the seamline that held the satin detail in place...one quick seam that can be ripped out easily. This created a channel that was 17 and 3/8" deep...hiding the ugly curtain rod.

Now what I had looked like this:



Not shown: piles of clean laundry that haven't been put away for three days.

Usually I get annoyed when chirpy crafty people go "I used some buttons I just HAPPENED TO HAVE LYING AROUND for this next step!" but in this case, that's exactly what happened. I used some buttons that I just happened to have lying around, tacking them on to the sheet at the level of the seam. Then I cut a length of jute twine, knotted it to make a loop, and whipped it to the back of the sheet, again at the level of the seam. I used jute twine to try to achieve a "shabby chic" look with the white fabric and the bronze buttons. When the loop is pulled under the curtain and buttoned on to the button, it polonnaises the curtain like an eighteenth century dress. And it has the unexpected effect of looking like a sail.



Not shown: Nicki doing the happy dance when she realises she has an awesome curtain that LOOKS LIKE A SAIL.

So what do you think? I'm pretty pleased. Not only does it fulfill all my requirements: cheap, using materials I have, hiding ugly curtain rods, bonus sail-like qualities, but it's easy to get up and down and it's clean looking. I'm hoping to get permission to cut a sheet in half soon so I can do the same thing to a dormer window facing the front of the house...but judging by how long it took me to get around to making these curtains, don't hold your breath.

Conversations with Kismet, pt 14

ME: Would you like a rawhide chewstick?

KISMET: YES! I LOVE RAWHIDE CHEWSTICKS!

ME: Ok, here you go!

KISMET: YES YES YES, OH BOY HOWDY.

ME: I better not find that buried in my pillow later.

KISMET: No'm.

ME: Hey, where are you going?

KISMET: Nowhere.

ME: You went in my bedroom to bury that in my pillow, didn't you?

KISMET: ... No.

But, in his defence, he did go dig it up later and eat it.

The CDC has been offering a series of workshops as part of the continuing celebration of our 75th anniversary, and last Saturday I got to host one on Pockets, Workbags and Market Wallets. It was a lot of work, doing research on the items I was going to talk about and getting all the materials ready, but in the end it was a lot of fun. The pockets were the most in depth part--more of them survive and they have a longer history and are better documented, but workbags were also interesting, meant to be heavily decorated and showed off. Market wallets are the plastic bag of the eighteenth century...everyone used them, but no one thought to save one or write about it. I even got to go into collections and take pictures of the pockets and workbags the had there. A huge room full of drawers and shelves, holding centuries worth of clothing, textiles and other fabric-related bric a brac. Drooooool.

(Here are some pictures...but please don't tell collections I posted them. They will find me.)


Flamework wallets. One of the volunteers opened this drawer, looking for more pockets, said "oh, you're not interested in this" and I quickly snapped a pic before she shut it again. Oh, the colours! Hard to imagine they're so bright after two hundred years.


Embroidered pocket. Notice the asymmetry. Pockets were one of a kind and individual.


Housewifes. Again, another drawer I "wasn't interested in." The one on the right is actually made out of a thin leather. The ones on the left have tiny mirrors in them. Why, I don't know, but they were gorgeous. Oh, I tell you I could have spent hours in there.

But, I'm glad it's over. Now I can focus on working on my play and the evening programs. And walking Kismet. And giving him baths when he attempts to dig to China.

Pirates! Right behind you!

As a loyal member of His Most Imperial Majesty's Royal Navy, I, of course, abhor pirates, which is why I don't play pirates on Facebook. I'd rather wear a shiny blue uniform than a gold earring and parrot. Last Saturday Jeff took me to Nauticus, a huge maritime museum in Norfolk Virginia, where the USS Wisconsin is parked, to see the Real Pirates! exhibit. It was cold and windy and miserable, which are three of the best reasons I can think of for traipsing around a museum exhibit.

The Real Pirates! exhibit is hosted by the National Geographic Society. It is comprised solely of artifacts lifted from the Whydda (say it like a Southerner saying "widow" --widda) which went down in 1717. Originally built to be a slave ship, the Whydda was captured by Sam Bellamy of New England, an out of work sailor who turned pirate so he could earn enough money to marry his sweetheart. Unfortunately the ship sank on his way back to Cape Cod. I'll let you read about the rest of it on the website. Nauticus has actually hired some real pirates, the Moody Crewe, to come and set up their gear every other Saturday and explain things to guests, letting them touch original tools and guns. I was hard pressed not to point out the inaccuracies of their clothes (one guy was, I swear, wearing his Civil War shirt), but they did make me snigger.

What made me laugh the most though was Jeff's careful examination of a model of the ship: "Why does it have a British flag on it along with a Jolly Roger?" I replied, merrily, "Oh, to confuse the enemy. 'Hum, hum, hum, just a British ship, here we are, being British, just sailing---OH NOES, WE'RE REALLY PIRATES HAHAHAHAHAHAHA, GIVE US YOUR BOOTY.'"

