Greetings from Williamsburg

Greetings from Williamsburg,
Virginia's true capital.

My dear reader,

Here we are at the Commonwealth of Virginia's true capital... Our patriarch is washing in the tin tub, and young master William is playing with choleric birds and here I sit, quill in hand, penning this missive to you. We arrived safely last night without being waylaid by bandits and had a fine repast at Mr Huzzah's tavern. The ale was good and the bread and cheese passing. 

The spy games are engaging, but
yield naught but a coin of dubious worth.

We were fortunate to have a room to ourselves at the Woodlands Inn, although the snoring is still noisome among ourselves. Last night we ventured down to Great Hopes Plantation where we heard a programme of slave singing which heartened us mightily, and gave us pause, as it is clear they make mockery of fairer skinned peoples. As well they should — those who think to own them make of their lives a very hell, and would do well to repent of this grievous sin and release them without delay! 

This morning we engaged in a bit of espionage, which yielded nothing but a coin of dubious worth. Indeed we were of no assistance at all to the patriots' cause, despite our efforts. Following a simple luncheon at The Trellis, I returned to our rooms to practise my art, as most of the people who employ me are not actually aware of my absence. Meanwhile, Thomas and William visited some of the town tradesmen and enjoyed the vexing maze in Governor Dunmore's gardens. We are considering breaking bread this e'en at the pub on the Duke's street. Their array of fine libations is unsurpassed in the capital city, and their viands are most succulent. 

Dog Street Pub – fine libations
and succulent viands.

It has been cold and blustery, but my cloak has been more than sufficient to buffet the winds that assail us as we go about our business up and down the avenue and in and out of the shoppes and peruke maker and cobbler and such. 

I long to see you dear reader, and wish fiercely that you were with us. I hope this epistle finds you well and I will see you anon. Until then, I am

Your most devoted blogger,

Mme. Moore

The Really Good Day... Just a Paragraph

Okay, so yesterday I was sitting there at Bill's guitar lesson – he's been taking for about a year, and is coming along okay, but not a prodigy or anything. I was trying to work out in the hallway there, and sort of half listening to him go through his lesson. He wraps up the stuff he's been working on then I hear them start fiddling around on a new song... Seven Nation Army by the White Stripes. I stick out my tongue and make that Ronnie James Dio hand signal*... and then the really good teacher, Jim McConnell, says, "Okay, here's where you play what they call 'power chords.' " And he proceeds to teach this vital technique to my nine-year-old son. I gotta say, for a rock-and-roll lovin' mom like me, that was a really good day.

*I know this is widely assumed to be devil horns, but Dio claimed that he got it from his Italian grandmother, who used it to ward off evil. I'm going with this interpretation!

Couple Things I Gotta Say

Okay, so here I am again whining about not being able to be on Facebook... It's irritating, I know, listening to someone whine, but I have such a lot to say that's not getting shared with the Facebook world.

That's our Stephen, 4th from the left.

1 - For instance, can I say that even though I didn't know him, I am utterly sad about the passing of Stephen Akin? In case you don't know who that is, David Menconi wrote about him in the N&O, describing him much more effectively than I ever could. Please read David's article and you'll know. Plus you'll see a picture of him and his cute as a button little boy Charlie. I'm just going to say that when my younger brother was a kid in a band in our small town and I lived in Chapel Hill, I pointed out Stephen Akin as a fashion role model for him.

Stephen and I attended a lot of the same shows in the eighties, and he could be seen on any given day hanging around Ruthless Records. We may have even met, but honestly that whole time is kind of a blur for me. He can be seen in this video by the Sex Police. Anyway, he's gone to his reward now, and that truly bums me out.

__________________

Bruce wants outa his trap!!!

2 - AND if I were on Facebook I would have posted a link to the song Trapped by Bruce Springsteen... 'cos I heard it the other day and remembered what a great song it is. When I first heard this gorgeous, shimmering song, I was what Bridget Jones would have called a “stick insect” – that is, in the throes of anorexia. Plenty of people have joked, saying something like, “I’d like to have that disease for a month or two!” I may have even said it as a teenager. I assure, you, though, it is not an experience that any sane person would enjoy. Heck, I wasn’t sane and I still didn’t enjoy it!

Nonetheless, there I was… Trapped. Ooh yeah. Trapped. In a cage of my own making. I don’t know a lot about addictions, but I always thought that anorexia was like having an addiction… I mean, why do people become addicted to stuff? Are they filling a hole? Self-medicating? Genetically pre-disposed? I’m pretty sure all of that was true for me and my trap, anorexia… although it’s ironic to think I was filling a hole with emptiness!

Yeah, i’m pretty sure I was addicted to… anorexia! Or... the approval of other people? I mean, as the chubby girl, I was used to being the "fat friend"... to being regarded as "one of the boys" ... that is, not a romantic or even sexual prospect. When I became thin, I wallowed in the sudden attention from the opposite sex. I loved it. I toyed with it. It was awesome. That's what I got addicted to, I think. It's also ironic that in my quest to preserve the attractiveness I had attained, I lost it completely. 

Climbing out of a trap is like using
the crazy, higgledy-piggledy stairs
at Hogwarts.

Anyway, that song is a poignant picture of a person who is caught in something, like the first of the 12 Steps: "1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable." But ultimately our fellow has faith that he will escape – see, this line "But I'll teach my eyes to see beyond these walls in front of me/Someday I'll walk out of here again," is like the second step, which goes past what we can see with our eyes and invites a "Power greater than ourselves" to restore sanity.

I haven't really worked all the steps, but I do know that climbing out of a trap like anorexia or addiction is not like climbing an easy, straight, shallow staircase. It's more like traversing those staircases at Hogwarts – they are steep, and crumbly and actually move around! So it helps to have songs like this one to fill your head with and strengthen your resolve. 

Anyway, that's just a couple of the things I got swirling around in my head, unable to get out. Perhaps it's just as well. I mean, it's not like the world NEEDS my random musings... but I'm learning what a blessing it is to be able to share them.