NOTE: This conversation runs backwards! For the benefit of regular readers the newest comments are put at the top.
Dear Elizabeth Ruth, my gratitude is boundless for those kind words you said to me when last I popped in. And coming as they did from a girl with positively the most musical, mellifluous voice I've ever had the pleasure to hear, too! As you can see, I'm blushing awfully. I had believed myself to be the shyest pette in attendance! By the way; I should love to see a Chinese wedding myself, and am very pleased that you have done. And the wedding dress of my dreams... hmm... Well, I suppose I would 'go the whole nine yards' (heh heh) and stay with the typical sari (I've never been able to think what that "...nine yards" phrase refers to anyway, if not to a length of fabric prescribed for the aforementioned garment...) I imagine I'd prefer a sort-of-brocaded one, with all of the fantastically lavish display of jewellery - ears, nose, hands, toes, fingers, neck, forehead, arms, ankles, wrists, etc... And of course my hands and feet shall be intricately hennaed, my eyes kohled, and the part in my hair coloured with vermillion... Essentially, all as one would expect and with bells on.
But now, Elizabeth Ruth, I simply shall not be dissuaded from buying you a drink; perhaps one of those frothy pink delicacies you seem to favour? And barpette! One for Candida too please - yes, whatever she likes - oh, thank you.
For, Candida, you are a veritable living doll. And not only because of your angelic wish for me to catch the bouquet soon (from your sweet lips to Dea's ears, as I've heard some Culverians say) but because of your exquisite storytelling - a venerable feminine tradition if ever there was one. I may be radiant as a bride, but never as radiant as the spell you cast when you begin to narrate aloud the mystical consciousness of Aristasia. Like the Ancient Customs we learnt from Amy and Tootsie for St. V.'s Day, your Story of the Bells captured that magical, atavistic evocation of the Sacred Mysteries inherent in any culture in which matrilineal knowledge is retained. (And yes, I should adore to wear white as a bridesmaid - preferably a creamy white, as I think that would be best set off against my skin.)
Oh, and Candida, one more thing before I rush off to the powder room to re-plait this blasted hair. Has Miss Barbara been in tonight, do you know? Yes? Well, if you see her tomorrow, would you be so kind as to ask her, for me, whether it is proper for a blonde to buy a brunette a drink? Do tell her that I should like to show my appreciation for the consideration, and the wonderfully clever advice, she regularly bestows so gracefully upon all the girls here. She's such a poised, confident brunette - do you think there's anypette who could rival the smart sophistication of her fashion sense? It's equal to that of the inimitable Norma herself. Which reminds me - could you please also tell her, if it's not too much - that if it is what I suppose it to be (only from seeing Kadorie films) I humbly believe that a Kadorie home wave would suit her face perfectly. Thank you ever so much for passing this on, darling.
The mention of Kadorie films brings me to this, pettes: an amusing sort-of-quincie that happened to little old me a few days ago, and which I'd almost forgotten. In fact, I believe it was the very same day on which Ariadne - that living, giggling quintessence of blonde vim and verve - glided breathlessly into the bar and regaled us with her engaging St. Valentine's Day adventures... But where was I? Oh yes - so on that day I saw an Eastern New Kadorie film, and at the end, quite out of the blue and having not an awful lot to do with the plot, (not, lot, plot... is that alliteration or some other linguistic deviation?) there appeared on the stage an enormous set masquerading as a wedding cake and being about the size of a large bedsit. Of course, the ubiquitous dancing girls promptly ascended the thing and performed a number (about a wedding, naturally) upon the surface of said cake. Alright, so they didn't exactly jump out of it, but they most certainly did "a dinky-dolly little tap dance." There, you see. The quincie is that my film featured New Kadoria, tap dancing pettes and Giant-Cake-on-a-Stage just as Ariadne was telling us all about those selfsame girly things!
At last, lovely Marilyn! Congratulations on your forthcoming blessed event! And do you know - if you hadn't said those few words about sex-determination and hair colour in Chinese pettes, I, for one, would still be drifting about in an aether of not inconsiderable confusion. Because you see, I seem to have relatively little trouble in telling Eastern-or-Southern blondes from Eastern-or- Southern brunettes. (Such recognition of the sexes just seems to come more and more naturally as the knowledge of Aristasia becomes increasingly embedded in a girl's consciousness.) And since it has often been so easy to tell, I was worried that perhaps it's all too easy, and I feared I might really be going about it all wrong. But for the most part, I am now happily relieved of this insecurity.
