My daughter, Sage observed this morning that people can be very tolerant and understanding of citizens who have disabilities.  ”If you are in a wheelchair or have a walker or even have that label “Severe Learning Disability” and you get to work with a instruction specialist to learn how to read, then you get a pass from everyone.  Or say, you can’t walk ’cause of the wheel chair, nobody asks you to do the 100-yard dash.  But if your difference is mild and not in-your-face obvious, nobody understands.”  You see, she has a very mild cerebral palsy that makes her limp a tad when she walks and keeps her from moving her left fingers in fine-motor activities that most folks take for granted.  Keyboarding for instance. The home keys A-S-D-F never have her left handing resting one them.  She would like to use her left hand, but she never will be able to isolate that movement.  It is a waste of breath to say ,”Try harder!  Practice!  You can do it!”  She can’t.

When we Queens get together, we wear tiaras and pretend to be a a real life Royals.  It is will alway be a challenge for some, though.  Tell them, “Practice! Try harder” does nothing other than annoy them.  Try as they might, being a Queen just is not fun—or not darn  fun enough.   I have figured everybody joins a social group or club for different reasons.  Shoot! You might think there is common thread, but it is not always obvious. We all have different paths.

The Mint Julep Queens are presently experiencing a phenomena I will call DQ-S or Disappearing Queen Syndrome.  And there is no cure. One founder resigned in a unseemly way.  Several kind ladies have bowed out very gracefully due to lack of time, energy and interest .  Even more just have not answered emails or announcements and are simply MIA.   As if MIA is ever simple.  Like, where are they?  Do they still live here?  Who knows?  So amid the exodus and the challenge to my sensibilities, I looked up “how to start a social club” on the Google machine.  All the suggestions have been noted, but nothing new was mentioned.

So when a group unravels or dissolves, when friends move or transform into other entities— is it time to rethink social groups, swear-off membership in girls’ groups?  Re-brand, re-new, re-tread?  After re-examineing the goal, all I think we need to do is practice more tolerance. Leave or stay.  Join or not.  Crown or abdicate.  Be Royal or not.  But remember, we all have challenges–some obvious and some subtle.  Do not succumb to a fear of fun.   And really, it is fine to drop out of any group that does not help you have fun or be a better person.

Reign on!

Queen Erica

Queen Barbara said the joy she found after giving a necklace and a petite tiara to a little girl along the parade route was the best thing ever.  Misty eyed she confided in me, “That sweet little girl brought tears to my eyes.  She wanted to hug us all.  Wasn’t that just the sweetest?” Yes.  It was.  All Kim and I had brought were necklaces with a dangly crown pendant that kept tangling up as we attempted to pass them out to the on-lookers.  I had purchased a dozen sequined tiara that were long gone.  Gone before we made the bend in the road.  Klesey has a bushel of candy and buckets of beads.  Sylvia had confetti poppers that shot a small blast of tissue paper into the air. Thankfully, Barbara had planned ahead and bought tons of sets of plastic tiaras at the party section of Toys R Us so that she could carry on, spreading joy and glitter one tiara at a time.  Spotting another cutie-pie, she placed the silver comb with a Barbie-esque Royal ornament atop a pony-tailed head.  Tiara secured soundly,  the child hugged each of us as we flounced by.  Buried face deep in my neon green chiffon skirt, she looked up and grinned. “Wow.”  I smiled at Barbara as I waved and walked on fast, trying hard to catch up with the other queens. “Thanks for remembering to get tiny tiaras.  I ran out as soon as we got started.” Barbara, nodded knowingly and let go of a happy sigh, “Of course!  That is what this is all about.  I have been looking forward to doing this all week long.”  She looked as though she had just suddenly started breathing.  She took another long, slow, deep breath as she scanned the crowd for another Girl Princess in the making. “That is what being a Queen all about.” We saw it together.  Half way around her dress the hem was tattered and muddied. “Oh no!  Your brand new dress!” “Aww.  Who cares?  I have worn it a couple of times.  I  can always get another dress.  But today?  I will always remember today,” she said as she started digging into her bag and locating another set of toy tiaras.   A just above knee high little girl was waving energetically with her even tinier little sister standing to her side, more shy and reserved.  The toddler looked pensively down at the asphalt and then up at her mother who smiled and nodded reassuringly.   As Barbara rushed to them, she looked up.  The sisters looked as if they were watching a summer sunrise, eyes wide and expectant- they threw their arms open and stretched to catch the rays of warmth.

The Mint Julep Queens have a new Minister of Transportation, Sir Richard.  His 1966 Black Cadillac convertible , Dezi was our chariot during the Tybee Island Mardi Gras Parade.  The MJQ Krewe took turns riding and walking down the Butler Avenue.

