In Which I Discover a Treasure from Christian Culture

 I am surprised I spotted them.

And even then I hesitated, leaning forward to peer into the yellowed plastic before gingerly plucking them from amongst all the other knick-knacks on the dimly-lit thrift store shelf.

Carefully, carefully I pried open the sides of the brittle package.

Oh, my goodness! No yellowing here! 

The gorgeous dancing couple dressed in vibrantly-hued traditional European costumes delighted my eye and blessed my soul.

I marveled at the details. 

Her flower wreath and long blond braid. His cap with the multi-colored tassels on one side. The netting overlay on her skirt and the jaunty belt cinching his long vest.

I looked for the price tag: $10

Confident that I had already received $10 worth of value from the charming pair, I purchased it and hurried home.

I looked forward to removing them from the ugly packaging and examining them closer. It was only when I tried to free them that I realized the dancers' feet were permanently attached to the base. I turned it upside down and for the first time noticed that it had a label.

And it was in Polish.

I had no idea what it said. 

Nevertheless, a thrill of joy leapt through me as I thought how perfectly the couple would look displayed in my hutch with all my Polish pottery. I hurried over and found them a spot, center stage, my daily reminder that life is beautiful.

When Women Don Pants, Men Don Dresses and Other Lessons Carved in Granite

Nature abhors a vacuum, right?

This is my explanation for the growing problem of gender confusion.  I am frequently struck, when confronted by cross-dressing men, at how eagerly they embrace the most beautiful elements of women's traditional attire--the ruffles and laces, etc., that truly set apart a woman's clothing from a man's.  These poor, confused fellows seem to know better than most women of today how much these details help a woman represent her charm and delicacy, her dependence, which a man finds such a delightful counterpoint to his leadership role and helps inspire him to love her as Christ loves the Church.

So my dear lady readers, if you desire to establish the Social Reign of Christ the King in the the Masonic Land of  Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity, forego voting at the polls and instead wear beautiful dresses.  You will be surprised at the marvelous impact you will have as you do your part to restore the order established by God.

+++++++

Just the other day I was tugging two trash cans to the road down my long driveway, when one of the roofers who was working on our house rushed to my assistance and valiantly bore my burdens away.  I had had absolutely no interaction with this man previously.  I simply wore a soft gray skirt and soft rose-colored top with flower embroidery.  That did all my communicating for me.

Of course, in some cases, the dress alone is not enough.  For instance, last week, when my new countertops were installed, I, wearing a dress and apron, expressed concern that the new granite countertop that was supposed to be deep enough to use as a bar, was significantly less so than I had discussed with the contractor.  This caused such a flurry of concerned exchanges among the workers, who so desperately wanted to please me, that within minutes the granite man, Mario, brought me his phone with the contractor on the other end.  Fortuitously, the contractor and I had had an occasion the day before to resolve another countertop issue agreeably by my willingness to accept his expert recommendation over my previously decided upon course.

The way it played out was that he had serious reservations about my choice but told me he would do what I wanted.

"You're the boss," he stated, matter-of-factly.

I immediately assured him that I did not want to "be the boss", which somewhat took him aback.

And since he and the granite man both agreed that my plan for dealing with this issue would be unattractive and less usable, I told them that I would happily defer to them, as they were experts and had far more experience in this situation than I.

This news proved quite hard for the contractor to believe; he kept trying to win me over and explain again why I would be unhappy doing it my way.

"You do not have to keep explaining," I assured him.  "I accept your recommendation.  I trust you and Mario to make the best decision, and I leave it to you and him to work out the details."

Pure shock registered on the poor man's face, as well as on the face of the other workers who had stopped what they were doing to pay attention to this discussion.  The shock soon turned to pleasure, however, and I have reaped the benefits ever since.  More on that later.

And, he was right.  The countertop does indeed look better the way he recommended doing it.

Men long to be respected/trusted.  Women who learn this and act accordingly will find that it smoothes the way in many a thorny situation, and many pleasant things may come their way that otherwise would not.