I can see why people like pirates, just as long as you remember that pirates are not Johnny Depp in eyeliner. Pirates are apparently a very democratic crew, but they like to kill and pillage and drink far more than is good for anyone's health.

I'm in a better mood today...I came home to two emails about the Billy Lee project, one with an attachment that contained all the sources mentioning Lee. Love historians so much. You get someone who shares your passion, and you can geek out for hours. I also got an email from a person at CW, saying how the play what I wrote for them has a "sparkle we haven't seen in the evening programs before." Ooooh, I'm gonna print that out and put it in my journal. Little bit o' praise goes a long way.

Hanger moment

I'm sure other sewers will appreciate the moment when your project goes from a pile of fabric strew about the room to a garment that can be hung on a hanger. I call this moment "the hanger moment." Original, huh? It's like reaching the top of a hill and knowing that from now on, you can just sled down the other side. Usually this is where I get hung up...I get frustrated with the finishing (in reality, I have no patience) so clothes go unfinished, details get ignored in my hurry to get the garment on my back.

The hanger moment occured today around three fifteen...I'm standing up in a wedding in late December, and the bride asked me to find something vaguely 1920s as a bridesmaid. I finally found a pattern in Norah Waugh's "The Cut of Women's Clothes 1600-1930," a Poirot Dress. Nicole was able to upscale it, cut out a muslin, and then drape the actual dress for me...I'm just putting it together. It was hard finding a gown that was not bias-y and plunge-y, yet one that was flattering to my voluptuous shape. I like the dress I found...I just hope that it's going together okay. Sewing silk crepe after months of wool and linen is proving challenging.

Man, it is cold up in here today. I am working on a writing project that I may get paid for if I do not screw it up, but all I really want to do is cuddle up with Kismet, who has a much better handle on this Saturday thing. He is lying in bed, snoring. Man. Wish I was a beagle. Then I'd be warm. sigh.

Ever the Optimist

Our apartment is a cave. Seriously. Cool, even in the heat of summer--if it wasn't for the humidity, we'd leave the AC permanently set to "off." Great for the electricity bill, not so great for those who have a yen to garden. As both I and my roommate do.

But hope springs eternal. Nearly a month ago I went to Big Lots and bought some pots, a trowel, and a few "gardeny" things like a little angel sculpture and a solar-powered garden light, as well as forty pounds of potting soil. Which rode around in the trunk of my car for a month. Then yesterday I stopped a Loewe's and bought some plants. I was excited about finally being able to buy whatever plants I wanted, but sad too, because springtime plant-shopping is something mom and I have always done together. And it's hard to sneak plants into your own cart. Also, as I've mentioned, we live in a cave--even our porch is cavelike--so I tried to restrict myself to the shady plants. Meaning, impatiens and begonias. Oh, and one splurge--a hanging fuschia, which is one of my favourites. I had to buy a shepherd's hook for it, so crowded is our porch already with Amaree's geraniums and pansies. She's more optimistic than I am. Although I couldn't resist just one tomato plant. And a stevia plant. Stevia is a sweet, sweet herb you can use in the place of sugar. Should this one take off, I'm going to put it in my tea and on my cereal.

Tonight, finally, I got everything planted. Well, almost everything--I managed to get too many plants, imagine. Some things never change. Guess it's back to the dollar store for more pots. My impatiens sit encircling a spike, my begonias are tucked cozily into a medium-sized pot, and my tomato is buried up to its neck in a giant planter, sitting in the sunniest place on the porch. Although, I didn't quite have the heart to buy a cage for it yet. Hope may spring eternal, but I think I'll wait and see if this plant will thrive before I invest in any more gardening equipment.

priorities (i haz them)

I have to apologise for neglecting everyone out there in NLD land. I'm sorry. The new man and I are going to a re-enactment event in two weeks, and we've been scrambling like squirrels to get everything ready. It's not the camping that's the hard part. I've learned that when you go historically camping, you bring a lot of the same stuff. Tents. Firewood. Lanterns. Toothbrushes. Clothes. A Brown Bess or similar flintlock. But the problem is, you can't just grab a tent off the shelf if you're trying to pretend it's 1770. (well, okay, you can. But they're expensive.) So we're having to make a lot of--scratch that, we have to make damme near everything. I've been delegated to make our clothes, while himself is busy making the camp gear. And then we have to disguise our modern stuff. Toothpaste in a modern tube? Unacceptable! But toothpaste carefully squeezed out into a prepared tin? Perfect. Bread from the fancy-schmancy bakery down the street comes out of its plastic bag and into linen poke bags. It's like a propmaster's dream around here...ninety-nine cent wooden boxes from China take on new life with a coat of paint and hold sewing notions oh so neatly. And I've been coming home from work and sewing like a madperson, trying to get all our clothes together. Sure, I could use a machine for most of it...but that wouldn't be historically accurate, would it?