 Click for a big image

Tybee Island is calling our names again.  It is whispering “Royal Highnesses!  Please come back and Flounce down our Quaint streets.  Come back and wave to the commoners who eagerly line the parade routes and-”

Wait.  Parade?  We do not work making floats or trudging along behind loud marching bands.  A parade?  We may watch one, but the effort involved getting a float together and the crepe paper.   Really crepe paper, of all things.

“Highness,  there is no effort needed.  No float required.  Just come in full regalia  and pass out tokens of your incredible kind esteem to the throngs that will line the path cheering for you.”

Do we have to wear heels?

“Majesty, Converse All-Stars, properly bejeweled will suffice.”

Well then,  please let the committee know that the MJQs accept with pleasure their kind invitation to attend Tybee Island’s Mardi Gras & Mint Julep Queen Parade.  

“Very good, Majesty. ”

That is all.

“One last thing I must reveal to you.  The commitee has named the Parade a Mardi Gras Parade and the MJQs are not part of the advertising.”

What?!

“-merely as a precaution, you understand.  The Tybee Island police and security departments may not be equipped to managed the extreme attendance if You, The Queens are an announced participant.  May we let this be a surprise appearence for the residents, so as not to over strain the bobbies?  They have a hard enough time dealing with the masses.”

Well, if we must…it is better for the Realm.

“Very good, M’am.  Now I am off to purchase some glitter for the Royal Converse.   —*whew* that was a close one.”

Yep.  I am a day late and a dollar short.  So the fine print contest is over.

You missed the October 31 deadline… by a few hours.  Figures.  The voiceinmyhead, my self-talking, overworked,  inner voice is not surprised.

Organizing an all out effort to win a position as a blogger for Paula is not on my to do list.  Shoot.  I did not even know the contest existed until 15 minutes ago.  I was in the middle of researching, filing, and organizing my writing.

Researching is code for procrastination.  Filing is code for tossing stuff in the trash.  And writing?  Well, writing is code for…Writing is writing! Really.  Being a full time mother of a high school student, Sage and a 5th grader, Selia, plus working outside my home as speech therapist and a part-time writer, I sure understand all the demands placed on women’s time.  Demands placed by our family, our jobs, and even ourselves.

Hey. You talkin’ ’bout me?  I’m  just giving friendly guidance.  Gotta keep you on task, so to speak.  Oh.  Right.  The inner voice all women have keeps a running a “to do” list and a running tab on what is next.  A litany of  ”Have I called to RSVP for Mimi’s party?  Is the dog due for its flea meds?  I wonder if the dryer is breaking?  I smell burning dust. No, that is the heater.  Coils need cleaning….”  And the list goes on and on.  But do I ever schedude time for FUN?  Not often.  But when I do honeys, it is a red letter day, (or night.)

So tonight I am going out tonight.  Do you have dinner planned for Stephen and the girls?  Naw.  I figure they can get dinner on their own.  Wow! Throwing caution to the wind!  I like it!  Let the party begin.  

So clearly my writing is hard to schedule.  My life is very busy.  But ultimately one priority is making time for FUN!    

 This is what I keep re-thinking.  What in essance are the MJQs about?  What is our reason to “be”?  Simple.  We like the freedom of just being ourselves.  Powerful, fun-loving women who are not scared to have a good time.  Let me put on my chiffon and rhinestones and nobody gets hurt.  Growing up female in this culture you would think empowers you to be fearless.  Wrong. More fears are still attached to women’s experiences than you might otherwise expect.  What will other people say about me if I put on a crown?  Do I look silly?  Maybe we should raise money for a good cause and then we can explain what we do.  My rationale for my existence is not linked to a cause or a job.  Being Queen, if only for a few hours is the most freeing experience  I have ever had.  I am ready for a full throttle flounce.

Saturday night we had a dinner and a photo-shoot on Tybee Island.  I love Sundae Cafe.  I think it may be the best restaurant in the area.  The photos of Jeanne are precious, but I had to get up early and so I  had to head on home after dinner. Pooh. No flounce time. I must admit,  if I spend the time and energy to dress, I really want to flounce and by this I mean…strut about swishing my big green skirt and creating a spectacle.  Queen Kim has promised me that she will help glitter a pair of shoes with me, so like Dorothy, I will be  prepared to deal with any flying monkeys who threaten my good time.  I think having to go home early was like being lifted up and locked in a tower by those mean flying monkeys.  Watching the hour glass and knowing the evening would be kaput as soon as the bill was paid, dampened my fun just a little.  So, now I know.  Always plan a flounce on a day when I have nothing to do the next morning.  No time frame! My sole purpose will then be: laughter and spreading joy among the commoners.