So, when I talked with the contractor about the bar not being the right size, I could hear the grief in his voice that I was not happy.  He explained to me why it could not be done the way that we had originally discussed, and while I understood immediately the limitations he described, I could not help wailing,

"But I'm so disappointed!" as indeed, I truly was.  I had waited twelve years to address this issue, and now it would not be.

This outburst of emotion on my part apparently completely unglued him, because the next words out of his mouth, uttered with deep distress, were,

"But honey..."  

He rushed on from there, repeating his lengthy explanation of why the original plan wouldn't work and no doubt trying to cover his awkward slip.  I knew immediately that he did not intend to call me "honey".  I suspected that he had, unaware, reverted to how he dealt with his wife.  It had slipped out in the face of being confronted with The Feminine.  He finished his long apology with, "I don't want you to be disappointed!"

Poor man!  There was absolutely nothing he could do to fix it, but it grieved his manhood not to be able to make me happy.  And this is a man who is at least 15 years my junior.  This was not about trying to please me because I was an attractive young woman.  No, the woman he was struggling to please was a past-middle-age mom with graying hair, numerous wrinkles, and excess baggage in the caboose.  Haha!

This is not to say that I don't take a firm stand when necessary.  The very next day, using the authority of my husband because he was not here, I pointed out problems with some plumbing projects.  This critique was magnanimously handled by the contractor, and I can't help but believe that it would have been different if I had not gained his respect in the prior conflicts.

Now, I know that not all men will respond as well as the ones with whom I have had experience.  But in general, I believe they will, because that is the way God made them.

So, dear lady friends, I encourage you to take joy in your womanhood.   You do not need to "wear the pants" to get things accomplished, and in fact, it is better if you don't.

Seek ye therefore first the kingdom of God, and his justice, and all these things shall be added unto you.  (Matt., 6:33)

Lessons from a Sewing Class

I spent three most happy days recently taking a beginner sewing class.  From a Pentecostal lady.  In a sewing shop where all the employees are Pentecostal.  And the owner is Pentecostal.

First, it was sweet to be surrounded by ladies who dressed attractively and with feminine style every day!  Love, love, love.  I wish women knew how much good they could do in this world by thinking first about God's glory and others' edification when they choose how they will dress.

Second, I joined in on edifying conversations about homemaking, marriage, tending the sick, preparing for holidays, etc.  And that was all we talked about.

Third, I observed how integrated their lives are:  their church, shop, and home activities, their friendships, all Pentecostal.  Many of the shop's clientele are Pentecostal as well.

Fourth, I thought how marvelous it would be to own a sewing shop with all Catholic ladies from my parish working there, and going to Mass together, being closed on holy days of obligation, and having classes on how to make decorative items for celebrating the liturgical year!  Haha!  You knew that was coming!

Of course I shared all this with Emma when I got home, and we both indulged in the delicious fantasy for a few moments, as only commuter Catholics can truly appreciate.

Back to reality, I made a pair of prissy pajama pants for my mama out of a print with butterflies and flowers.  I added some giant pink rick-rack to the hem.  So adorable.  Emma said they were the cutest pajama pants she had ever seen.  High praise, indeed.

For me, the thing I needed to learn the most was a little confidence.  I actually had basic sewing skills before the class, but had not sewed in 25 years, and had such a horrible record of running into obstacles and not finishing, that I wanted this class as kind of a re-boot.  I really, really enjoyed the actual sewing.  I felt so relaxed at the end of each class!  Well, there was one little stressful thing.  I was using one of the shop's new-fangled machines that does not use a foot pedal.  My instructor called it "push button" sewing.  I had to take my right hand off the fabric to push the button to stop the machine.  Me not like that.  At all.  On the plus side, the machine speed was constant.  My foot is not.  I am looking forward to getting out my rugged and basic 1980s Viking machine that is not smarter than I am.  It can't thread itself or back stitch unless I tell it to.