So I'm sorry if it's been quiet around here. Just assume the best, that I'm happy and busy, and I promise I'll upload some photos when I get back. (Yes, cameras are okay, as long as there's no flash after dark and they're carefully packed away in a poke bag when not in use.) I'm so excited to be heading out into the great outdoors again. Now. Let's hope our handmade canvas tent can stand up to a spring rain...or better yet, let's pray for sun.

Operation One Ring: Success!

Erin and I have been twirling invisible moustaches and giggling madly under our respective breaths for the past two weeks now, because we've been scheming, deviously. Our friend Nicole has been dating her boyfriend Evan for six years now, and even though they're not technically engaged, she's already started planning the wedding...well, after all, he's in the Navy, so if you're dealing with a Navy schedule, it's important to plan ahead. I'm sure after awhile Evan was starting to feel like Nicole had it all figured out, so he turned to Erin and I for a little help to make sure his proposal was spectacular.

"Well," I mused as Erin and I pow wow'd on a break about two weeks ago, drinking coffee, "We could see if we could sneak him into the Capitol Ball..."

The Capitol Ball is an event CW has once or twice a week. It's held at the Capitol, and the group is taken through several different rooms. In the first room is a hysterical puppet show, the second room features period singing by some of the men of the town (nothing truly bawdy, alas, but the last time I was there I did recognise "Roast Beef of Old England"), and the third room has the dancing.

I called up the person in charge of evening programs. Could this happen? He laughed and said "why not" and told me to call the person in charge of the Ball. She was sort of taken aback when I explained what we wanted to happen, but warmed to the idea quickly. Erin, on the other hand, relayed information to Evan about when to arrive, where to arrive and--oh yes, if he could just send her his measurements, she'd try to get a costume for him...? Thank God for the kindness of the CW family...we managed to pull this together in about a week. Our incomparable boss's boss even pulled a costume for Erin less than two hours after getting the groom's measurements.

We arrived in the historical area early enough to make a round at one of the Christmas parties put on by a CW vice-president. All I can say is: watch out for the artillery punch. Then we crossed the street and headed over to the Capitol. Erin, Nicole and Barrett, another Navy guy who knew Erin, warmed themselves by the fire as I quietly conferred with the woman in charge of the program--who I'd only spoken to on the phone twice. "Everything okay?" I said. "Yup. They're all excited in there," she said, and we raised our voices about the weather, so as not to cause any undue alarm.

The puppet show was funnier than I remembered--maybe it was the players, or maybe just the artillery punch--and the singing was more enjoyable too. We were in a group with about a dozen people, mostly couples wearing evening clothes who had come from the CW taverns. ("Taverns" meaning five-star restaurants in this case, not "taverns" like wood-paneled bars back home.) When we got to the room where the dancing was held, Nicole, Erin and I all exclaimed over the dancers...they all had on their finest gowns, silk with miles of trim and decorations, gowns we had seen hanging on mannequins for weeks as they were trimmed. Nicole and I whispered together about the way the light caught the ruffles and rouches, but in the back of my mind my heart was pounding wildly...

Then the dancing was declared closed and the dancing master thanked Lady Dunmore for her graciousness. But Lady Dunmore rose and said "I understand there is a young man who has a pressing question for a member of the company...?" and the dancing master said "oh! yes!" and quickly ran through the door at the back of the room. Evan appeared, resplendent in a dark cream coloured coat and waistcoat, with chocolate breeches and a gold-trimmed hat. It took a second for Nicole to recognise him, and then I felt her nails dig into my arm. Somehow she managed to get to her feet and walk towards him, and then he uttered words of eternal love, dropped to one knee and proposed.

Nicole said yes, of course.

Erin and I applauded, cried a little and sighed, happy we had pulled it off--more than happy that we hadn't been rumbled in the past week. The CW company gave three hearty hip hip huzzahs! while the guests looked on bemused...then we were sweeping out into the cold night air. The guests congratulated the happy couple and disappeared, and we were surrounded by silks and satins, all the CW folk hugging and congratulating, Erin and I thanking everyone as sincerely as we could. It was too cold to linger very long, but we did manage another round of huzzahs.

