Stephanie Meyer is a Vegetarian

Monday 29 December 2008

Jessy has been reading the 'Twilight' series of books, basically because everyone else she knows in 10th grade is too, so that means I had to read the books to see what they are about. I have read 'Twilight' and 'New Moon' so far. I cannot say I like the stories nor can I say I agree with what all the fuss is about. But of course I won't turn down a chance to go to the movies.

This afternoon Mother, Jessy and I rode in the green Cadillac with Roger driving of course, down to Lynnhaven Mall in VB where we watched 'Twilight'. For Jessy and me it was the 2nd time. For Mother it was the first. We have not had many chances to go out with just her, like this, just the three of us as though we are all just girls hanging out. Jessy and I wore skirts and tights and I wore my new short leather patchwork jacket over a pink sweater. Mother, who is normally never anxious about her appearance or how she dresses, was in her room about an hour before she descended, in a very cute glen plaid skirt and navy tights and a charcoal-grey sweater with a pink-grey-gold scarf tied round it, very chic yet conservative, sensible and good-looking-- she looked like a maturely-dressed 18-year-old. Being shorter than both of us she gets that a lot, you know.

'You look terrific!' Jessy said as she stepped down to the front hall.

Lisa came out to the hall to see her too. 'Oo, pretty,' she said, and Mother stooped to give her a kiss. 'Can't I go too?'

Jessy and I were shaking our heads. 'No, sweetheart,' Mother told her. 'I'm afraid its a little too gown-up and also scary.' She looked up at us and we nodded again. 'Very scary. I wouldn't want you to have bad dreams.'

'But I wouldn't!'

She so would and all three of us know it!

The ride down was uneventful. I had heard on Stardate on the radio that Venus, Mars and Jupiter were all visible at about-- yes, wait for it-- twilight, so as we got onto the middle of the bridge we were able to see them all. There was Venus, just above and to the left of the moon, and Mars and Jupiter down low, just as Sandy Wood on Stardate had said. To me that was kind of worth the whole boring ride down. Otherwise all we had to pay attention to was Jessy rattling incessantly about the 'Twilight' story in the hopes of enlightening Mother, who otherwise knew little about it.

At the mall we bought tickets first and then sat for tea till about 7.00. No one presumed that Mother was our stepmother. I am sure no one had any reason to believe she was much over 18 or 19. In the cinema we all sat together in the centre of the row in our skirts with our soda cups. Of course the only boys there were on dates with girls and so Jessy had no one to 'scope out'. Mother only giggled at her.

As I said I am not the biggest fan of the 'Twilight' series of books, mainly because I dislike the character of Bella. She is NOT the kind of person I would hang out with, being too quit, too brooding, and too reluctant to extend herself a little, grow, change, experience something new. The vampire guy seems to play straight into her grasp and indeed nearly sacrifices himself for her. The story reminds me of 'Message in a Bottle', the movie that Daddy liked with Kevin Costner as a guy who restores an old sailboat and ends up dying at the end for no good reason. It's a weak story by Nicholas Sparks (who seems to write nothing but weak, artificially-contrived plots) that is weak in the same way 'Twilight' is. Half of what the characters 'have to' be isn't anything they have to be. It's as though they make stupid, irrational choices and then claim it's what they 'have to' do. As a work of literature it is a storyline that depends on perception and feelings, not facts and common sense. Or, as Mother says, it's 'Romantic', as in the 'big-R' philosophical sense. Who would WANT to fall in love with a vampire? You'd have nothing in common. Bella falls for the vampire guy because she doesn't know anyone else and is willing, at 17 years old, after having known him for only a few weeks, to give her human life to live with the guy forever. I don't know a single girl who would do that at that age (my age) with even the very best choice of men. People really aren't quite that passionate. Ms Meyer counts on her young, mostly-female audience to feel the same irrational things she does in order for it all to work. Unfortunately, they do and so it appears to work.

Maybe that's just me. But however charming that vampire guy is, I wouldn't give up my life just to be with him, especially when I have more sensible options. Then again I thought the ending of 'Pirates'/'At World's End was stupid too. It should have been Jack Sparrow, who deserved no better, to be the new Davy Jones, and the nice blacksmith to end up with the Pearl and the nice wife happily ever after.