At the end of the class, I bought a pattern for making this nifty travel iron carrier/ironing pad.  The shop had one made up and on display, and I thought it was super adorable.  Of course no one except quilters totes travel irons anymore.  Well, maybe RVers?  Oh, well.  I am making it anyway because of the cuteness factor, and it doesn't require zipper or buttonholes skills.  Lol!

One of Our Greatest Charms

"Why do women want to dress like men when they're fortunate enough to be women? Why lose our femininity, which is one of our greatest charms? We get much more accomplished by being charming than we would by flaunting around in pants and smoking. I'm very fond of men. I think they're wonderful creatures. I love them dearly. But I don't want to look like one."--Tasha Tudor

I chose this photo of Tasha Tudor to illustrate her quote because most of what I see regarding the subject of femininity is focused on beautiful young women.  We older women need inspiration more than the younger women, I think.  And this photo shows her working.  Femininity is not just about sipping tea from a china cup.  I am not advocating Tasha Tudor's particular fashion, just the feminine aspect of it.

Emma and the Glass Slippers



The Time-consuming Ringlets

 As late as Saturday afternoon, Emma was still debating whether to attend the Houston District's Scottish Country Dance Ball.  She had missed two SCD ball classes and consequently didn't feel like she knew the dances well enough.  Also, she had been sick all week with a respiratory illness, and she was tired. 

So she took a nap.

When she awoke, she decided, "yes", she would go.  She only needed five minutes for makeup and an hour to fix her hair.  No problem.   That just made us an hour late for the ball.

As I drove madly away from the house, she produced one black glove and sadly announced that she couldn't find the other.  "What about your dance shoes?" I asked.

 Emma wore glass slippers so delicately wrought that they appear invisible. . .

but doesn't her hair look good!

Bravo, Beverly! Excellent Rebuttal to My Unisex Scrubs Post

How I do love a thoughtful comment!

My sister, a nurse, wrote about her perspective on wearing scrubs.  She makes some excellent points, and I thank her for her time, her patience, and her great charity.  Here's what she said:

Being a nurse, I know exactly what you mean. White dresses are very beautiful and professional-looking. I also think they're completely impractical for modern nursing, not to mention that most nurses don't have figures that would lend themselves well to dresses anymore. One coworker called it the "milk jug" look (scrubs hide a lot of figure flaws!). Uniforms aren't tailored articles of clothing. You buy them off the rack and you get what feels comfortable, because you're going to need that comfort working 12 hr shifts. They're doing much more physical nursing than years ago, too. Hospital staffing has changed and nurses do much of the work that "orderlies" used to do, pulling grown men up in the bed, emptying bedpans and catheters, cleaning up any variety of body fluids off the floor. It is a very physical job. And no matter what position I get in, I KNOW I'm covered.

I'm writing this after a long shift, still wearing my navy scrubs with snap front shirt, elastic waist pants, and Saucony running shoes. No hose, no hat, no stiff white oxfords.

Now if all I had to do was carry around a tray of pills all day, I might consider a dress :D.


I replied:


Ha, Beverly! I wonder how Mother Teresa, Florence Nightingale, and Clara Barton managed? :D


She answered:

Nursing can and is done every day in skirts. For most - and certainly for me - it seems easier in pants. That's my observation. No statistical analysis was done :).

"Scrubs" is a term used for most loose-fitting nursing/health care uniforms. They can be quite unflattering and make the wearer appear slovenly, especially if their demeanor is slovenly. There are scrub skirts, and I know older nurses who wear them. I know one nurse who's at the end of her career, is still trim and wears the whole dress/hose/nursing shoe outfit, sans hat. She looks quite good in it. But it has more to do with who she IS, or a combination of her dress and demeanor, that make her stand out as "nurse" in the old-fashioned sense you refer to in your post (and I don't mean that negatively, either). There are other nurses I know who wear skirts, but lack that "put together" look that the white dress seems to have. They don't look any less frumpy than the ones in scrubs.

