I am a woman haunted.
Maybe I caught the attention of a restless Victorian soul whose handbags befell tragedy. Perhaps a turn of the century factory girl with dreams of a better life sees me as her last chance to make real the designs she sketched by candlelight. Am I channeling an Edwardian fashion maven from the beyond?
Who's to say? All I know is that for the last seven years visions of handbags occasionally appear before my mind's eye. These visions are not sketchy ideas in need of refinement - quite the contrary. They appear complete in all their embellished, plush and vintage inspired glory.
In order to understand the complete strangeness of this phenomenon, you must know that I was not a woman with a strong stand on handbag acquisition nor did thoughts of handbags normally occupy many minutes of my day. I had always leaned towards a roomy bag in a barely varying shade of brown, historically to be found at JC Penny. This utilitarian bag would be slung over my shoulder without the least thought until the day it either fell apart or a friend asked, "Good Lord, how long do you plan to carry that thing?"
With this in mind, you can imagine my surprise the first time a small navy velvet confection with drawstrings, a ribbon rose, and tendrils of seed pearls appeared before me. I was waiting for the kettle to boil, daydreaming out the window about nothing in particular.
"Hmm… " I thought, fully expecting the vision to fade as quickly as it had appeared. But fade it did not. Without the least movement or noise it became insistent, reminding me of a cat I once had named Lucy who would sit quietly gazing upon you in an unwavering fashion until you were impressed by the emptiness of her food bowl.
As I'm a seamstress it seemed the simplest of tasks to make my tea and, for a lark, make this handbag. I was very pleased with it and hung it on the wall next to my bedroom mirror. It occurred to me to call it Lucy. Months passed.
It was on a sunny morning as I contemplated nasturtiums sprouting in a pot on my side porch that a second handbag vision appeared. This time the bag was of black velvet with a tassel and a cuff embellished with onyx beads. The image was inviting, but it was spring and the garden called. I was less willing than before to stop my day and so I turned my back.
But as I said, I'm a woman haunted. The garden was put on hold while I completed Sophia.
And so it continued. Visions of bags would appear and I would make them. Over time, Leonora, Madelyne, and Eugenie took their place next to Lucy. Maggie, Aurora, and Celia joined them.
It didn't take me long to realize these lovely ladies were also working on my life. I didn't always know how to execute my visions so I became a regular patron of the library where, with a little research I'd discover that, "Yes, that must be ruching" or "Ah…so that's called gauging." This lead me down new, or rather old, roads until I was reading about vintage fashion, which took me to women's issues and then on to literature. I began reading the works of 19th century women authors and then began collecting late Victorian lithographs.
I found other changes taking place as well. I cast aside my roomy Penny's bag and began carrying my lovely ladies. They looked well with jeans in a Bohemian sort of way that I rather liked, but I found myself now favoring skirts. By the time Ruby appeared before me, with her lace gussets and beaded fringe, I realized I had become a romantic.
You may wonder if I'm ever disconcerted or ill at ease by these visions, by what they might mean, or by the direction in which I seem to be inexorably headed. I confess to being a willing party although I do sometimes wonder where it all might end.
I haven't yet told my husband of the Victorian house plans I've ordered. One must handle these situations with delicacy.
There's more to tell but I really must go. Muriel is waiting. |
