...the image of the gentle woman, like Scarlett O'Hara's mother -the book, NOT the movie- has always appealed to me as the height of grace...

I always thought that I would excel at being such a creature, had I been born into times which called for it. They seemed to disappear at the turn of the century. The previous turn of the century, that is.

On one hand, they were what every woman wanted to be like, and on the other hand, they were the most pitiful people on the planet. There was nothing real about that life they lived. That was the outside view of these women. We know, but ignore for the sake of nostalgia, that they were just like us...only better at hiding it.

I pity them and respect them at the same time.

~ ~ ~

January 8, 2000

You may remember that I was supposed to attend my stepmother's baby shower yesterday morning. That's the impression I was under as well. Little did I know that I was also being transported through time.

I walked towards the large house (mental notes; nice lawn, but I spotted dandylions...LARGE house...multi-level lawn...three floors of colonial southern columns). I was impressed, and stayed outside to smoke and compose myself before going inside.

I was out of my element. The hostess of the shower was a Colonel's wife, and the mother of my stepmother's best friend. She WAS the southern lady. I had no idea that my stepmother had it in her too, but there she was in front of me, a gentlewoman. All of her friends were dressed perfectly, not a hair out of place, never did their voices rise, never did they drip a drop of unladylike persperation.

I am the opposite of these women. I thought that I would never try to imulate them. (I seem to say this too often...) How wrong I was.

I, in my jeans and sweater as opposed to their silks and suits, with my ponytailed hair, as opposed to their chignons and french twists...I was enraptued. I matched their tone instead of allowing excitement to make my voice rise, I told not a single dirty joke, and my anectdotes didn't involve the word fuck even once! It was amazing.

The colonel's wife was responsible for making the day flow like melted butter. She was grace, and they were her 12 feet tall attendants with flowing lines and arched brows. They were the definition of feminine strength.

I surrounded myself with that influence and carried it around my shoulder's like a mink stole when I had Adam's family over for dinner last night. Having not seen them since they went batshit on Christmas, there was a chance that things wouldn't go well. I didn't allow that to happen. I AM the Colonel's wife when you walk into my house.

Needless to say the evening went as well as the afternoon.

Yesterday | Main | Tomorrow

I took my picture in the Colonel's bathroom, I'm not sure why I think that's so funny...but I do.

Design, graphics and writing (c)1999/2000 Harvest Designs unless otherwise stated.