There are other alternatives.

I'm thinking of the 30+ yr nursing veteran that trained me, MISS Chris, a beautiful African-American nurse who wears whites: exquisitely pressed pants that are the perfect length, appropriate undergarments (appropriate because you never see them), white jackets that are trim but not tight, and have subtle flourishes of lace or details that speak of care in dress. She wears white or pastel knit tops. Every hair of her head is in place, her lipstick is perfect, tasteful earrings worn. She is immaculate in her appearance, and utterly feminine. When she walks into the room, you know EXACTLY who she is and that you will be taken care of by the best.

I once asked her where she bought her "scrubs". She cast a stern look at me and said crisply, "I buy my UNIFORMS at ___________." To her way of thinking, there was a gulf between the shapeless scrubs most nurses wore and HER choice of dress. I will never forget that lesson.

I understand your preference for skirts and respect it. My feeling is that the line between feminine or not, professional or not, is not so much drawn between skirts and pants, but between those who care to dress and act the part of a lady and those who do not. Sadly, ladies like Miss Chris, who embody that wonderful meld of attractive attire and decorum, are vanishing. The profession is the poorer for it.

Thanks again, Beverly.  Now if I could just interview Miss Chris!

On Unisex Clothing and a Movie Education (sigh)

Scrubs.

To me, they sound just like they look, but scrubs by any other name would still be ugly.  I guess it is the nature of "unisex" clothing.  When you take away the details that make an article of clothing distinctly masculine or feminine, you take away the beauty too.  I think you even take away some of the dignity of the person wearing them.  At least, in my experience, such clothes don't enhance the wearer's dignity.

I mentioned this to Nathaniel and Emma on our way to church Sunday.  "Nurse's uniforms used to be attractive," I said.  "They wore white dresses and neat little hats, and they just looked so much more professional than now."

Nathaniel sighed.

"I know that, Mom," he explained patiently.  "I've seen Pearl Harbor."

It's a Red Lipstick Day

I drooped a little this morning with the Weight of The World. I don't know if it is hormonal or what, but lately it is easy for me to cry.

After I dried my tears, I decided I needed something to perk me up and re-direct my day. Instantly, I remembered Emma's new red lipstick. I borrowed it and carefully painted my lips. Wow! I felt vibrant. I'm going to have to procure my own tube of that stuff. I think I understand now why it was so popular in the 40s. All the women were trying to stay cheerful during the war.

Emma decided that she, too, would have a red lipstick day. She took the brazen lip color back to her bathroom and perked herself up right speedily. Then we decided to take pictures. Unfortunately the good camera's battery was dead, so we used the little one, and it could not handle the abundance of sunbeams bouncing off Emma's yellow walls.

Emma looks more womanly than girlish to me. I don't know if that's really true or if it is just my mind trying to help me adjust to her starting college on Monday.

She ended up only wearing her red lipstick for the pictures. She was going to spend the afternoon as a mother's helper, so she changed clothes and applied peachy-pink lip color. It did seem more appropriate. I, however, was going to the feed store, so I left mine on.

After I returned with my 100 pounds of chicken feed, I took some pictures of myself with the newly-charged good camera and used one of them for my profile picture. Best to take advantage of the opportunity, I decided. Who knows when I'll have another red lipstick day!

The Latest in Fashion Accessories for the Country Girl

Clip-on locusts. They're free, biodegradable, and add a lot of visual interest to an otherwise plain boot.

Role Models

Ever since I watched Return of the Daughters, a documentary on the important role young women can play in their families and communities by staying home until marriage, I have been keenly aware of how desperately our girls need someone to look up to, someone who is enough like them that they see their future through them. My experience has been that there are extremely few, even among traditional Catholics, if the girl desires to stay under the protection of her father's roof until marriage and not attend college.