I started this to say that Stephanie Meyer, the author, is pictured in the movie ordering a vegetarian salad at the counter of the diner in Forks, Washington. And Bella also orders a vegetarian meal and criticise her father for eating steak. Is this some kind of PETA statement, or just irony in the movie? You decide. I'll stick to 'Gossip Girl' which is just unpretentious enough to get away with being stupid.

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The south wind

Sunday, 28 December 2008

The south wind blows up the coast, bringing with it humidity and the threat of rain. This is supposed to be winter-- and it's like weather made for being undressed. It was so deplorably warm today that as soon as we got home from church and brunch I went straight up stairs and got out of everything-- really, for the first time in a long while. I read for a while and then Jessy came in and asked if I wanted to watch TV. She was, of course, entirely naked. I really did think of going down there like this but thought better of it. As I was pulling up a clean pair of panties Mother knocked and came in. 'Hey,' she said softly.

'Hey,' I said. Then she stepped in and I saw her. 'You look cute.'

She smiled a little, almost blushing. 'Well, I kind of took your example from yesterday.'

I smiled. 'Good.'

Her hair was all down and brushed out, thick and lush and blonde well past her shoulders. She had on her nice navy-blue sweater, plain white short shorts, opaque white dress tights, and bright pink socks--pretty much the same scheme we three girls have been wearing since Christmas. On Mother, who has just turned 27, the look is as cute as it is on any of us. She smiled a little shyly and sat on the end of my bed. 'Were you going down to watch the movie?'

I shrugged. 'Not if you wanted me for something.'

She shrugged too. 'I just wanted to visit.'

I smiled and leaned back on the table, folding my arms over my stomach. 'What's up?'

'Well,' she said, 'do you think you would mind if we did not go up to New Jersey tomorrow?'

I shrugged again. 'Hm, I don't think so. Why?'

'Your father wants to have New Year's here. We can go up after that,' she said.

I nodded. 'That's all right.'

'And I can see from how you are sister are with this weather that you'd probably prefer staying here.'

'I guess. Really, Mother it doesn't matter at all either way.'

She smiled and me and stood up. 'I would like to see everyone too, but I'd rather be here seeing them than travelling up there. So as long as there are no objections--?'

I smiled at her. 'I'm pretty sure I'm speaking for Jessy too. There are no objections.'

She nodded and went to the door. 'Do remember your father's rule, Janine. I'll be making dinner for about four.'

'Yes, of course, Mother.'

Down in the TV theatre we watched 'WALL-E' and neither Jessy nor I put any more on till dinner. After dessert we took off out t-shirts and returned to as we were. Right now Jessy's watching 'House' reruns and I'm typing this. well-- at least I've put socks on. And the south wind continues.

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Christmas panties

27 December 2008

Jessy and I were shopping last week and we found these adorably cute all-cotton panties in Family Dollar for Christmas. They are just plain bikini cut, a bit higher on the leg than most of mine, which is comfortable, all-cotton, and they were available in a variety of colours, all with the same print candy canes and snowmen and holly sprigs and snowflakes. We giggled to see them and then decided to treat ourselves to some Christmas cheer. The ones I got are bright green and hers are pale pink. Later in the mall we bought for each other, as sort of a present, a couple pairs of these very high knee socks with a cute pattern of little secular symbols round a white band at the top and along the sides, like the seam in those sexy stockings. We each got a set in bright red and a set in a lighter green. This is pretty much what I have been wearing this season-- I've already washed this stuff three times.

Half of the time since Christmas I have been lolling round this room mostly undressed and the socks, which come over my knee, and the big fluffy light-grey polartec pulli have made a pretty comfortable outfit. The night we watched the video with Gran I pulled on white ballet tights and pulled the socks on over them again and that was perfectly comfortable and presentable for round the house since the pulli comes down almost like a minidress. Daddy said I looked cute-- that was of course before Jessy came down in bright-red boxer shorts under her long navy-blue sweater and looked cuter. Little Lisa came down for the video in her actual ballet leotard and tights, and a new sweater she got for Christmas, and then sent the cute-o-meter off the stops. But it's the Christmas season and I enjoy being able to be warm and cosy and somehow relieved of the responsibility to wear clothes, or at least proper clothes.

