Open Discussion

This is a topic I've been praying about a lot, and I decided to seek guidance here. This is open to anyone who reads here as long as we keep it civil, of course.

I take a "bellydance" or "Middle Eastern dance" class on Tuesday nights. It's all girls, I thoroughly enjoy it, and I dress modestly when I do so. I always wear a v-necked, 3/4 sleeved top that doesn't show any clevage, and two long skirts layed over one another for extra fullness.

The movements are not nearly as suggestive as some "cabaret" type bellydance is...on the contrary, there is a great emphasis placed on keeping the movements from looking bad. It is primarly the movement of arms, really, and when you wear the right overskirt, most spectator's eyes are on the movement of the fabric, rather than on the hips.

My main concern is performing. There's nothing obscene about our dances in the least, as when we perform we do it in a studio-wide recital that covers every class right down to preschool ballet. Some girls show their stomachs when they perform, but I never have and never will. In fact, the long-sleeved traditional dance coat I have covers more than normal! I also feel that by and large the two international dance classes at our studio (bellydance and flamenco) involve more modest costume choices than your average requirement for a ballet or tap recital.

I know dancing in the Bible is not always presented in the best context, and that's why I'm seeking your collective opinions. As a girl seeking to follow God, is it immodest of me to dance in public? I love the rush and the atmosphere, but it's not worth it to me if it ends up resulting in a stumbling block for anyone watching.

Feedback is greatly appreciated! :)

Chapter Two

Eileen found herself huming as she began to sort the clothes. A few T-shirts for the white pile, a pair of work jeans for the denim pile. The dark were mostly Shari's tank tops, and the brights consisted primarly of her own calico house dresses; she had a pattern for a drawstringed one that made excellent use of a few yards of $2 quilting cotton.

As she loaded the whites in, she let the words escape her lips

The trees they grow high
And the leaves they do grow green.
Many's the time my true love I've seen,
Many a hour I've watched him all alone.
He's young but he's daily growing.

Washer loaded and running, she smoother ehr blue T-shirt and walked into the dining room where the sewing machine was set up. And as she began to pin together the side seams of her latest project, her mind wandered back to the note.

She automatically knew there was no way the the looped handwriting belonged to her dad; she was too familiar with his chickenstratch. It couldn't be her ganrdmother's, either. No. She was instinctively certain it belonged to a man.

Dawson was her mother's name, the name on her birth certificate, but she was ususally called Slaughterback out of convenience. Whoever he was, he knew a lot about her. Straining her memory, she tried to recall anything that could help.

When she was sixteen, her father had explained it as best as he could. Her mother had died when she was six years old, that much she had already known, but she hadn't known any of the other circumstances.

He was meeting a friend from Ohio in Eureka Springs when he met Laura, and he loved her instantly. They spent the night together, with her assuming they would be married in a few days down at Judge Bean's. What he had neglected to tell her was that he already had a wife.

Now Laura, a waitress with no family, was pregnant in a strange town with nowhere to go. She was waiting for the trolley, and trying not to cry, when a woman with a nine-year-old boy walking dutifully behind her skirts took off her sweater and dropped it around her shoulders against the cold spring rain.

She spent the next six years living with the woman and her husband, deeply rooted Christians. The husband wouldn't hear of Laura working outside; instead, she and his wife froze dinners and sold them when they needed extra money.

Apparently, they had even wanted to keep Eilee after Laura passed, but couldn't. Shari couldn't have children, and when Laura died, she convinced her husband to fight for her, even though it took a scant few weeks of step-motherhood for her enthusiasm to fade.

It took Eileen a minute to realize she had stitched at an agle, right off the side of her fabric. With a shake of her head and a smile, she took her knew scissors out and began to snip away the wayward threads. It had to be from one of them, altough she wasn't sure why they would go all the way to Millicent just to drop off a birthday present.

"Eileen!"
"Coming!"

She heard Shari's coughing as she walked down the hallways. She was finished with her breakfast, and

"I need more coffee."

After Eileen brought it, she went back to her sewing, and her thought process. She kept at it, stitching and wondering until she heard the washer click off for the final time.

Whew

I've been wiping down baseboards all day...it's amazing how dirt and hair accumulate when you've got three pets!

Wildlife

Some things have come up, I'll post the book Sunday evening, but...

We have two foxes! We knew we had one, but we saw two walking across the yard last night. Maybe we'll have babies.

Also, today I saw something I've never seen before. A pelican! Out in our neighborhood pond! I love out house, we've got our own little ecosystem here.

Cooking, etc.

First and foremost, thank you for the prayers. Jay's surgery went very well, better than was expected, and his healing time is shorter as a result.