I can just imagine some of my friends being embarrassed for me after the day I had yesterday.  Which reminds me.  One of the questions in our Table Topics game is “What would you find more embarrassing? a) Seeing that your fly was down B) Finding out you had toilet tissue stuck to your shoe c) Discovering you have spinach stuck in your teeth.”  The girls, Stephen, and I all agreed the spinach offensive would be the most mortifying.    Over supper we use the Table Topics to generate some interesting conversations. 

My family used to discuss what random act of kindness we each had performed, but lately we are trudging through our days without being randomly kind.  So either we need to step it up in that department or we need to just be happy talking about the Table Topics. 

My day was one from hell.  Actually it could have been worse. The voiceinmyhead remembers worse days. 

I had not slept well the night before.  The Time change on Saturday was still messing with me.  Daylight saving time and “Spring Forward” was killing me.  To top it off, I had had one too many glasses of wine.  That never happens to me.  No kidding.  I have a pretty high tolerance or I did before Lent. I live in darn Savannah.  We drink in this town. 

But you see, if you give up alcohol for Lent and then have a glass on two on Sunday (because Sunday is not an official day of Lent), so you can have the item you gave up…well that one glass will knock you silly and then when you have another it will make you forget that you had a glass  already.  By the time you have finished the 3rd glass, it is all over and the next day is ugly.  Sad and ugly.  So I sit at lunch with Carolyn and admit it.  I am more head-achy and hung over than I have been in years and it is all because I gave up wine for Lent and then over indulged last night. 

Isn’t that sad?  Not really.  Wait.  It gets worse.  So I am sitting there and all of sudden my skin starts to feel like it is buzzing.  My scalp starts tingling and the soles of my feet start burning up.  Uh-oh.  Oh crap.  What in the world?  Then “bam” the memories of what this is all about start to hit me.  A darn Anxiety attack.  No.  It can not be. I have not had an anxiety attack in ages. 

There is no way to gracefully panic.  There is no way to elegantly pass out.  There is no way to stylishly puke.  Luckily I was just being Erica at lunch and NOT Queen Erica.  Queens keep a stiff upper lip and do not fall apart.  It would have been worse if you had been in green gown and tiara.   There is no way to not call attention to oneself when you have trouble standing up because the room is spinning and the adrenaline that is normal when you are in a fight or fright-life threatening situation is now pumping thought your veins and causing you to have all sorts of strange physical reactions that don’t stop.

Now my chest is feeling tight and my heart is racing and I know I should breath slowly and deeply, but instead the shallow breaths starts and then I hyperventilate.  Are you kidding?  That is not very smart.  So I shakily tell Carolyn,  “Carolyn, I think I am gonna pass out.  I am having a anxiety attack.”

Normally Carolyn is a walking medicine cabinet.  She sells real estate for a living, but in another life she was a pharmacist, I believe.  Or maybe a dealer.

“Do you have a Xanax?” I ask, praying that she does. 

“No.  I am sorry. You will be fine.  What can I do?” She tries to comfort me.

“I have some at home.  I need to get home.” I can’t even see.  That is an exaggeration.  I can see, but everything is blurry.  Ok, fine. But you can see. And you can stop this if you just concentrate.  Focus.  The voiceinmyhead is really annoyed with me.

I am trying to focus.  So I stumble up and she has to support me.  I make it to the steps and put my head between my knees.  It reminds me of the last time I almost passed out. 

The mammographer was showing me the small metal chip that the radiologist had inserted with a large needle into the lump I had found in my breast.  I was standing there calmly and then suddenly the room was spinning and I almost hit the floor.  It was April 30, 2010 and I had just had a needle biopsy.  Ginger, the R.N in charge fanned me as I lay on the examine table.   She told me about her vacation plans to go to Thailand and ride elephants.  It helped get my mind off the fear and it gave her something to do besides take my blood pressure every few minutes.

So as I sat trembling and shaking on the steps of Johnny Harris, all I could think was how ridiculous it was that I could not control this random reaction.  Carolyn helped me get into the car.  It felt like I was having a stroke, but I wasn’t. That’s just what anxiety attacks feel like.

So when it was all over, normally I would feel a tad bit embarrassed that I had caused a little scene.  Having a friend have to almost carry me out and all that mess.  That kind of embarrassment, you know?  But today, at this point in my life, I am not embarrassed.  I am proud to be who am.  Imperfections and all.  But given a choice, I would much rather have had spinach stuck in my teeth or had problems with my zipper.    

Going on 10 years ago I had visions of each unique member of  the Mint Julep Queens developing their own style.  As I saw it, the member would evolve and produce her own iconic image of what a Queen is.  What does a Queen wear?  Who is that queen that lives in your heart and gets out only on select occasions?