We have got church in the morning (and yes already picked out my clothes) and I am not going to stay online at 4.00 am rambling about junk like this!

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God save the Queen. (I defend my heritage)

Friday evening, 26 December 2008

Someone online asked me this afternoon if I had noticed, or if I appreciated, that I have an 'affectation' of using 'Britishisms' (a term I despise though I knew what he meant). I said yes, I know I do; but it is mostly habit and less deliberate. I spent two years in an English public school (read that, in the US: 'private school') and what I came to appreciate was a culture which was always part of my family heritage and always interested me, but to which I had always been only an outsider. It was one thing to hear about a real-life city being lived in by real-life people that happens to have a 10th-century castle right in the middle of it-- it is quite another thing to actually BE one of those people living there and being able to actually touch the 10th-century castle on a daily basis. It gives you a unique perspective, and it has expanded, not narrowed, my own. I discovered and came to love the routines of being English-- singing the national anthem and reciting a prayer for the sovereign in church (and in school) and driving on the left and calling the 'sidewalk' the 'pavement' and so on. Returning to the US a wiser and older person I honestly found it hard to remember all the words to the Pledge of Allegiance and the 'N' form of the past participle and that I have to look left, not right, when crossing a street from the kerb.

I did NOT 'pick up an accent', as someone asked me once, though at one point before I got there I did consider doing that. I confess it's been a temptation, especially living with my stepmother for so long, but though I am often accused of being a thespian I decided it would be disrespectful to do it badly and so left it to Gwyneth Paltrow who does it much, much better.

Some people will remain convinced it is really just an affectation and that by continuing to use the grammar and spellings I use I am trying to say I consider myself superior to most American people. That is a common accusation I get. My stepmother, being ethnic English and Anglican but raised in Roman Catholic Australia, has had it all her life. The saddest part of it is, as my father says, how everyone in America may be so quick to judge all things British as being inferior, but, as he says, 'not one of them would refuse an honorary knighthood.'

One 'Americanism' I have learnt to utterly deplore is the tendency to so quickly judge everything by American standards. For a country which pretends to be so 'tolerant' and 'open-minded' and 'liberal' we Yanks really are not. We do not really accept other cultures' ways of doing things without at least a little bit of feeling superior to them all, and this is nowhere truer than with the British. Disney and Mel Gibson and so many others have made millions from belittling, disparaging and incorrectly portraying British history and culture, and their ugly assumptions are what Americans have come to accept as truth. I got into an argument once online after mentioning that I had read Churchill's book 'Their Finest Hour' over the summer which clearly shows how the British fought World War Two totally ALONE on about five fronts for nearly three years before the Americans chose to become involved-- and all I got for saying this clear FACT was 'Oh, no, WE "bailed out" the Brits.' ('Well the book was written by a Brit', someone said.) The FACT is that America allowed Mr Churchill's government to suffer immeasurable losses and only got involved in the war when it served American interests to do so-- and yet, even so, the British people extend to America a grateful, admiring respect because they're just that unselfish, humble, and affectionate. It's one of the things that makes them British.

For Christmas, Mother gave to Gran the movie 'The Queen' on DVD, and we watched it tonight. When I say 'we' I mean all of us, even little J.J., nearly three, who played quietly, 'as good as gold', on the floor of the TV theatre down stairs. It is a very well-made, serious and sympathetic portrayal of HRH The Queen as she and her household coped with the death of estranged princess Diana in 1997. Naturally the filmmakers had two options with this story-- the most likely was that they would depict the queen as being cold, ruthless, hateful and spiteful, deliberately ignoring anyone's feelings but her own, sticking to principle at the cost of ethics, and so on. The least likely was that they would depict that whole situation as being so unorthodox and unpredictable that the queen deserves our sympathy for simply not knowing how to handle it. The strangest thing of all was that the filmmakers did both.