In other news, I'm so, so excited! We just bought Once-a-Month Cooking by Mary-Beth Lagerborg and Mimi Wilson. Our family's so scattered that we don't have near enough time together on a daily basis, and I'm such a novice there's no way I could plan a menu on my own yet! I'm hoping this will give us the chance to sit down and actually have a meal together each night.

It comes very highly reccommended, although I hear there are some errors in the shopping lists. Fine by me, I've got the time to double-check them. :)

Also, no need to worry. If I don't have part two up by tonight, it'll be up in the morning. ;)

Random Musings

First of all, I'm so glad you liked Chapter 1! I'll definately see if I can get chapter 2 up by this weekend.

I'm still ankle-deep in laundry, and Jay's off to get his hand set. *Whew* things are crazy around here.

Chapter One

It hadn’t rained for two months.

In Millicent, the pain of drought could be felt everywhere. The harvests were recorded at all-time lows. Fewer combines were needed for wheat; the gas stations didn’t make as much. No one was harvesting, plowing, or planting. Or, for that matter, doing any side projects. And that was where it affected them.

Her father owned the only hardware store in Millicent, which was both good and bad. On one hand, there was little competition. But he was also expected to have everything, which he didn’t. He was hardly selling anything under the circumstances. The only people who came in were farmers looking for an ear to complain to.

Eileen had spent the summer primarily at home. Her stepmother, Shari, had chronic bronchitis from her cigarettes and was on so many medications she was only about three-fourths of the way coherent. She was convinced she had some sort of mysterious mental illness, but her doctor had said if she was, there was absolutely no anatomical or medical reason for it. So he prescribed her sugar pills and aspirin, and had a grand time putting on his poker face whenever she came in for an appointment.

He told Eileen’s father, “Mr. Slaughterback, your wife is nothing more than an incredible hypochondriac,” and said that she should move on before too long. Until then, it was Eileen’s responsibility to take care of her. It didn’t other her much, save for on those rare occasions she did have time to sit down and read a few pages of her book, only to be interrupted by a scratchy, “EILEEN!”

Ah, well, she thought, I suppose it’s good practice.

On June 14th, Eileen’s birthday, her father woke her up at six, as usual, before he went to work.
“Happy Birthday, buckaroo,” he said as he messed her hair and grabbed his cap. Slaughterback Hardware. Generations ago, unsurprisingly, her family had been in the pork business.
“Thanks,” she said, “I love you.”
“You too!” he hollered back on his way out.
And she did, truly.

“Eileen!”
“Coming!”
“Where’s my coffee?”

Of course, she thought as she turned back to the kitchen. She got out a cup and put away the foil-wrapped square of coffee grounds. Then she poured the coffee, adding a packet of Benefiber and a tablespoon of milk.

Shari’s room was hot and smoky; she loved her cigarettes and never opened her vent. She was propped up on the pillows, greasy hair unbrushed, watching a taped episode of The Young and the Restless. There were three chip bags on the floor, and a mountain of dishes on the nightstand.

Eileen handed it to her, and she took a sip, scowling and setting it on the nightstand.
“You sure that’s Cain’s?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“Hmph. We need more, it tastes old.”
“I’ll have Dad pick some up on his way home.”

She scooped up as many of the dishes as she could and carried them back to the kitchen, setting them up to soak in the sink. When she came back to get the chip bags, Shari said,
“I want eggs for breakfast.”

In the kitchen, chip bags put away, Eileen pulled out the skillet. In went two eggs, with the burner set on 5. She slid two pieces of toast into the toaster, pulled out the microwave bacon, and stuck a sheet of three strips into the microwave. Everything was done about the same time, and she laid it all out on a plate, salting and peppering the eggs. Both pieces of toast were smeared with butter before she poured a glad of orange juice and set it all on a tray.

As she had once learned the hard way, that was what Shari meant by ‘eggs.’

Eileen brought it in and set it across her lap.

“Has the mail come yet?”
“I’ll go check.”

Their mailbox was a catalog order from several years before. On it was a scene of three cardinals on a pine branch that had been stuck on using a kind of metal contact paper that was beginning to peel off around the opening. It squeaked when she touched it. The mail had come. It contained an Atwoods circular, a few bills, a credit card offer, and a missing persons card.

Underneath all of them was the pattern Grandma had ordered as her present. She told Eileen once that she was “timeless, and needed something timeless to wear.” The pattern was for a Titanic-looking tea gown, with lots of sheer layers of fabric and short sleeves like the blue and pink one Rose wore. Immediately she started to think about the clearance-labeled peach chiffon at the store.

