Andare, Partire, Tornare

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Attack of the Killer Brides

Iíve been horrible about updating, both here and at the LiveJournal, and Iím not really sure why. Itís not like I havenít had things going on, but the spirit hasnít moved me to put it down on paper (er, type it on a screen, I suppose). Itís possible that Iím just feeling a little worn down, and as work has been busy, whatís left of my energy has all gone towards that.

The wedding exhibit is down, and all the brides are now reduced back to their component mannequin parts. The storage bins in the workroom are full of paper raffia wigs, assorted bouquets, stray bits of lace and padding, and heaps of modern reproductions of the wax orange blossoms that decorated every bride from about 1850 till 1920.

Hereís an example of the strange secret lying underneath every costume exhibit. The visitor sees only this:

A vision of loveliness and grace, yes? But underneath, she is this:

A horrible Frankensteinís monster, ready to leap off her pedestal and devour you! Bwahahahah! Ahem. Well, maybe not so much. But still weird, right?

Actually, not all of them are as hodgepodged as this. It depends on the dress and whether or not we can afford to buy it a fantastic new mannequin from Goldsmith, or if we have to make do with bits and pieces of cheaper ones. But just as some of them are completely intact under their dresses, some are worse Ė just ask the bride in the sixties minidress how she feels about having her legs bolted on.

Changing gears entirely, I also went to visit my sister at the little Catholic college she attends. Itís a nice place, with the added side benefit of having a student body that rather expects everybody to be friendly and polite to each other. The result of this is that many of the students there are unashamedly on the slightly dorky side, without fear of being hopelessly hassled by the cool kids, jocks, and slacker stoners that normally would prey on them or ignore them entirely. My sister resides in a room in a little old house that has been turned into a dorm, so she gets the use of a kitchen and has a private refuge when needed. Itís another example of the type of college experience I had hoped to have, but I donít know if I could have stuck it out at her school Ė being fairly more cynical-minded and reactionary for the sake of being reactionary, I think the prayer before each class, the dress code, and the slight shadings around some topics during the history class I sat in on (not enough to skew the truth, just enough to accent things to a more Catholic worldview) would have eventually irritated me greatly. But I envy her the small campus, small class size, easy access to gorgeous scenery, and friendly populace.

Hmm. Best not try to make up my weeks of silence by spilling it all out at once.

8:57 a.m. - 2004-09-10

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