I remember telling Wendy about the group when she wanted to know what we all wore.  Wendy is an artist and an exceptional visual person who needs to have a mental image of the MJQs to begin to wrap her mind around our frivolous existence.  At the time, I explained that we each wore what we thought was Regal.  It could be a true pageant queen dress, a fairy tale princess dress or an historic costume.  The only requirement was to wear green since we did want group photos to be pretty and having one hue just seemed smart.

Not to mention the fact that you love green!  and red heads look so good in green. Of course now you barely qualify as a red head.  Which reminds me, you need to call Dennis and make an appointment for a color restoration.  Get out your calendar and let’s see…what will work?  …uhmm

The voiceinmyhead is painfully aware of how 8 years have aged me and talking about my unrealized goals for the Mint Julep Queens just makes me sound pitiful.

Not exactly pitiful.  More like naive. 

So I had thought the self-costuming and excitement would happen.  I would have adored seeing Queen Dottie in a Queen Elizabeth styled ruff and an ermine trimmed cloak would have been so exquisite.   Dottie would be just wonderful as an Elizabethan Queen.

But again.  It is NOT about YOUR ideas.  It is about each woman’s own connection to Royal spirit.  Maybe Dottie does not want to be all costume-y and historic looking.  Maybe she does not want to call attention to herself.  Just because she is one of the oldest Queens, seems you could be more…

Mature…NOT oldest.  Mature.  And I agree.  It is not about me.  But this is. Why not at least try to get some costume connections going?  Like with Savannah College of Art and Design.  They have a costume department.  Maybe someone would like to design a gown for me.  It could happen.  If I had to select a look…just one, I want a Fairy Queen Midsummer Night’s Dream look.   With a custom crown that lights up and has an art nouveau vibe to it.

Why so magical?

I do not know, honey.  But I think I heard someone say they could not fit into their big ol’ mass of multicolored chiffon and that she was too old and needed a “serious” dress.   I  am praying right this second that I never get too old for a cray-zee dress and that some how I can convince SCAD’s costume department to take us all on as clients who need wardrobe assistance in a desperate way.  Queen Kim is helping with this project so I have every confidence it will happen…and hopefully soon enough to keep someone out there from buying a Darn Boring Ass dress.  Or God forbid letting their darn husband buy them a “serious” from Nordstroms or somewhere equally mature.

Maybe you need to accept that some queens prefer a simple dress.  More Margaret Thatcher looking and less Elizabeth I…face it. 

Maybe we become the Mint Julep Prime Ministers?

No. There is room in the group for simple, serious and low key.  Really. It is just not YOUR look.  You have talked about this before.  Let it go. we are each different in style and personalty.  Each Queen expresses their royalty in a unique way. 

The voiceinmyhead has gotten all tolerant and accepting.  

After almost 10 years organizing this group, it is high time.  It is what it is…  

 (click, honey. you need to see these BIG)

If bad things happen in 3’s, do good things also happen in 3’s?  I drove home today after having a temporary crown placed after breaking a permanent crown last Friday.  I drove along under a huge canopy of oak tree branches laced over head like massive fluid elephant legs bent all over the the street and connecting in rough vein-like grey patches.  The largeness of the trunks and branches created an Extreme the arbor over Washington Avenue.  Although I adore the iconic Southern-ness of live oaks and drippy smoke colored Spanish Moss, and it took every fiber of my being to focus on being thankful for that view.

Face it.  You were feeling sorry for yourself and not thankful.  Not thankful at all. You were looking in the mirror and fretting over your numb, lop-sided lips.

I was looking at the trees and thinking how lucky I am to be in this car and not lying in a hospital bed recovering from some God-awful illness or injury.

Keep your focus on the road or you will have a wreck, the voiceinmyhead kept saying. You know you are not supposed to be driving less than 24 hours after being under anesthetic.

Oh yeah.  I forgot to tell you, I had a D & C yesterday.  Just a routine thing they tell me, but not at all fun or Royal.  So the bad stuff: 1. D&C at the hospitial, 2. Broken Crown at the dentist, and then 3. ripped contacts and no replacements in stock.

Thankfully I got your attention off the damn live oak trees down Washington Avenue or you would have gotten a ticket when we sped past that police car.  So that must be Good Thing Number 1.  See!  The Good things are really starting!

The voiceinmyhead is so seldom positive. I guess that is good thing number 2  right by itself.

So Good Thing Number 3 is what we are waiting for.

Maybe it already happened and I missed it.

Uhmmm.  Let me think.  This morning you saw a photo that helped you figure out that one of your dreams is to ride with a Krewe in a parade during Festival season in New Orleans.  Identifying a dream is an important step.  A step to what I do not know, but a step.

Really?

Yes.  Laissez les bons temp rouler!

The voiceinmyhead knows me pretty well.