Visiting Pit-america as a mere girlchild, I remember Chinatown in San Francisco as being the place of which I was probably most fond. And I'd hardly thought of this for years - until just days ago, when the radiant Miss Marilyn Soong first graced the A.C.B.... Certainly, the Forbidden City sounds truly as delightful as can be.
MISS MINA KUMARI
With my high starched collar and my high topped shoes
And my hair piled high upon my head
I went to lose a jolly hour upon the trolley
And lost my heart instead!
With her light brown derby and her bright green scarf
She was quite the dashingest of 'nettes
I started to yen so I counted to ten
Then counted to ten again.
Clang, clang, clang went the trolley
Ding, ding, ding went the bell
Sing, sing, sing went my heartstrings
From the moment I saw her I fell
Chug, chug, chug went the motor
Bump, bump, bump went the brake
Thump, thump, thump went my heartstrings
When she smiled I could feel the car shake.
She tipped her hat and took her seat
She said she hoped she hadn't stepped upon my feet
She asked my name, I held my breath
I couldn't speak because she scared me half to death!
Buzz, buzz, buzz went the buzzer
Clop, clop, clop went the wheels
Stop, stop, stop went my heartstrings
As she started to go then I started to know
How it feels .... when the universe reels....
[Chorus]
The day was bright, the air was sweet
The smell of honeysuckle jarred you off your feet
You tried to sing, but couldn't squeak
In fact you loved her so you couldn't even speak
[Miss Garland again]
Buzz, buzz, buzz went the buzzer
Clop, clop, clop went the wheels
As she started to leave I took hold of her sleeve
With my hand, and as if it were planned
She stayed on with me and it was grand
Just to stand with her hand holding mine
To the end of the line!
[Chorus] Clang, clang, clang went the trolley
Bang, bang, bang went my heart!
MEHITABELLE LYCRESS
One other find I am very happy to have not one but several real
cookbooks! I fear that I was raised in the Pit,
and just had no real idea how to cook real food, things such as a turkey
and a pot roast. My favorite one was printed in the historical year of
1919, and there is nothing you can do with food that this book doesn't
explain how to do it, step by step even! It even talks about how to cook
things such as reindeer and opossum, though of course I just skip those
sections. But if ever a war or depression should threaten to cause normal
foodstuffs to be unavailable, well with this cookbook I will know what
to do to ensure my family's survival!
Another great find was some original, real tins for things such
as premium saltines and a bottle with the label still attached of Heinz
ketchup! The silly person hawking these wares had no idea what their value
was for she was about to toss them out with the trash when I came across
them. Well of course, I immediately snatched these things up. They were
of course dusty, and the tin showed some signs of age, but I was able to
clean them up to where they can be used everyday. They look so much better
sitting in my pantry and frigidaire than the bongo wrappings.
Unfortunately, I haven't found many up-to-date
clothes for myself, or especially real stockings at the fleems thus far,
but I do keep looking, always hoping that one day I will find these much
desired things. With all this talk about the war effort and matriatism,
well I feel that first thing on the morn I must go out on a fleeming expedition
to do my part to bring V.T. day in Telluria closer!! Of course, I will
go out wearing my lipstick and nail polish as armor, tee hee!
Dear Norma, come closer for I have a secret to tell you. You promise
you won't tell a soul? Cross your heart?? Well, it's never to late to learn
to sew! I for one am blonde through and through, and I didn't learn to
sew as a young girl. I know that is shocking for a blonde, but remember,
I grew up in the pit. After I had a little girl, well I decided that I
would just have to learn to sew, so that she would have proper dresses
of every color under the rainbow. When I first started, just threading
a needle was a challenge to me and I would get headaches trying to understand
what the instructions were telling me to do. I admit, I made a few gaffes,
tee hee, like once I set a sleeve in backwards and didn't realize it until
I went to attach the cuffs! But it gets easier. Sewing is constructing,
and if brunettes can design such complicated things as buildings and airplanes,
well a dress is easy as pie!!!! The only complicated things in most dress
projects is getting the hem just right and setting the buttonholes. Seams
are quite easy, especially with the up-to-date Singer machines, for they
have it marked on the faceplate what the norm is for seams. And you can
of course, take the dress to a seamstress or cleaners to have the hem and
the buttonholes put in. Just start off with a simple dress pattern that
has mostly straight lines and before no time, you will be sewing like a
pro!! Then you of course will be the envy of all the other brunettes!!