The most important statement the film 'The Queen' made was nearly at the end, when the queen explains to the eager and innocent PM Tony Blair that 'This is how I was brought up.' She (played by Dame Helen Mirren) explained that she believed the best of the British people would expect their queen to be somewhat stoic, not easily moved to mush at the loss of one person (who by her own choice wasn't even family any more). The character of PM Blair actually gets mad at one of his assistants and says how 'this woman' (the queen) has devoted her life to quiet, principled leadership, including towards a young girl (Diana) who devalued everything the queen offered to her and spent the last years of her life vocally denouncing it all over the world. The American-style mourning for Princess Di, public, emotional, unreasonable and completely out of proportion to her actual, formal status, even called for lowering the British flag on top of the palace-- though the British NEVER observe that custom even when a PM or king dies, the royal family were prevailed upon to adopt it 'just this once' for someone who had willingly and gratefully left their family and that house altogether. People (and the press, on both sides of the Atlantic) were sending public hate letters to the queen personally. This could have made me cry if not for the strong, almost stoic way in which Dame Helen played her. And when you understand what the actress was going for (yes, we watched all the 'making of' special features too) you must have some appreciation for the queen herself. After all what has made Britain as great as it has always been is the very British way in which they do things. To a Briton there really is no other way to do them.

My father has on his office wall a copy of the queen's formal Coronation portrait from 1953. He says he likes the picture, but we all sort of know better. True-- the queen herself is very pretty, a 26-year-old young mother and wife who ascends to her father's place almost shyly, but willingly-- that's a role model for any woman. But Daddy likes more what the picture represents-- almost 1000 years of unbroken tradition in culture and government without which this country of America would never have stood. America broke free of Britain because of the British way of doing things, and yet it survives for the same reason. After all there can be no unselfish, elected service and leadership without the English concept of 'noblesse oblige'-- the philosophy that the good people do the right thing just because it IS the right thing. It is 'Deus et mon droit' = 'God and my right hand' --God blesses what I do that is right, or, when I do the right thing God is with me doing it too. The point is that it is right because it is right.

The British motto is the Old French is 'Hony soi qui mal pence' -- 'Evil to he who thinks evil of it.' How Americans should learn this! It means that you condemn, you deserve to be condemned. If you judge, you deserve to be judged-- since the truly right thing is so right that only the truly evil could ever condemn it. Or, as Alexander Pope said, 'Whatever IS is right' --because it comes from God. God's will be done-- and God save the queen.

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Boxing Day

Friday 26 December 2008

The tradition of Boxing Day is that you gather up all the gifts for people who are not in your own immediate family, especially people at work, and go visiting to delivering happy tidings of the season and your gifts. In America most people go back to work. In Britain this has always been a recuperative day, somewhat like New Year's Day is for some people to do too much celebrating on New Year's Eve.

As we have had a family-only celebration of Christmas Jessy and I decided that we would put Boxing Day to its intended use and drop in on those friends whom we knew would be home. So we were busy little bees all morning and afternoon, seeing Rita (of course), Becky, and Rachel. We said our hellos, delivered our gifts, stayed for a cup of tea and went on to the next house. By about two o'clock we were on our way to Josie's house when the brakes in the Regal began making a horrid noise. I was unsure of what it was and pulled off the road to ring Daddy. He told me to drive a little and have Jessy hold the phone out the window so he could hear it. Then he pronounced it bad break pads and told us we were safe to come home on it. We rang Josie and apologised for postponing our visit. She was it was nothing to worry about and that we could as easily come tomorrow.

When we got home Daddy drove the car and came straight in to make phone calls. I asked him how serious it was and he said it was 'dragging a caliper.' So off went the Regal to the repair place and here I sit with no car for God knows how long. Jessy rang Josie (and they talked for half an hour, almost eliminating any need for an actual visit (if not for the gifts) and finally invited her to our house tomorrow instead of our going there. Afterwards I presume we will be relying on Roger and the long green Cadillac again, at least for the short term.