Thrilled as she was that was pattern had arrived, nothing prepared her for what was sitting at the back, behind everything else.

It was a box.

A little box. A little dark blue velvet one; a jewelry store box. A little silver string was tied around it in a bow. Everything about it was little. On the back a piece of paper was taped to it so seamlessly, it must have been double-sided tape. And on the paper, in the kind of paradoxical handwriting that is an elegant man’s penmanship, was her name.

Her name. Her whole name. One she hadn’t used or heard since back when her mother was alive. When she was six years old, and they had lived in Arkansas. She closed her eyes and let herself try to remember for a moment the smells of that house, but a chirping bird started her from her reverie.

Princess Moss-Rose Kitty-Cat Butterfly Grapefruit Peach-Blossom Eileen Dawson. It was all there. She had to smile once. Before it occurred to her

There was no postage. Someone dropped it off on their own.

How anyone in Millicent could have known about those days was a puzzle, but she slipped the box into the pocket she wore under her dress just the same. It nestled down, a comforting, diminutive weight, straightening the rumpled pocket against my homemade bloomer-wearing leg.

Once inside, she tossed the pattern envelope onto her bed before going in to Shari’s room again. She was watching Today. She handed her the mail, waited for a second, and then left.

Back in her room, she reached into her pocket and pulled out The Box. Her thin fingers shook as she pulled apart the bow and set it on her bedside table. She sat down, carefully peeling off the paper on the underside. It unfolded on its own, and she could see more writing.

“These were your mother’s. I know she would have wanted you to have them.”

My mother’s. Who in the world would have something of my mother’s? She opened the box, eyes closed to prolong the surprise as long as possible. The contents slid out into her waiting hand. The first thing she noticed was the pair of scissors, the miniscule handles silvery and ornate, in a pattern that looked like rose vines wrapped around grapevine. With them was a pendant, in the form of a woven basket decorated with the same roses, into which they slid nicely.

She pulled the chain over her head and positioned it around her neck; she was going to sew that day anyway, and she wanted it close to her. She closed her eyes again as the smell of something familiar caught her attention, like basil and oranges and cloves. It was one of those frustrating moment where you just can’t quite recall something, even though you know the memory is there.

Her alarm clock beeped, and she sighed. It was time to start the laundry.

Family Update

Thanks so much for your concern! It's broken, alright. He has an appointment to get it set tomorrow.

It's laundry day! In between loads, I'll post that chapter.

Fiction Writing

I've been writing various stories since I was nine years old. Fourth grade was the year I decided I was going to be an author. And while I haven't published anything yet, I haven't given up the dream.


Since about sixth grade, I've had one particular book that continues to gnaw at me. And while it's gotten several plot makeovers, a lot of the characters and concepts have stayed the same. But what was once a selfish personal fantasy has, over time, grown into something that, if I work hard enough at it, could be a nice piece of fiction that upholds some of those Bibilical ideals which are so often absent from what girls my age are offered to read.


They say you write what you know, and so it takes place primarily in a town modeled after Cordell, Oklahoma, and also in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. It's a bit of a Cinderella story.


I want to say that the character of the stepmother bares absolutely no resemblance at all to my stepfather, I just needed a way to insert her, and this was the most logical. She's actually based off of a friend's stepparent. The father, I will admit, has some similarities to my own, but not largely.


As far as the themes are concerned, it deals with quite a few. There are questions of courtship, of duties at home versus in the world, and the conflict between needing to remain under her father's headship and the fact that her father is not a strong figure.

It centers around a girl, Eileen, who turns 19 at the start of the book. Her stepmother is a hypochondriac who absues her desire to serve. A large family conflict arises when she tells Eileen to go out and get a job and start contributing, something she herself has never done. Her father is torn between appeasing his wife and allowing his daughter to continue on her chosen Christian path.

Eileen does have her grandmother, who she sees every weekend after church. It is from her that she's learned to sew, cook, and other tasks that she needs to know to run a home. She's sort of the sage of the story, a voice of wisdom and reason.

The action beings when Eileen, feeling desperate, decides to run away from home one night. She doesn't get very far, but in the process runs into a friend from her past that gives her an entirely new hope and dedication. She returns home before sunrise, and by breakfast has plans to open a mending business that she runs for the rest of the summer.

Meanwhile, this old friend, her grandmother, and eventually her father, are setting in motion things that will culminate just in the nick of time. I don't want to spoil any surprises. ;-)

If anyone's interested, I can post some tomorrow.

Prayer Request

Dear Jay seems to have broken his hand painting today. We won't know for sure until he goes to the doctor, but please pray for him, if you have time.

A Tour of the House

Hello and welcome! Would you like a cup of tea?