In Emma's case the closest role model she could find was a young lady in our protestant homeschool group. This young lady not only stayed home after high school, she helped with her father's home business and took on a volunteer teaching position within our Keepers at Home club, all while wearing the most fabulously feminine dresses. I can't tell you how much it meant to Emma just to see this young woman. She didn't even have to talk to her to be uplifted.

I've become aware over the last couple of years that Emma is now a role model for some girls. One mom told me recently that her daughters (about 8 and 10 years old) had specifically looked for Emma's dresses at our church garage sale. It amazes me how much attention they pay to what Emma is wearing. If she wears a hat and gloves, they zoom to her like bees to their hive.

Because Emma is done with high school, is not in college, and does not work outside the home, this week she has been able to spend about 6 hours every day helping a mother of a toddler and infant who just had a miscarriage and lost so much blood that she had to have a transfusion. The experience really made me stop and think what a loss it is for our communities that more young ladies don't have this kind of time and flexibility, especially when the stay-at-home mom is essentially isolated.

Emma looks up to this mom as a role model and is thrilled to have gotten to bathe the children, clean house, grocery shop, do laundry, sort baby clothes for the change in season, take the babies out in the stroller, etc. But the social aspect of this time is just as important--the time they have spent visiting in rocking chairs on the back porch while the babies napped has satisfied a deep need in Emma for womanly conversation--so much so that I would say Emma has gained more by helping than the mom has gained by being helped.

At home, Emma looks every day for inspiration in the blogosphere. She has been lucky to find Emily G. at My Song of Joy. Emily is a traditional Catholic who married at 19 and conceived Maria Antonia on her honeymoon. Emma followed the pregnancy eagerly and could hardly stand it when Emily did not post for a while after Maria's birth. Now 21, Emily is an incredible homemaker, wife, and mother. She is expecting again after miscarrying a second baby last year. Emma does not miss a My Song of Joy post. Thanks, Emily!

And then there is Grace Kelly. Today Tea at Trianon has a wonderful post on the Princess of Monaco's views on motherhood. I know Emma will savor every word.

Artwork: The First Born by Frederick William Elwell, via Victorian/Edwardian Paintings.

A Load of Fun

Monday afternoon I started missing Aaron and Thomas Ladner. We haven't gotten to see them much lately, so I asked their mom if they could come and spend a couple of days with us. We live too far apart for short visits. She agreed, and their eldest brother, Chad, delivered them about 8:00 Tuesday morning and stayed until about 1:00--an unexpected bonus. Nathaniel got home from school in time to have lunch with us. Then the boys played pool while Emma made ice cream for dessert.

The visit started off with a lot of noise, because Emma's latest batch of chicks had started hatching about midnight. She brought the incubator in to the living room where she could keep an eye on them. Thirty-plus chicks chirped robustly all day, providing background music for every activity.

That afternoon Aaron and I practiced making individual meat pies. Emma is in love with the idea of picnicking, and I thought meat pies would be a good start for filling the basket. Aaron chopped and grated away while I ground flour and worked on the dough. I fried a couple and baked the rest. I preferred the baked ones, but I was disappointed in the crust. Emma thought more butter would have improved it. I think I will just try using white flour next time and see how that turns out. The meat filling tasted wonderful, though.

Afterward, Aaron wanted to go exploring, so he talked Emma and Thomas into crossing the 40-acre field next to us to see what was beyond the trees. Nathaniel was still recovering from an allergy attack, so he stayed home.

The explorers didn't get back until after dark. They had discovered a pond and a "glen of honeysuckle". Emma said that Aaron picked a bunch, handed it to her, and told her to make herself a crown, which she did. Aaron and Thomas got extra exercise when they had to carry her over a bramble patch because Emma was barefoot and her dress and apron kept getting caught on brambles.

Tree fairies only come out in the moonlight.

Thomas gives thanks for getting to wear the flower crown too.

Naturally, Fiona looked the best wearing it. Emma gave it to her for dessert, and that was the end of it.

