Oh, the Lace!

'I never in my life saw any thing more elegant that their dresses. I dare say the lace upon Mrs. Hurst's gown--'
Here she was interrupted again. Mr Bennet protested against any description of finery.
(Pride and Prejudice, Ch 3)

Since there is no Mr. Bennet around that can interrupt me in my ramblings of fine lace, I will proceed as Mrs. Bennet could not do.
This weekend I passed a bride whose gown stole my attention. It was elegant, unique and had a vintage touch. Seeing that she was separated from her party, I approached her to comment on her taste. I had to, any dress influenced from fashion of bygone eras deserves attention and respect, both of which I gave. I knew it was her wedding day and she did not need strangers to commandeer her time, but sometimes you have to throw away protocol (gasps from the graves of Regency folk). I have a slight obsession with historical fashion and she evidently did as well. A shared interest like that needs to be acknowledged. Though our bonding was brief, it was lifting and enjoyed by us both. Moments like these are worthy to trump social etiquette.
While waiting on the grounds of the temple for my cousin and her husband, out came my kindred spirit! I wanted a picture of her trousseau, hat included. Into the crowd I went with camera in hand. My point and shoot camera did not catch all the delicate horizontal pleats and tasteful brooch well.

Soon I realized that I was crashing a wedding. Oops. I pretend that everyone I bumped into thought, "She must be from the other family." I am in the yellow skirt.

I originally thought I was getting the photograph to catalogue away for future designs. Looking back I realize this was not my true motivation. Though I admired her dress, there was no particular element of it that I had to capture. No, what I really wanted to document was that there are people like me in the world and that I had a moment of connection with one. I also wanted to remember how happy this girl was in her own unique style and original creation.
Luckily there were no Mr. Bennets to interrupt me in my fun. But then, Mr. Bennet would not have stopped me from crashing a wedding. He would let me 'expose myself in some public place or other as long as it is at little expense and inconvenience to him.' (modified from Pride and Prejudice Ch 41). Just so long as he did not have to hear about the lace!

I am a Heroine

When I was young I wished I was a princess. I waited for the day my parents had to tell me the dreadful news that I was not actually part of their family (gasp), that, in truth, I was a princess. The story would be that they had promised to take care of me until it was time to return to my kingdom, which would be on my sixteenth birthday, naturally. That day never came. My dad also never surprised me with the secret that he was a king who nobly decided live as a commoner for a while. Worst luck for me.

I slowly grew out of my desire to be a princess and replaced it with a longing to be a heroine, like the ones I idolized in books: Anne Shirley, Elizabeth Bennet, Jane Eyre, etc. I related to these characters and their world (no royal blood, no magic) and I admired them more (they held a bit more depth than my Disney princesses did). As fate would have it, I had just as many problems being one of these heroines as I did in learning I was a princess. The sad truth was that both my parents were living, were sane, and we were not destitute. This is not a good backdrop for a heroine. I also lived in the wrong place—a suburb in America, not a quaint town in England. But the irrecoverable misfortune was that I was simply born in the wrong era. I lived in a time of cars and when women wore pants. How can I be a decent heroine if I do not travel by horse and buggy or wear petticoats?

In recent years I progressed to a new phase. In the two decades I spent as a heroine addict (ha ha) I noticed only one real difference between me and them. Putting aside the obvious fact that they are fictional, the only difference is that they had an author—a Jane Austen or L.M. Montgomery to write their story. After reaching that conclusion, I quickly came to a second one: I am a heroine, just unwritten. I lost my longing to be a heroine as I embraced the realization that I already was one, standing in the midst of my own story. I discovered the truth in the words of Sara Crewe from A Little Princess, “I am a princess. All girls are.” Or in my case, “I am a heroine.”

I am a modern-day, quirky, non-fictional heroine and am happy to be such.

The Jane Game's Heroine

"No one who had ever seen [Elizabeth Bankhead] in her infancy would have supposed her born to be an heroine" Northanger Abbey Ch 1, Jane Austen.

Strange things happen in this world, though. I am Elizabeth Bankhead and I discovered a few years ago that I am a heroine, just unwritten.

There is nothing terribly remarkable about me. I live in Salt Lake City, Utah, like 200,000 other people. I work as a scientist, which is not uncommon. I love my family and friends, which is even less uncommon. I have developed a Jane Austen board game, okay, that is a little rare. I like the combination of peanut butter and chocolate and am not wholly fond of olives, both fairly average opinions. Despite how ordinary each part of me is, the combination is unique and, as it turns out, heroine worthy.

I hope you enjoy some of my stories that are posted on this blog. They are labeled as 'My Life as a Heroine'