All in all, a very splendid proposal, I think. A lot of fun to plan--and a fun night. I'm glad we could make it special for them. Congratulations!

pants, delayed

Sorry, loyal readers, didn't mean to shout. I blame the internet: now that I'm used to instant gratification, not being able to find an online vendor for genuine nankeen is annoying. Of course--after I'd waited for twelve hours I could go to work and get the phone number of SEVERAL places which sell nankeen. Arg. Not that I was planning on buying any fabric last night, but when the occasional finally does arise, I want to be able to snap it up thatfast. I need some new pants. Historical pants aside, I'm quickly running out of things to encase my legs in. I bought a couple of pairs of jeans from Old Navy last August which have proved to be nothing but crap in denim form...they fit so nicely when I wrote about them last, but the cloth has stretched beyond all recognition. The waistband is now so big that I can't wear them without a belt--and the belt cinches in so much fabric that the jeans hang off my hips by the belt loops. My lone remaining pair of Lane Bryant jeans are fraying on the inseam. I'm praying they'll hold out until January, when LB will be having a huge sale and I'm going to restock my wardrobe...I've learned my lesson: if $25 for a pair of jeans sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Oh well.

This, by the way, is not a cry in the dark for new pants. I was just observing how crap my wardrobe has become: if worse comes to worse, I can wear my polyester "business casual" pants which have hung, untouched but for church, in my closet since I moved here. But I was thinking I'd kill two birds with one stone and make myself a pair of trousers that I can wear around. On my long list of clothes I want to make is a set of sailor's slops--loose fitting clothes like those donned by the men in Nelson's navy. Yeah, I know, I know, but what good is mad sewing skills if you can't make silly costumes and prance around?

no pants for you!

DO YOU KNOW HOW FRUSTRATING IT IS WHEN YOU WANT TO MAKE SOME PROPER HISTORICAL NAVY TROWSERS AND YOU CAN'T FIND ANY EFFIN' ORGANIC NANKEEN?! INCREDIBLY FRUSTRATING!!! AAAAAARGH!!!

tree hunting

I didn't realise until I got to church this morning that today is the first Sunday in Advent...Christmas is closer than I thought. Not in an "aieee, only twenty-five more days of shopping left!" but closer so that now I don't feel guilty for decorating the entire apartment for Christmas. I love Christmas--the whole season, the singing, the cheerfulness, making things special, the food, the reason to get out the nice clothes and make a fuss over little traditions. Since I already have all my shopping done, I get to focus on the other parts of making Christmas special. Last year I tried to decorate our apartment, but it didn't turn out well. This year though, I was inspired by the natural decorations that festoon Colonial Williamsburg and I decided to do the same thing to our apartment. So yesterday Kismet and I went for a walk in the woods to collect materials.

First we went thrifting--well, I thrifted, Kizzy napped on my cloak in the backseat--and I found a couple of red Christmas baskets, a wreath with fake cranberries on it, some cut glass candle holders and second-hand Christmas lights. Grand total: eight dollars.

There is a forest behind our house, I've mentioned it before, not exactly the forest primeval, but a mature forest full of holly trees and towering pines. Entering it, you feel like you've stepped into Narnia. I've taken Kizzy on walks there before--there is a little path that winds up and down hills, over exposed roots, through giant trees that were victims of Hurricane Isabelle--it was easier to chop away a part of the tree than drag the entire thing out of the way. There are not many young trees, but on an earlier trip I had spotted it--our Christmas tree.

I brought with me a scissors, my trusty Leatherman, the saw from my toolbox (ironically, an old Christmas present) and several reuseable grocery bags. I quickly learned that the pine boughs I was looking for were impossible to reach--the heavy lush foliage was hundreds of feet over my head. But the trees would drop branches, still laden with green needles, like little pine brooms, and I would go wading off the path after them. Ankle-deep in oak leaves (last season's decoration) I retrieved my prize. Each holly tree I passed was scanned for red: if the tree had berries I'd take a few branches, if not, I'd pass by. And I continually stopped (much to Kizzy's annoyance) to pick up pinecones.

About forty minutes into the forest the path cants up sharply, and the ground almost peeks out of the woods. Here sapling pines fight tooth and nail for sunlight. The winner gets to be another hundred-foot tall tree. The losers end up fertilizer. This was where our Christmas tree was--not one of the of spindly long needled pines, but a narrow, spiky short-needled breed which was not about to come quietly. I wished for my leather gloves. In the end, it only took about a minute to cut through the one-inch trunk, and the whole tree fit neatly into my orange Sainsbury's bag. I was carrying dozens of little pine brooms, a half a bag of cones, holly branches and now the tree. Lightweight, but awkward, Kizzy not understanding that those of us with a higher center of gravity now needed to move more slowly.

As I walked out of the forest again, taking a microscopic sampling of its beauty, I was afraid I'd get busted, but no one said anything or even noticed, for all I know. When we got back to the house, Kizzy couldn't understand why the pine cones were suddenly forbidden just for being in the house. I used twisty-ties to attach pine boughs to our porch railing, and draped holly over our mantlepiece. Christmas lights shone through them, a place of honor carefully left for Amaree's creche. The pinecones went into the baskets I had bought earlier. Then I carefully drilled through some of Amaree's "burned" gingerbread and tied it to pine with a red ribbon, attaching the whole to each of our bedroom doors. Something sweet to come home to.

