The Ornamented Being
Ornamented: -verb: Adorn; beautify. Be·ing: -noun: Fulfillment of possibilities; essential completeness.
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I’m home! I feel that I must apologize in advance as this week is going to be extremely busy and I won’t have much time to blog! I have to be in class tomorrow, go in Thursday and try to prepare for a final fitting next week on my WWI Nurse, and prepare for the London launch of the Titanic II on Saturday!
I was going to make one post and talk about my costumes that I made for the Hodshon Huis Ball in Haarlem but I’m a bit rushed on time this week. I’ve been terribly naughty by not updating The Mended Soul and once life settles down I’ll get on that right away!
Until then I’ll post a sneak peek of my very first pelisse (see! I do smile in photos!), the dinner, and my favorite lemon tart! I was offered one slice and instead I passed my slice to the waiter (technically they were called our servants but I wasn’t very comfortable with that term) and took the whole plate from him!
Many of my friends have very kindly told me that I resemble Hortense de Beauharnais and so I decided that it would only be fitting to base my ball gown on her portrait.
I hope these will suffice until I am able to make a proper post!
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Hope the TSA agent in Chicago and the lovely individual at Heathrow going through my luggage have a sense of humour! (Taken with Instagram)
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It’s such a bittersweet departure. The next seven months will be the longest time I have ever been away from my family. I take comfort in the fact that I am my mother’s daughter. She taught me that I am strong enough to make it through whatever hardships come my way and if I ever get lonely (and she isn’t on Skype!) then I look to Orion in the sky and know my mom is watching the same constellation.
I chose this life, for the good moments and the bad, come tears or smiles, I will make it through.
That said Lord help the first person in my class who complains about their parents living two hours away.
To my fellow Southerners (and Americans): I’ll see ya’ll in July so stay safe!!
To my fellow Londoners: get ready, I’m coming back in town ;D
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I’m preparing to visit my family for the Hols and I’ve realized I have the same problems every time I travel.
My very first issue is the “you may bring only one 50 pound suitcase.” I’m an international student who studies historic costuming! Do you know how heavy some of my sewing toys are? Let’s not even get started on how heavy FABRIC is!
I’ll be at the airport and the person at the till will ask me to put my luggage on the scale. Don’t let my calm facade fool you because on the inside I’m chanting DON’TBEOVERWEIGHTDON’TBEOVERWEIGHT I’m a poor broke student DON’T BE OVERWEIGHT!
The second problem I fully blame on websites like Tumblr for showing me all these arty ways of taking photos of what you are carrying in your suitcase. Honestly have you ever tried to neatly pack everything and take a photo? It doesn’t work!!! I always end up with STUFF! I start off with neat piles of clothes and items to put into my suitcase. I labor over packing a neat suitcase, I started yesterday! Thirty minutes ago I was sitting on the darn thing praying to the zipper gods that it would close.
My third issue is I never know what to wear. I refuse to wear heels because turbulence and a few different timezones = Bad. I don’t want to be too cold but I don’t want to be too hot. I know this sounds awful but people who try to dress fashionably for international flights really amuse me. You dress for comfort, leave the bandage dresses to Posh.
Gah!!!!!! It’s not flying that is hard, it’s packing!
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I feel like I should apologize for neglecting you all. Second year just started and our project is pretty hectic (*read insane. As in oh-my-god-the-entire-thing-is-due-in-HOW-MANY-WEEKS????? Insane.)
Also my mom has been here for the past two weeks and I saw her off this morning. I’m not going to lie. Basically my life has consisted of sitting on the couch since six this morning, hugging my stuffed dog, watching the Mentalist, decimating the box of tissues, eating chocolate, and crying. Lots of crying.
I’m trying to find the will to go on.
I’ll have something for you tomorrow but today I’m going to live on the couch and bond with Patrick Jane and chinese food.
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Guh. I’m alive.
I don’t know how though. We flew through the tail end of Irene and there was about five minutes there where I pulled my rosary out and said every prayer I could think.
Made it to Londontown but my birds nest is calling and I need to sleep.
xxxx
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I’m leaving tomorrow and I’m torn between joy at the coming adventure and sorrow over parting with my mother. It’s that last hug that kills me, the constant looking back until I can’t see her anymore. I feel so guilty because as much as I don’t want to leave her there is this lust building inside me, this demanding need to travel, to see … to explore.
I’ve come to realize that I suffer from wanderlust. I collect passport stamps like people collect coins and I live for the moment when you realize you are so wonderfully lost.
If you were to ask me what my favorite part of traveling is there would be two parts tied for first place.
The first is the moment when I step off the plane in my hometown and have to remind myself that big girls don’t run through the airport.
They walk very, very quickly.
The second is that moment when the plane’s wheels just leave the ground, when you are hung in the balance. Not on the Earth but not quite off.
When the engines suddenly hum to life, the plane takes that small jerk back in warning and you’re moving.
It’s that precarious moment when you hold your breath, prayers running through your mind that this plane will get off, this plane will get off. The moment when you are pressed back into your seat, ears popping, laughter building, excitement replacing the blood coursing in your veins.
The moment when you realize you are about to embark upon a new adventure.
Tomorrow I fly.
Wish me luck!
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Please say a quick prayer that my flights arrive safely!!!
xoxox
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Now Bring Me that Horizon.
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The guy at security checked my passport
looked at it and then back at me about three more times because I’m blonde in my passport photolooked at my headband and all he had to say was “well you certainly don’t look 21, more like 15 maybe even 16…. hm hey {insert scott or whatever his name was here} how old does she look?? Haha no mate she’s 21!!! :} Ah see I told you! Have a great day.” :3*KICKSHOVEPUSH*
I can’t wait until I get to Saint Paul and go into the Chili’s and order alcohol. I shall have a merry time indeed shoving my Id into the waiters face and daring him to make a 15-16 comment.