As for our own Christmas, elveryone liked everything they got and we all had a good time all day. We had our traditional waffles for brunch (not pork pie as in Britain-- ugh) and a lovely smoked ham for dinner. In the evening Jessy, Lisa and I watched BOTH movies of 'The Traveling Pants' (a family gift from Santa) till about 12.30 am. And yes, Lisa stayed up for the both movies-- and then fell asleep in my lap as we watched the DVD special features.

Gran is down with us, staying in her first-floor room, but will go up to Uncle O--'s on Saturday and visit with our other uncle sometime after Sunday. At 80 she is still going well and we are all proud of her for it. One thing Jessy and I have got from Gran was a pair of tickets to the 'Happy Days' musical playing in Philadelphia in late March. Gran always gets us theatre tickets, and not always to the very heady things but to pop musicals like 'Hairspray' and 'Lion King' and 'My Fair Lady'. This makes a fun time for us.

We will be going away ourselves over the next week, returning to the house on the beach in New Jersey for a few days where we had been over Thanksgiving. From there Daddy has a few engagements for himself and for Mother and we 'kids' will most likely play on the beach and whine about going to the mall. That island is always so remote and desolate in winters. (Not that it's not like that here too!)

I look forward to hearing from all my online friends about their holidays too. Till I meet each of you personally online, have a lovely holiday season and a positive and happy new year. :)

--JC (the twit)

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'Tis the season. (I like egg nog)

Wednesday 24 December 2008

Now that I have my licence I am the driver of choice for just about everything. I don't mean to complain. I don't mind the odd errand for milk nor even for taking good little Lisa to and from ballet lessons. But Princess Jessy tends to have needs-- a very full social calendar as well as seasonal shopping trips, and the request often comes in the form of 'You have to drive me to Bath and Body Works.' She does not ask Roger so much now. And so I comply.

Daddy has generously lent me the Regal for my use, but he is very clear that it is not 'MY' car and in respect for that I don't load it up with too much of myself. I have two stuffed blue-and-white throw pillows in the back seat which my passengers like to cuddle with and a nice little three-nail cross hanging from the mirror. A canvas beach bag in back holds anything else I happen to collect. It keeps Daddy happy and really I am glad I have an excuse to keep it clean.

Jessy and I, once with Rita and once on our own, have gone down over the big bridge twice in the last four days to Lynnhaven for shopping. Coming back the second time-- Monday, when it was freezing cold-- we were caught out much later than the curfew imposed on me by my conditional licence, but we had no problems and got back safely without attracting any attention from the state constabulary. Daddy scolded me for letting the time pass and for not relying on Roger and the dark-green Cadillac. At the last minute-- Tuesday-- I needed the opportunity to run up to Salisbury for a few things and so did ask Roger. It was odd, riding by myself in a driven car and having him open my door for me. I had on good jeans and a sweater and my Uggs and felt very pampered of course, but it was my first time actually travelling like that and I am sure I did not appreciate it to the fullest. At my request Roger pulled through McDonald's and ordered takeaway supper for me, and I suggested we just wait and eat it together but he declined and drove me home directly. As it has turned out I am grateful that I have had only to wrap and write cards today.

For some incomprehensible reason it has got exceptionally warm this afternoon. I did not shower till after lunch and sat up in my room in my panties doing my wrapping and cards-writing. The panties are new-- Jessy and I saw them at a cheap little shop in the mall and we each bought a pair for ourselves. Mine are bright green with red-white-and-black Christmas symbols, snowmen and candy canes and holly springs and so on all over them. They're cute. And I have on my new Christmas toe socks too, which are mostly wide stripes in green and bright blue with a white band round the top decorated with candy canes and which pull up to nearly my knees-- and actually stay up, too. In my room it's 72 degrees and outside it's about 65. There is a gentle breeze, which will certainly go more malevolent, and an on-and-off drizzle which is even gentler. I have one window open and can hear that old ocean, far out across the bay, pounding in steep white waves upon the bar. This is bizarre because on Monday we had a vicious west wind and temperatures in or near single digits. Every night till this one we have had ice warnings in effect all over the area and one of my friends actually slipped on some one night and slid her car into another car causing damage to both of them. The poor Eastern Shore is just not ready for this kind of stuff yet.

