Category Archives: Musings

You’re invited . . . to a ball!

It’s that time, my son.

I promised last year that I would make a special announcement when the time rolled around again for . . .

. . . the annual Regency ball!

Here’s the 4-1-1: it’s in South Bend, Indiana at the Palais Royale. Everyone stop for a moment and say “Palaaaay Roiyaaaal” in your snootiest French accent. Please and thank you. It’s from 11am-3pm Saturday, March 24th. You will learn period dance after period dance, to the tune of excellent live music, with a dance master calling out the steps all the while and helping everyone keep it together. You will learn arm-over-arm thingies, steppity-step thingamagings, and patterns that make your brain twist around and do the polka on its side. You will get a work out. You will sweat. You will laugh. Etcetera. And tickets went on sale Friday!

The catch: you have to come in costume! Or rather, it is “requested” that you come in costume. For a guy, this can be as simple as coming in a shirt and pants and tying a piece of fabric around his neck (the oh-so-sexy ‘cravat’). If you want to take it to the next level, add gloves, a vest, hem and cinch the pants so that they come right below the knees, and wear white knee-high socks (this is the level that I took it to for my husband). Even more committed? Then grow some sideburns, and add a hat and jacket if you want to be nominated Mr. Regency Himself 2012. And of course, you can even get crazier and purchase or sew a full-out costume.

Confused? Let me provide a visual.

Here’s what Eric looked like all dolled up last year:

For the girls, at the most basic level, the costume simply involves a long, empire waist dress. Want a little more? Add some gloves, a wrap, and a hairdo with (if possible) little curls. From what I hear, little curls were all the rage in those days.

Here’s Carrie’s costume, made by Nimblefingers the Great (a.k.a. the blonde one).

 

You can read all about our experience last year in these posts:

1) The post announcing our upcoming Regency plans, which we were forced into by my dear friend Carrie.

2) The post chronicling Carrie’s and my road trip to Erica’s house, who agreed to be our seamstress and sew us up some dresses.

3) A post about a hairdo that got a little out control.

4) A post with some beautiful pictures of Carrie and some awkwardly painful pictures of me, highlighting our lovely costumes. Be forewarned: alien space-doll Jenna makes her first appearance . . . which will also be her last appearance. Or at least let’s hope.

5) A post about the dance itself.

Sadly, this may be the last year for the ball. Even though attendance looked great to my eyes last year, I guess they need more ticket sales to actually get into the black. So come one come all, and save the Regency Ball!

Anyone up for it? Here’s the link to buy tickets–the price is $35 through February 24th (that includes “luncheon refreshments” made by a 5-star chef with “period recipes”), and the price goes up after that. Let me know if you can come! (Erica? Dave? Rowenna and Randy? Nudge nudge?)

If you need further convincing, just look at Eric and Carrie!

So in love. So happy. So at home in their garb. If you come, you will also be in love, happy, and at home in your garb.

Thus endeth my sales pitch.

The healthy schizophrenia of the Spirit

Like most of us, when I’m hurt, I get mad.

Some people vent their anger yelling; my old boss punched walls and threw phones; some people cry, some go take a run or a cold shower.

But when I get mad I get very, very quiet.

Don’t get me wrong–I have a million potentially damaging phrases roiling inside, pressing at the walls of my heart and begging to be let out. But I know that if I open my lips, daggers will fly–so I clench them shut. I retreat inside myself.

Funny how in the moment of anger, nothing seems important except causing pain–either to the person you’re mad at, or to yourself–it almost doesn’t matter. In these moments, vulnerability seems like folly, so I consciously build a wall. I tell myself: I don’t care how much damage this wall does–I just don’t want to be exposed again. I make myself unresponsive and cold, because it’s the only way I can contain the volcanic heat in my heart–by surrounding it with blocks of ice.

But while the main force of my emotions and thoughts is caught up in this protective and harmful endeavor, there’s something else going on: a little voice right offstage. This is no bullhorn, no elocutionist, no long-winded politician–this voice is quiet and small and meek.

I can feel that this little voice wants to cry out to God, but I’m too furious to even want to pray, much less to articulate a complete sentence heavenwards.

So the little voice just says “help.”

Just one word.

I’m so weak at these times. In the heated moment itself, I don’t have the self-control to pray for reconciliation, or the softening of my own heart, or anything else–but somehow a small part of my heart can cry that simple word: help.

And what a powerful word–it’s the tiniest channel, but that little peephole of an opening is enough for a powerful God to push through, open up the prison even as I’m building it, and tear it all down. Unclench my fists. Calm the volcano, melt the ice.

God doesn’t require a long prayer from me at these times, or outward signs of repentance, or even an apology. He doesn’t wait for me to cry, or kneel, or talk, or say “I’m sorry” to him or to anyone else–just that one word help sets him in motion, and he runs to me.

I believe the part of me that cries “help” when I don’t have the strength to say anything else is the Spirit in my heart. I’m afraid to even imagine what I would become if it was just me in there, in the corner, refusing to budge, closing myself off with all of my efforts. I would soon construct a prison that would be so hard to demolish that it could stay up for days. Weeks. And eventually, as I built on and added thickness to the walls during moments of anger and hurt, I could be closed off for years. For life.

I thank God for the Spirit in my heart, who looks after me so well. Who is antithetical to the part of me that wants to inflict pain and suffering on myself and others. Who is antithetical to the part of me that refuses help, that wants isolation.

“The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace.” (Romans 8:6)

“For the flesh desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the flesh. They are in conflict with each other, so that you are not to do whatever you want.” (Galatians 5:17)

Yes–it’s a little schizophrenic. I’m in conflict within my own spirit. I am of two minds. But if I were of one mind with myself and was 100% invested in my own feelings and thoughts moment to moment, God save my soul!

“So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:21-25)