The entire adventure took about three hours, and our apartment looks beautiful. The tree hasn't been decorated yet--we're threading popcorn and cranberries, and I'd rather not do that by myself--but even just propped up in the corner being green and spiky it looks beautiful. I'm so delighted to be decorating for Christmas...and I can't wait for it to get here.

Resolved:

No more onion and cheese sandwiches after ten pm. At least not involving onions that have been sitting on the counter for two weeks, apparently scheming my eventual downfall. Damme.

Rumors are still flying fast and thick around here...it makes for a tense working environment when the first thing out of someone's mouth after hello is "are you okay?" meaning "Do you still work here?" And it doesn't make me feel any better to say that the CDC is okay. So far everyone's still employed, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out that if there are less interpreters, there will be less need for clothes.

But in the meantime, we're still soldiering on. Since things have slowed down--both due to the recent layoffs and just the fact that it's fall and there are less visitors--we're getting to work on some of the evening program stuff that takes a long time. Fancy dance clothes, silk gowns and suits. And because the women's team is waaaay ahead and the men's team is waaay behind, the two supervisors have compromised and just started handing out work based on due dates instead of gender. So I've landed a beautiful red silk coat and breeches for one of the musicians. It is a joy to work on: miles of red silk lined with goldish taffeta and trimmed with gold lace. And the designer even agreed with me that the breeches were looking a little "plain" and they really needed some gold trim along the kneeband. I love eighteenth century men. Peacocks, the lot of 'em.

One of the cool things that CW does are the Electronic Field Trips. Basically, they are pre-recorded scenes from various points in history, mixed in with live question and answer sessions. Schools can tune into the EFT, which is beamed via satellite all over the world, but if they are registered, they can also call in and ask questions, which are answered live on the show. CW also hosts forums, email-in questions and video questions. Not everyone makes it onto the show, but every question is answered.

The one on Thursday was about Yorktown. This EFT was originally filmed a few years ago, during the 225 anniversary of the siege, but the live section was just as live as ever. It featured a historian from CW, a park ranger from the Yorktown historic site, and two interpreters portraying Lieutenant John Laurens and Loyalist John Cooke, respectively. People from the CDC got to go over to the educational center auditorium and watch the live broadcast. It was highly entertaining, especially the parts were Laurens and Cooke would get into catfights about who was being a traitor to what cause. Meeeeow!

Afterward, we got a little tour of the backstage operations. In order to answer any questions that come in, there are two rooms full of volunteers manning phone banks and computers, books and other resources scattered around--including one of the military program guys, who was explaining about mortars when we peeked in. Then we got to see the set where the magic happened. Nicole and I were mostly impressed by the electric rigs, which were moved up and down by electric winches. The performers had disappeared for lunch, and we were hard pressed not to follow them into the lunchroom and gently remind them that wigs and coats should not be tossed over chairbacks...it's a little odd to see Lieutenant Laurens eating pasta while talking on his cellphone. Mostly because theatre training dictates one should NEVER eat in costume...but rules are a little more relaxed here.

But it was really cool to see another side of CW, and to hear some of the questions that the kids had about Yorktown. General questions about the battle and about the experiences of the soldiers, but really specific questions too, like "What is that metal thing around his neck?" I'm hoping in the future to get involved with these programs, so it was nice to see how they work on the day of broadcast. They're a big deal, and such a great resource for people who can't afford to make the trip to Virginia.

Other than that, it's been a normal week. I worked as a storyteller again last night, once again in the Wythe south office. It was harder last night, mostly because we had a fire going and I was really hot. Also constantly worrying that I was going to catch my petticoats on fire, but happily that did not happen. My clothes do smell like campfire smoke now, but I guess that just contributes to the "periodness" of it all.

Veteran's Day

I didn't ask for today off, but I got it anyway, because Veteran's Day is a federal holiday. So I'm sitting at home, feeling weird for taking advantage of a holiday that I did nothing to earn--but of course, I take advantage of rights that I didn't earn every day. Rights that were won for me by countless generations of veterans.

So thanks, vets. For everything you've done for America, I salute and honor you.

One of the things I did accomplish today was the first step in bayberry candle making. I had picked about a pound of bayberries (that took over an houhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifr) and I'm hoping to get about four ounces of wax. Which will be enough to scent some candles, but I'll have to supplement it with beeswax or something. I felt slightly giddy when I was straining the boiled berries and my hands came away covered in wax...I mean, I knew in theory this was supposed to work, but hey--it actually does!