But don't let the blondies now that I gave away our secret about how easy
sewing really is. We just make it look complicated giggle.
With love,
ELIZABETH O.
I do agree with you, Candida, that sewing is participation in
a ritual act. I expect our Sagette could comment fruitfully on the symbolism
involved, but it is clear to me that sewing and the fabric arts are deeply
essential - I mean, associated with the essence of things - and for that
reason they are pervasive metaphors: we speak of "threads" of meaning;
and "fabric" is a metaphor for continuity and community. Not for nothing
are the traditional Fates associated with thread and scissors.
I have often felt, while sewing a gift for someone I love, that
I am somehow stitching into it my good wishes for them. While making a
party dress, I sew into it all my hopes and fantasies and dreams - in fact,
I won't work on it if I'm feeling grumpy or unattractive, for fear I'll
sew those expectations right into the dress. While making a lovely maternity
gown for my cousin, I found myself praying for her safe delivery and for
the baby she carried, who is now the light of my life. My mother and her
sisters all made each others' wedding gowns. When my sister helped me with
the final fitting of mine, I felt like we were participating in a very
very old ritual.
In my recent travels to Amazonia (which I will tell you about
sometime) I learned that it is a highly developed Eastern art, sewing spells
and charms into clothes. Almost all clothes are made with the wearer in
mind, and many with a definite activity in mind. Clothes for each kind
of ritual act (religious rituals, the administration of justice, the compounding
of medicine and all the healing arts, dancing and cooking) have not only
their own style, but special songs that the seamstress sings, and scents
that she breathes as she makes the garment.
It's not so strange, when you think about it. Amazonian warriors
go into battle wearing special protective clothes, made by people who are
thinking about them as they sew. Isn't that also part of the War Effort
in Kadoria, knitting socks and so on for the soldiers? Obviously it would
be more efficient, in a superficial sense, to make them by machine; but
it's good for soldiers to have warm socks knitted by hand by girls at home
who are thinking of them and honouring them. And of course, babies everywhere
wear clothes made by loving grandmothers and aunts, not just sewn, but
knitted, so that the love and protective prayers for them are not just
put into the seams and finishing, but into every stitch, into the very
fabric of the garment.
In any case, Candida, I assure you that you do know at least one
brunette who can sew,
ELIZABETH RUTH
But Elizabeth Ruth, how dreadful we are! We can't find your hymn
to home sewing anywhere. It may, of course, be Lost in Elektraspace. But
just as likely it is our silliness. Could you possibly post it again?
The War?
Can't a girl be gone a while? What's with this war? Who's taking care of
the Quirinelle wounded or the Kadorian sweethearts? I'm here to fight,
tell me my mission.
Attagirl, Lycress. The war is against the ugliness of the Pit,
the battlefield is our own minds and souls, and every time we dress in
up-to-date clothes, watch up-to-date
films and make our homes more up-to-date, we are helping the War Effort.
Fleeming as Part of the War Effort!
Hello everyone! My, this place is getting so exciting, what with all the
talks of the war effort being bandied about. Candida, thank you so much
for the compliment on my daughter, for I think she is very special too!
As far as fleem finds, the one I am most proud of is a real coffee pot,
a corningware cornflower blue coffee pot that makes a perfect pot each
time you set it on your stove top to percolate. I have looked for one of
these for years and years and years, all to no avail. I can remember my
great aunt making coffee in this exact type of coffeepot, and how fresh
it tasted with every cup, and must admit while that wasn't what I was looking
for specifically on this particular fleeming trip, I somehow managed to
spot it from across the store! I of course think that the fairies had a
hand in it but then I am a bit of a romantic!
Sewing and the War
Elizabeth Ruth here, and I really must protest against Candida's suggestion
that only blondes can really sew! I posted a veritable hymn to home sewing
a few days ago (I haven't seen it though, do you suppose Valentines Day
festivities have addled the minds of the blondes who are responsible for
that sort of thing?) and my dears, I am about as brunette as one could
be (with certain blondish moments, of course.)
Yes, the thread is ultimately that which binds all things together - the
Thread- Spirit Herself (Sanskrit Sutratma, Cairen [East Aristasian] Strivate)
upon whom we are all threaded "like pearls upon a string". Of course there is
much more that could be said about sewing and related arts such as weaving. Too
much, in fact, to fit into one of our dolly-comments!