This is our wonderful kitchen, with all its lovely space!


And here is our recently redecorated front room.






Here's the living room, where we spend most of our time together.


That's Baron. He says hi!


And here are a few snapshots from my bedroom.








Let's not forget my favorite part...our fantastic view!

A Few Purchases

I've been very blessed with a bit of extra money lately, so I've been making a few purchases.

First, I bought some lovely pink fabric which I made into a gathered skirt. It was 50% off! I've got a nice, if wrinkled, piece of scrap that I'm not sure what I'll do with yet.



Then I purchased a square-necked dress pattern from Common Sense Patterns.



I've also ordered from She Maketh Herself Coverings two of these, one in white and one in black.



Finally, I bought the eBooks Meals for a Month and Wholesome Mixes from The Homemaker's Cottage.

Single on Valentine's Day

I love Valentine's Day. It's so easy to get lost in Victoriana! I've got a set of Punch Studio Valentine cards that I've been sending out to anyone and everyone.

Since Jay has school tonight, we had out family exchange last night. I'm rather long-winded, so my gift to both of my parents was a heartfelt card apiece. I had asked for fresh flowers; my mother bought me the most beautiful bouquet! It's got white and purple daisies and carnations, and is in a place of honor in my room right now. Jay also bought me a cameo...I was ecstatic!

In our culture, it can be hard to be single on a day when everything is about being a couple. (Regardless of exactly how committed you are!) I'm going to try and keep my sights on the important things today.

First and foremost, I'm going to go about my routine like I always do. Just because I might feel like sighing and daydreaming all day doesn't mean I ought to. I'll save that for after the schoolwork and chores are done. :-)

I'm also watching my Universal Feel-Good Movie: Sense and Sensibility. I can think of no better movie to remind me not to rush into a relationship just because I want to fall in love. Both Eleanor and Marianne learn important lessons that all of us single girls could stand to remember. But I especially connect with Marianne, overdramatic as I am.

All in all, judging by the weater, etc., it's going to be a lovely day. I hope you all have a wonderful one as well!

Let Me Introduce Myself

The mess responsible for this corner of cyberspace.

Hello everyone! I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you all a little about myself.

I was born in Clinton, Oklahoma on October 1st, 1990. My parents lived on a farm and raised angora goats and alfalfa hay. I've got several memories and multiple pictures of me in my pink bonnet, out on the four wheeler with any number of relatives, checking the flock.

Within two years, we moved into town, and my parents became another casualty of the divorce epidemic. I, however, am convinced everything worked out for good. We're all happier for it.

For the next several years, it was just Mom and me. I absorbed a lot of information in this time. My mother has a love of homemaking that supporting me made her unable to pursue. She's content where she is now, but I know she misses puttering. It was from her I learned the importance of keeping a house tidy, and of filling it with things you love. I watched her tend her plants and turn a wasteland of dirt into a lush garden when we moved to a new house without a stitch of green in the yard. I sat with her on the kitchen floor and learned to make real chocolate chip cookies. And she dressed me up in frills and skirts whenever I would let her.

I was also fortunate to have a close relationship with my father's mother, Nanny. Whenever she could, she would take me for the day. We would make homemade bread, embroider tea towels, feed cattle, weed the garden, and read books, all the while pretending we were outlandish characters on grand adventures.

My father is a good man, and I'm proud to call him Dad. But when I was in first grade, a true man entered our lives. My mother fell in love with and married Jay, our constant pillar of strength. He's a thoughtful, protective, warm prescence. Without him I know I would not have set the standards I have and would be far more susceptible to the dating whirlwind. He and I did not always get along as well as we do, which I regret, but we're close as can be now.

When I was in fourth grade, we moved to Oklahoma City, and I began my time in Catholic School. I had a difficult time making friends at first, but more than one person I met that first year is still close to me now. We were closer to my other grandparents now, and I got to see them more. They were able to make it to my First Communion.

My Mimi is an old Southern Belle, a Frank Sinatra fan, and a social butterfly. She can talk to just about anyone and her house has an intrinsic way of making you feel welcomed. As for my grandfather? Elvis had nothing on Pop's looks, and he's a kind, loving charmer.

In sixth grade, my faith deepened, and I was even considering the religious life for a time. Unfortunately, that was followed by a period in which I was very volatile and angry, and tempted by drugs. I began to pull out of my depression in eighth grade. Unfortunately, I also began to be drawn to paganism.

I had mixed feelings about high school. The social aspect was something I really enjoyed, but I was drowning in the classes. It wasn't for lack of trying or intelligence; I've always done well in my classes. But I wasted so much time on classes I didn't need as much work in that I began to flounder in math and science. I was depressed again, and whenever people asked how things were, I simply lied and told them 'fine.'