I'm glad that I got to sleep in today, because last night was my first night on the Ghosts Amongst Us storytelling tour. I was a little, okay a lot, nervous about performing...firstly because I haven't done it in so long, secondly because the places where the stories are performed are actually, honestly haunted. (Oh, and thirdly, because I was going to be wearing stays for four hours and can I just say that they are the devil's own creation?! People will ask me why I like to cross dress in the eighteenth century and then laugh when I tell them I don't like stays, but I am being completely serious.) When I got to the historical area, however, I discovered that I was going to be performing in the Wythe South Office. George Wythe was a lawyer, teacher and mentor to Thomas Jefferson and his house still stands in CW. It is haunted. Next door is the south office, a small, one room building.

Normally there are three people involved at each site: a storyteller, an attendant, who sits outside and warns the storyteller when people are approaching, and a tour guide, who takes people around from site to site. But when I got to the south office, there was no one there. When I opened the door, my heart sank. I had been expecting to perform in a house, so that I could exit dramatically from the room at the end of my story, but here there was only one small room with a large fireplace, two tables with burning candles, an uneven brick floor and a few small windows. Oh, and a staircase leading up to a second story--not a proper staircase, but a narrow eighteenth century affair with a tricky turn after three steps.

Ooookay. There was nothing for it--I was going to have to make my dramatic exit up this staircase. But there was another problem: no lights upstairs. CW can be pretty casual about authenticity sometimes (machine stitched hems, anyone?) but other times they are spot on. And some buildings are wired for electric lights, some...are not. The south office is not. Happily I found an extra lantern, lit a candle off one of the ones burning downstairs and set it on a wooden box up in the attic so I could see somewhat. Then I practised hiking my skirts and making a dash up the stairs, trying not to kill myself in my eighteenth century shoes in the process. It wasn't easy, but I got through it, although I daresay I showed more ankle than was strictly proper.

Telling the story itself was the easy part. The first two groups were school groups, scrawny twelve year olds who thought they were too cool for ghost stories, but I quickly had them shaking and paying very close attention. The most awkward group included the man who kept smiling and nodding as though he were saying "you're doing good, keep going!" when my story doesn't exactly call for smiling.

Overall, I had a lot of fun. Now I know why everyone brings knitting though...sitting upstairs, waiting for the next group to come through, I had nothing to occupy me, so I resorted to singing. Eighteenth century British naval songs, so not exactly correct, but at least they were of the time period. I had a lot of fun, especially when we got our break and could hang out with some hot cocoa--in addition to not having lights, the south office also has no modern heat. The Wythe house may be haunted, but it also has a damme nice breakroom, complete with sofas and back issues of "People." I'm on the schedule again for Friday, and I'm looking forward to it...now that I've got my feet wet, I'm much less nervous. Although, maybe next time I'll be in a haunted house and have OTHER stories to tell.

that's it?

Supply List for Hanna:

1. Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (deluxe 2 disc edition DVD)
2. 1 pkg chocolate chip cookies
3. 1 case bottled water

I got home to find my roommate had already bought candles--"just in case!" so there wasn't much we needed. I had peanut butter and bread, so if the power went out, we could sit around eating PBJ sandwiches. Thought briefly about buying a little smokey joe grill, but then realised that I just wanted to buy one, I probably didn't need one in case of hurricane. And it turns out my precautions were pretty much in vain. The "hurricane" was a tropical storm by the time it got here--barely that even--and the wind and the rain didn't get any more exciting than it does during a run of the mill storm. We didn't even have any thunder or lightning. Yawn. The only time I got really wet was when I got up at six-thirty to take Kizzy for his first walk. Our mid-morning walk was totally dry, and by the time we went for our evening walk, the sun was out. I'm a little disappointed there wasn't more excitement, but I remember how hellish it was to be without power and water for three days in a dorm in London, so I guess I should count my blessings.

Of course it was pretty miz all afternoon, so I stayed in and watched Sweeney and then Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and worked on the new draperies for our living room...it's such a dark room, and the curtains that are currently hanging there are a heavy, ugly red fake-brocade, so I bought some light peach fake silk--they'll let in more light and brighten things up purely by their colour. I'm so domestic.

A Funny Story

I was going to be really mean and petty and selfish and post a picture of a newborn up here and then say that I had to put a random picture up because I don't have any of Lily yet, but then I decided that would be mean. So I didn't. I know people are busy, I'm not complaining. Newborn baby and all. But I still don't have any photos to share with my rabid readership, and I'm starting to feel like a total narcissist (more than usual, I mean) because the wallpaper on my computer is a picture of me in the ranks. Soon though. Soon.

In the meantime. My roommate and I get along quite well. She's a flighty theatre type, I've been known to have fits of drama myself. Like today when I threw down the frock coat I was altering and declared in a fit of hysteria, "I've ruined it! It was perfect until I touched it with these hands of ineptitude!"

Which is not entirely true: Granted, the sleeves still aren't sitting right, but at least I didn't put the pleats in backwards.