Wednesday morning I cooked a big breakfast: biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs, grits, and bacon. Then Nathaniel took Aaron and Thomas on a tractor ride in the front loader. I saw them go by the kitchen window, speeding between all the oak trees, and I was just praying, "Lord, please don't let their eyeballs get poked out! And don't let Nathaniel get too frisky and dump them out on the ground!"

In a few minutes Nathaniel texted me to come out and take their pictures. Of course he made up every excuse as to why he couldn't be in any of them. I got Emma in a couple.

.

After the milking was done, Emma picked mulberries before taking Fiona back to her pasture. Her hands were stained purple with juice. Fiona, who loves mulberries, licked one of Emma's hands and then. . .slurped it into her mouth and bit it. Before Emma had fully recovered from that, Fiona chomped into Emma's dress, my favorite yellow dress, and wouldn't let go. I don't know if Emma had dripped mulberry juice on it, or what. Finally the durned old cow ripped the fabric, making about a five-inch gash right about Emma's mid-thigh. Luckily Fiona didn't bite through to the chemise.

Meanwhile, Aaron and Thomas had gotten a pail and were picking more mulberries in hopes they could gather enough for Emma to make them a pie. During a short break, Thomas told me that he thought that Emma had a melancholic temperament. It had been so long since I read about the four temperament's, I went and pulled my little book off the shelf to read the descriptions and see what I thought. I agreed with the melancholic verdict. Then everyone got curious, and we spent over an hour helping Emma take the test at the back of the book. Somehow it just didn't work. The results did not seem to describe her. So it was an interesting exercise but a big waste of time.

Aaron and Thomas didn't find enough ripe mulberries for Emma to make a pie with, but they talked her into baking chocolate meringue (for Aaron) and pecan (for Thomas) pies that afternoon. She decided to make two of each. All Aaron agreed to do in exchange was tell Emma where she could find the shovel so that she could dig herself a pond. Thomas agreed to build Emma a cart. I think that he was thinking along the lines of Popsicle sticks. I don't think that he knew that Emma has seen and photographed the one that she wants.



Since Mr. and Mrs. Ladner and Chad were all going to join us that evening for supper before taking the boys back home, I was glad that Emma was making four pies. About 5:00, Aaron asked me if there was something that he could do to help. I suggested that he go get Fiona from her pasture and tie her up at the house in preparation for milking time. He agreed, and the next thing I know, I see Fiona trotting across the front yard with a wicked gleam in her eye and Aaron in hot pursuit, looking slightly panicked.

I ran out front in time to see Fiona take off across the field, lickety-split. I yelled at Aaron to follow her. Emma, in the middle of whipping egg whites, asked if I needed her, and I told her no, that I would take the car and chase Fiona down. I won't go through all the gory details, but we ended up at a house a half mile down the road with a deputy?, Aaron, Thomas, and Emma. There Emma was able to grab Fiona's halter when Fiona stopped to look at some dogs inside a fence.

When Emma turned and started leading Fiona toward the main road, I had one of those experiences where I suddenly see Emma through the world's eyes, and I realize how odd she must look. She was wearing a dress, her purple gingham Edwardian apron, and no shoes. Most of her hair was pinned into a low chignon, but she had a halo of wispy hair floating around her head, and she was leading a milk cow down a dirt road. I was not the only one who noticed. I recognized an odd expression on the deputy's face as he looked at her, but he didn't say anything.

Thomas, on the other hand, tried to find a word to describe her appearance, and he ended up telling her that she looked "homely"! Ha! He thought he was complimenting her.

Aaron was worn out, so I took him home in the car. Thomas helped Emma with Fiona. The deputy followed them in his big Dodge dually for a while. Thomas said that people passed them very slowly and stared. The passengers of one van actually rolled down their windows to get a better look. That's probably when they noticed that Thomas and Emma were singing Loch Lomond, adding to their strangeness.