Mother was sly enough to send Daddy out for groceries this afternoon and then got me to help her move in one of his presents, an indoor rowing machine. Roger was here for much of the day and helped too. We hid the long narrow box in a closet in the basement and will bring it up late tonight. Most of the day I have been nibbling on chocolate-chip cookies (Gran's family recipe) and sipping hot cocoa or eggnog. Whilst I was online tonight someone commented on that term and suggested it be called simply 'nog'. He asked, 'Is there any other kind of nog?' So I looked it up.

I was surprised to find that with all my family's study in the 18th century we had never learnt this before. The drink dates pretty far back but its modern version is mid-1600s and came over to America in the mid 1700s. It was originally called 'Egg 'N' Grog' and sometimes it was mentioned that it was served in a 'Noggin', a roundish clay mug. So 'Egg 'N' Grog in a Noggin' was sensibly shortened. It was most often an aristocrats' drink as common people of that period never got to actually preserve or save milk or eggs. I was also surprised to find it has always been traditionally made with rum-- 'grog' in Navy terms-- for Daddy has always preferred it with whisky or brandy and has only this year, coincidentally, bought a bottle of rum for it. It makes a pretty heady drink, at least to my tastes, and after two this afternoon and two tonight I am pretty lightheaded!

It is very late now. We have all the stockings hung up and prayers said, and Daddy's traditional bedside reading of Clement's 'A Visit from St Nicholas', complete with silly commentary, has been done and those of us younger than 6 have gone down for bed. I am in charge of conducting Lisa down to see what St Nick will have brought us in the morning-- it is a strict procedure we always follow, in that everyone has to be awake and go down stairs together. J.J. will go into Daddy's room from the other end and we girls will meet them all in the front stair hall. The tree is down in the small centre parlour and we presume all the presents will appear there too.

I will say in here that our father adores Christmas for all its mystery and magic to small children. When we were at Lewes he devised, and actually tried, a mechanical device in the attic above Jessy's and my bedrooms which, set to a timer for about one o'clock, played a recording of bell and hoof noises and actually rattled on a surface so that you could feel it as though a dozen or so feet were prancing along the rooftop. It worked, but it was not loud enough to have much effect. He has also always been very clever with leaving subtle little clues about the house, such as half-eaten cookies, handwritten 'thank-you' notes, spilled ash or soot about the fireplace, or the occasional 'error' in replacing stockings or assigning gifts as though they were arranged by someone who did know us as well as he does. As children we really did grow up in a world full of wonders because he made it so for us. Lisa and J.J. now get the benefit of Jessy and me embellishing everything with our own tricks and our tales of Christmases past. I know that tomorrow there will be some surprise that none of us has expected, and one particularly sneaky father who always assures us, 'I never lie, unless there's a surprise, and then I lie through my teeth about it.' If I didn't know him like I do I'd still find myself falling for it all.

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This is typical

Monday 15 December 2008

After supper Daddy and Jessy met up in the kitchen, each of them seeking some kind of snack for a commercial break. Daddy was in the middle of the Giants game (once that was 'his' team) and Jessy was in the middle of one, or two, or maybe four or six episodes of 'Suite Life With Zack and Cody'. I was sitting at the end of the big table in the dining room, having a cup of tea and reading in 'Country Life' when I heard them through the open door.

Daddy: 'I think I'm going to get a spoon for this. The best weapon for eating is the spoon.'

Jessy: 'I think I'm going to get a bowl for this. The best thing to eat out of is a bowl. The bowl,' she said, like an elementary teacher giving a lesson, 'is actually God's favourite kind of dish.'

Daddy: 'Okay, one-- God doesn't use a bowl. Two-- God doesn't play favourites like that. He loves all dishes equally.'

Jessy: 'Yeah, but secretly, his favourite is the bowl.'

Daddy: 'Don't attribute human characteristics and failings to God. You know he hates that.'

Jessy (laughing): 'Daddy--!'

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