But back to the story. So my roommate and I understand one another. When I told Am about my ambition to Start Recycling, she said, "okay" and then (two weeks later) when I mentioned that the recycling center for Williamsburg was right down the road, she only hesitated a minute before volunteering to take us there, along with two week's worth of recyclables. The problem was though, the drop-off center closed at four, and it was now eight pm. What to do. Picture it: two young women, sitting on a darkened county road, in a black car with the vanity plate "HAM1ET", staring forlornly at their goal which is securely locked behind a ten-foot tall chain link fence.

"What should we do?"

"We could leave it here and they could pick it up tomorrow."

"No, we can't."

"No, I suppose not."

"It's okay. I'll get it on Saturday."

"Or I could come tomorrow. I have tomorrow off."

"I feel bad making you do it. It was my idea."

"It's okay."

"You know what? Let's just leave it. It's not like we're littering."

"Yeah. It's not a crime to recycle."

"Or is it? 'Sorry officer, we just wanted to recycle!'"

"Tee-hee!"

"Maybe we should throw it over the fence so the critters don't get it."

"Okay. I feel so naughty!"

"They've probably got cameras posted. They're going to come knocking on our door tomorrow."

"They probably can track your car."

"Ohmygosh, you're right!"

"Oh well, too late now!"

"This is totally the naughtiest thing I've done all week."

"hee, hee, hee..."

"You totally have to blog about this."

"Oh, absolutely."

The Scariest And Funnest Day in Wmsbrg

A couple of women I work with--Other Nicole and Erin--and I decided to have a Sewing Day yesterday, just to do something different. We all wanted to make period clothes, in a period manner, as well as hang out and chat. I'm working on a suit of clothes--right now I have the linen for the shirt, and I'm slowly putting it together. Sewing period is a little different from modern sewing, as I'm learning. Even the stitches are different, and the seam allowances are smaller. The good part about it is that it's harder to screw up, since you're making garments without a pattern and you can ease and fudge the fabric until it works. The bad part is...there's no pattern. (BTW, I ordered my linen from Wm Booth, Draper, a website that is based in Wisconsin--lots of pretty period stuff and they are really prompt with the shipping.)

Erin was driving up from Hampton, so Nicole and I said we'd meet her at Panera for lunch. On the way there, driving through the parking lot, we were saw a car suddenly screech up and stop. A woman jumped out of the driver's door, and when I rolled down my window, she said "Call 911, my mother's having a seizure!" Suddenly our average, boring Saturday disappeared. I could feel Nicole fumbling for her cell, and since she knew better than I where we were, I leapt out of the car to see if I could help. I've taken CPR classes from the Red Cross, but it's been awhile. But I remembered that a seizure victim should be kept from banging their head around, and--once the seizure passed--to make sure she wasn't choking. I was totally unprepared though, for the sight of a woman in the throes of a grande le mal seizure. When I opened the back door on the passenger side of the car, my heart nearly stopped. The woman there was clenching her teeth and shuddering, and her face was going slightly white-blue. I think my mind must have clicked into super-hyper-memorisation mode, because everything I saw from that point on is etched pretty well into my memory, but I'll spare you the details. I felt for a pulse on her neck and then held her head, trying to decide if the seizure had passed. I could see she wasn't breathing, so I tried to open her mouth. I was ready to do rescutative breathing, but at that point she started breathing on her own again. Not normal breathing, but gaggedy, half-breaths, like someone was pumping on her lungs. I could hear her daughter on the phone explaining her medical history to the paramedics. Meanwhile, I'm patting the woman's head and telling her that we've called 911 and to try to hang on. It was very frightening, but I was trying to be calm and helpful. The woman who stopped us turned out to be a nurse, so she was also calm and collected in this situation, taking her mother's pulse and relaying information on Nicole's cell.

Somewhere in the middle of all this Erin showed up, and then a few minutes later the paramedics arrived. They loaded the unconscious woman into the ambulance, and shut the door. It got very quiet all of a sudden, and I wasn't really sure what to say to the daughter. She thanked us profusely for stopping and so we finally just left. When I got back into the car to go to the restaurant, the trauma of what had happened hit me, and I had to cry for a minute or two. It felt very weird to be going into a restaurant and ordering sandwiches...I remember thinking "I have to go wash my hands, they were in someone's mouth." But we stayed at Panara for nearly two hours, just talking about theatre, and families and CW, and gradually Saturday resumed some of its normalcy. I'm glad that I wasn't a useless wreck in a situation like that but...I think I'm going to sign up for a CPR refresher course.

The rest of the afternoon we spent sewing. Well, Nicole and Erin cut and draped and discussed trimmings, I mostly sat on the sofa practising my handstiches, nursing Midol and wailing about my continued state of spinsterhood (yes, on top of everything else, I got my Friend yesterday too). I did get most of my shirt cut out though, so maybe this afternoon I'll put P&P on and practise my mantua maker's stitch. We ordered calzones the size of footballs for dinner, along with tiramisu, and then watched "Marie Antoinette" until it was time to go to the movie theatre.