After the Fiona Fiasco, it was back to the pie making. I put on some Texas swing (Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys) to give us the energy to finish preparations for supper. Emma and I danced around the kitchen together. Mr. and Mrs. Ladner and Chad arrived, bringing some of the best-tasting charcoal-grilled burgers that I have ever tasted. The evening ended with a round of enthusiastic guy hugs and back slaps in the kitchen. Nathaniel actually picked Chad up off the ground. (Chad is about 6'4".) I wish that I had had a video camera.

Yesterday we were all really tired, but by next week. . .I think we'll be ready to do it all again.

New York Wardrobe Working Well

I talked to Emma and Nathaniel yesterday while they visited Niagara Falls with the choir group. It was snowing, but they both said they were warm. Emma voiced two exceptions: her hands and feet. We had bought her boots, but they are dress boots, not insulated. I think she is wearing socks over her Merino wool tights, but her feet were still cold. Herb had bought her gloves at REI, an outdoor outfitter, that would have kept her hands warm even if she had been buried in an avalanche. However, they were men's gloves, and Emma flatly rejected them. (They did look hideous.) She took my old black ones instead.

The pictures above do not include Emma's new mid-calf length down coat or the formal dress she took for the New Year's eve concert.

I didn't take any pictures of Nathaniel's clothes choices. He took two pairs of jeans, a sweater, a tuxedo, a leather jacket, hiking boots, and a parka. I am pleased that he is getting so much wear out of his tux. He wore it to Midnight Mass here, and he wore it to the New Year's eve concert and to Mass for the Feast of the Circumcision in Syracuse. He plans to wear it to Mass today also. That way he didn't have to pack a suit for the trip. And he looks soooo handsome in his tux. I tried to take his picture after Midnight Mass, but he refused.

Bring Back the Birds

At Sunday's Women's Conference, Fr. Zendejas talked about the role of femininity in man/woman relationships. Basically, he said that the more women lose their femininity, the more men lose their masculinity. Of especial interest to me was his explanation of how they reverse roles. Because woman comes from man, she can not go above him. Instead, when he becomes feminized, she stays in place, and he goes below her.

I threw this information in the mix with something else I have been thinking about: female adornment. I read recently that the Audubon Society was started to help bring about women's suffrage. Women were wearing birds on their hats, and two Boston ladies believed that they would never be taken seriously and win the right to vote if such practices were continued. By starting a campaign to protect birds, they hoped to achieve major social change. (The global warming folks are using this technique to implement one-world government.)

So we took the birds off the hats, the hats off the heads, and in many cases, the hair off the heads. We shucked the gloves, the skirts, the waists and now blithely promenade around town in less than a 19th-century woman's undergarments. Women have the vote, but they are more bird-brained than ever and not nearly as attractive to look at. Truly, I would take much more seriously a disenfranchised fully-dressed woman with a beautiful bird on her hat than a scantily-clad one with tattoos and piercings and a voter registration card. Besides, I never saw women's suffrage as anything but an attack on the Christian family. If the father is the head of the family, does it not make sense that the head should represent the family and vote for them? It is his duty to have their best interests at heart.

It was Fascination, I Know

Tea parties, horse races, a night at the theatre. . . all perfect occasions to maximize your feminine style with a fascinator. Here are three ways to make one, from Simplicity to burda, to an independent crafter.

Photo from simplicity.com

Living the Feminine Dream, One Pair of Gloves at a Time

"I own five pairs of gloves," Emma announced to me dreamily, then leaned back in her seat, breathing a deep sigh of contentment.

We had just returned to the car after spending the afternoon poking through three antique stores, where, after much deliberation, she had purchased three pairs of gloves with money that she had received for her birthday. She also clutched a lovely brown veil that I had somehow been talked into buying for her. She placed the new taupe gloves against the brown veil.

"Don't they look good together?" she asked happily, as she made plans to wear them together to Mass. She already has a black veil to wear with the black gloves.

The above-the-elbow white gloves will be worn with Regency dresses and possibly to gather eggs. You can never tell around here. Some days it's shawls in the morning; some days it's hoop skirts in the afternoon.