Once Sophomore year began, I asked my mother if I could homeschool. I drew up a proposal that impressed her, and I left high school for the world of correspondance courses. Shortly afterword, I discovered Sense and Sensibility Patterns, which fed my love of both sewing and period dress.

It wasn't long before I discovered the site's links page, and found my way over to Ladies Against Feminism.

At this same time, Jay had to go in for knee surgery. For a few weeks, he could barely limp to the bathroom. For the next several months, I was his caretaker. I was spending my days for the benefit of someone else for the first time truly in my life. At the same time, I was reading articles about a woman's purpose in life, Biblical Womanhood. The more I read, the more it made sense.

Recently, I've had another dark spell, and for the time being I'm on medication for my depression. I've noticed more than once, though, when I am bathed in the light of the Lord, I am filled with joy. My life has purpose, direction, foundation, and beauty. It's hard sometimes, pulling myself out of the muck of the world, but it's a battle I'm willing to fight.

I spend my days on schoolwork, cleaning, cooking, sewing, writing articles and blogging, listening to music (I'm addicted!), and researching my faith. I consider myself a Roman Catholic, and am having quite a time catching up on all that entails. All in all I enjoy my life, particularly the transition to Biblical Young-womanhood I am currently undergoing.

Our Wonderful Neighbors

Friday I had the adventurous misfortune to be locked out of the house by gravity and the metal bar that locks the sliding glass door from my bedroom. I was hanging a wind chime when the bar fell down, locking the door snugly in place. All the other doors in the house were shut tight.

After some unsuccessful paperclip locksmithing, I shuffled next door in my nightgown and flats to borrow our neighbor's phone. The next thing I knew I was seated in their kitchen with a robe around my shoulders with a bowl of cereal. They treated me like one of the family, and didn't even mind that I had to stay for about two hours before my mother could come home and unlock the door.

The mother is a sweet lady who is undergoing her last chemotherapy treatments, so please, if you happen to remember, say a little prayer for her. She has five children, two in college, the others in high school, so she has her hands full! I also met her mother, who was down from Chicago, and their sweet Keeshond, who loves to be spoiled.

Today I brought over some home baked cookies and dog treats as a thank you...and while I don't hope I'll be locked out again, I hope our paths continue to cross!

The Voices of Dreams

Dreaming is a powerful thing, and all throughout history people have received important revelations through them. Whenever I'm lost about something, I ask for a sign in my dreams. And since I've been feeling lost a lot lately, I asked for one last night.

The result? I'm taking a deep breath and walking down the right fork of the road I mentioned yesterday.

I'm excited. I feel extremely peaceful, as though in the night all of yesterday's, and the past several month's, uncertainties have been washed away. I feel...purposeful.

It's a beautiful day here. The winter is creeping away, the fountain is running, and I'm wearing my maroon Ebay petal skirt. I've got a lot to do. I'll need to do a schedule overhaul tonight so that I can get back into my summer cleaning/schooling routine...I've definately slacked off. I'm also going to poke my head up on a few blogs I've been subscribed to.

Sea of Confusion

I'm at a crossroads in my life right now. I look right and I see a life I would love to lead, filled with wonderful things and promises to be fulfilled.

I look left and I see a drastically different life, but a wonderful one nonetheless, filled with things no less wonderful and promises no less true.

Parts of me are pulled down each path, places inside me calling out for the futures they could have. I know whichever path I choose, I will keep both sides of my personality. But one will, one must, have more sway than the other.

I'm swimming, no, drowning in the million liquid questions in my brain. What makes one person more right than another? What makes one God more valid?

There HAS to be a Standard, doesn't there? Everything can't, it just can't be all relative. That goes against so many things I see every day. I mean, if everything really WERE just what each individual person thinks and nothing more, the universe would be chaos, wouldn't it? And it isn't.

Someone taught the birds to fly south, someone knew the sky should be blue and not red. How in the name of all that is could this Earth end up exactly the right size and in exactly the right place just by coming out of atoms and chaos?

Just how much of everything is black and white? Seldom is there an argument where someone isn't wrong. You can point at a square and yell with all your might that it's a circle. You can even convince some people that it's a circle. You could be in the majority. But it doesn't make the square any less a square. It's still what it is, and you're wrong about it.

I'm babbling, I know it. I can't help myself. These questions want ANSWERS.

Well.

It's been too long. I've had a period of questioning, but I'm back now. I'm still going through some issues, but I think this is probably as good a place as any to work through them. Thinking out loud helps.