Unlike the rest of the world, we had decided to go see "Mama Mia!" opting for light, fluffy, musical, instead of dark, brooding, angst. I'm glad we saw it. I knew it was going to be cheesy and possibly horrible, but instead it was cheesy and incredibly fun and funny. The story takes places on a Greek island, so right away I was in love with it--especially the "Greek chorus" of peasants who popped up in random places to provide backup singers to the main characters. And of course, Meryl Streep was a joy to watch. Even when she was singing cheesy ABBA songs and dancing around in spandex, she can still out-act anyone on screen. By the end of the movie, the jokes and the music had gotten so good that there was literally a ten-minute period where I did not stop laughing. Although part of that might have been various associations that we made on our own, including Colin Firth's "have you ever tried...not being a mutant?" scene on the boat and Pierce Brosnan's wholehearted attempt to rock out. I also appreciated all the beach scenes with the young, hot Greek men dancing around in swimming gear, and Julie Water's use of the word "epharisto" before she bites off the cap of a Mythos beer and chugs it. Ah, Greece.

So yesterday was a very weird day. Alternately terrifying and incredibly entertaining. And also just a lot of fun. It was great to hang out with people who are near to me in age and share my theatrical passions and who don't mind if I get out my soapbox once in a while. Next time though, we may have to be sewing on ABBA costumes...Hallowe'en is coming up, after all...

once upon a time...

Mom and Dad gave me the greatest gift known to mankind for Christmas. A huge suitcase, capable of holding incredible amounts of stuff, up to and including a Vietnamese family of eight. And a second, smaller suitcase, for when I need to go jaunting on weekend visits around the globe. These two bags, red Samsonite, have accompanied me all over the world.

I thought, however, that our time together had come to an end, as most of the world's major airlines have put positively Puritanical baggage restrictions in place. Happily though, Amtrak still allows you to bring obscene amounts of stuff with you, so I trundled out my boxcar-sized suitcase and began packing...only to discover it won't all fit. That's right kids, Nicki's wardrobe has finally expanded to the point where she won't be able to throw it all into a suitcase and escape.

So I have to figure out what to take and what to leave. Take the tank tops, leave the cannolli. I can't believe I managed a move to a foreign country with these suitcases, but a trip across the country leaves me puzzled. Of course, I wasn't packing an electric kettle, small figurines of Nelson & Napoleon, or an iPod dock then--

--and speaking of the iPod, I finally got around to putting the last two Queen CDs on my computer, only to have Grane promptly erase all the music on Napoleon that I had taken off her earlier. I try to give her more room on the hard drive, and this is how she repays me. ARG. I haven't lost any music, but it's all on my external hard-drive and CDs...and I'm running out of time (and inclination) to put it back on my computer. Train leaves in less than twenty-four hours, and I have to figure out how to shoehorn another pair of shoes into my suitcase.

wasabi! also, ships

I'm sure many of my loyal readers have heard about what happened at the Lane Bryant in Tinley Park by now. If you haven't, the short version is that a gunman entered the store last Friday and shot five women dead. One woman survived to give a great description, but they haven't caught the murderer yet.

I work at Lane Bryant--not the same store where this happened, but the feeling is definitely more alert. Our security monitoring system gave us several "panic buttons" we can wear around our necks, and our security guard now stays until we leave, instead of taking off when the store closes. Even so, I nearly had a heart attack when someone knocked on the door and asked us if we were closed. It's incredible how quickly and easily this happened and it's scary thinking it could happen any time. After work, instead of hopping directly on the train I walked down to a Seven-11 for a gallon of milk (because not only have I drunk all my milk, I've drunk most of my roommate's). Several streetlights were off, and a sanitation truck was throwing some kind of haze into the air--I tried not think about what that was too much. The whole city was eerily lit and strangely empty. I can see why they filmed "Batman" here. It took me more than an hour to get home, the train packed with people when it's usually empty. For once, it felt good to be surrounded by people.

Instead of a McDonald's attack (my first option) I found a little pack of California sushi rolls at the Seven-11 for dinner, so now my nasal passages are on fire. Ah, wasabi. Even from a packet you are still good. Tomorrow I'm only working one job (yay) so I'm going to get to the library for the next book about Jack Aubrey. I can't get over how good these books are.

So I'm starting a new project. If you head over to www.bellhollee.blogspot.com you'll find a work in progress by Me, about a character that I've had rolling around in my head for quite awhile now. I think I've got the story worked out, but to induce me to keep writing, I'm going to publish it as I go along. The rules are: A, I must write every day even if it's only a line or two. B, No going back or erasing or revising, not yet. That's it. The story will involve some familiar faces later, so please don't make too much fun of me. There's plenty of historical lit to go around.