securing things

memorial weekend. a girls’ weekend. had she ever been on one? no. it would be a weekend to remember.

two new friends were driving in from spokane, coming to her rescue as she worked through loss, grief and shock.

the loss was severe in its own right. she and her furry snowshoe siamese boy had become one, just like adam and eve had been one with creation in the garden. part of her had died with him in the emergency hospital that day. she had no idea how that piece of her heart would live again.

for weeks, the darkness just got worse as she processed through the sequence of events that led to buddy’s demise. wisdom spoke. not all things could be shared as she saw certain details with great clarity. those she’d loved and trusted had committed the heinous acts of betrayal, loosing dark, destructive acts of witchcraft against her in her own home and workplace.

she’d gone into the courts of heaven weeks previously, summoning the guilty parties as holy spirit pointed them out. the usual suspects were present along with some unexpected guests.

she shook her head in disbelief, noting they all belonged to the same witches coven. most of them were rejected by church people. the enemy wasted no time recruiting them, welcoming use of their gifts for his purposes.

jesus strode into the courtroom, addressing the group at large. “you all know why you’re here. let’s get down to business.”

he began the process of calling out the offenses each had committed against her, waiting for them to own their actions before moving on to the next person.

she watched as some hung their heads in guilt. others turned away from jesus in defiance. it was laughable when they turned on each other, pointing fingers and shouting, “he made me do it!”

she called one last defendant into court to join the other wayward children. he’d been clinging to and actively engaging in so-called white witchcraft, learned from his former wife seated at the table. while she was a practicing witch, he’d also done his share of damage. witchcraft is witchcraft. so is guilt by association.

he stood with his head bowed low as jesus spoke. “are you willing to repent, renouncing your allegiance and participation in all witchcraft and occult?” the man nodded his head, ashamed of what he’d given place to. he was unable to look up to see the love in jesus’ eyes’ for him. he couldn’t receive it yet.

the ever righteous judge ruled in her favor because of the blood, because of the cross. those that had placed a bubble of witchcraft around her were also judged not guilty. the cross stood before them all, a constant reminder of our perfection and innocence before father god before the foundation of the world.

when court was adjourned, she left with a spring in her step thinking the onslaught sent against her was over. it was not.

later, she’d see the one man who’d refused to repent. through him, the enemy kept on with intent to destroy her. his unhealed wounds resulted in extreme narcissism. he had a door flung wide open door for jezebel to walk through and she did, taking up residence and full control. while she lived through the last attack, her beloved kitty did not.

the grief was as relentless as the attacks. she’d done everything she knew to clear her apartment and workplace. friends prayed in agreement. demons still manifested in the wee hours of the morning, banging & tapping on the refrigerator. the one who would not repent astral projected into her apartment whenever he wanted. too tired to fight, she relied on her angels to keep her.

the atmosphere at work intensified, ramping up to yet another flare up with her boss. he was overcome with fear, unwilling to yield to papa’s recent invitation to be loved as a son, to walk with him in the garden.

his unhealed wounds allowed the enemy to use him against her. fear, greed, selfishness, pride. more usual suspects. so many of papa’s sons needed more prayer. her boss had no understanding why he did what he did so he blamed her. she asked for more prayers from her facebook family. they obliged.

the next morning, her angels checked in as she left for work. rafael stood towering above her, smiling confidently. “we have you surrounded,  madam.” she grinned, sensing their affection and dedication to her. she saw them in the spirit often. it gave her a sure confidence in father’s ability, desire and promise to protect her.

now she packed for this girls’ weekend. they were coming to her. she didn’t have to go looking for support. help was on the way. faithful friends are precious.

their accommodations were in the heart of the city, but the log cabin décor and atmosphere made them feel like they were deep in the woods. it was perfect. they were minutes from the waterfront, walking trails and great restaurants.

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photo credit: the heathman lodge
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photo credit: the heathman lodge

they got in late friday night and spent time talking about matters of the heart. saturday morning came too early. no one was in a hurry so they took their time getting ready.

as one of them was leaving the room, she noted the door latch didn’t catch when she pulled the door shut. it wouldn’t lock. they quickly realized their room had been unsecured all night long. it was unsettling.

housekeeping was making their rounds in the hall outside. they quickly contacted the building engineer and he hustled right up to their room.  she sat on the bed listening to the man work the door.

one, two, three times she heard him open and close the door. her ears perked up and she said, “wait! listen!” to her friend across the room. father god spoke: “i am securing your calling, i am securing your hearts and i am closing the doors to the things in your lives the enemy has been trying to keep open.”

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photo credit: pixabay

he continued, “like a three-fold cord, you will not be easily broken,” referring to the three of them. the broken latch was fixed at 1:01 pm, indicating new beginnings and fresh starts.

wisdom spoke. “turn your wounds into wisdom.” those few words were filled with power. nothing had been wasted. it was being turned for good.

she saw angels sweeping out her apartment and her workplace. there was an immediate shift in so many things.

their personal lives were not the only ones to be impacted that day. holy spirit gave her instructions for an assignment. later that day, they drove to the waterfront with a small container of salt.

each of them took salt in the hands and it in the columbia river flowing below the platform. as they tossed the salt, she prophesied that the salt was now washing the false face of the new age off of vancouver and all of washington, off of portland and all of oregon. they blessed the river with abundance and supernatural cleansing.

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photo credit: calstate.aaa.com

it was a holy moment.

they stood in silence watching the river, grateful, thankful and secure.

 

 

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jane what???

good day, dear reader,

upon waking, we (referring to my various alter egos) had no idea we would be writing today. indeed, i remarked earlier to a friend that jane doe was still on hiatus and we did not know when she would be returning.

however, the events of today warranted that the lesser known jane what??? make a public appearance to pen comedy for all of you. things have been heavy of late, yes, and while we are assured of victory in every battle, some good roaring laughter can go along way. here we go:

the alarm went off at 5:45 am quickly followed by a muttered ‘shut up’ as my hand groped for the snooze button. this sequence occurred several times, each time resetting the device to ring in 9 minutes. i gave in to it about 6:45 wishing i felt more rested.

the 3 am antics of buddy the wonder cat had already negatively impacted my mood. thus, he found himself on yet another time out in the bathroom until mommy was ready to get up.

i crawled out of bed and located the uncle fester inspired spoonk mat (you can look that up on amazon). plopping it on the floor for the first part of the morning routine. lying down on the sharp acupressure points for a few minutes to awaken my back and spine is a good thing. some would call this torture. i would agree.

after getting myself upright again, i let the cat out of jail. he was suitably repentant (or at least as much as a cat is willing to repent.) we had a few minutes of play before i surveilled the state of my small apartment.

it was a mess. small spaces require more frequent attention or it goes bad quickly. i carried a thoroughly stuffed laundry basket into my main room and dumped it on the floor. clearly, the basket itself had developed supernatural capacity because this was not one load of laundry; it was three. ugh.

i sorted clothes. i counted quarters. yes, i can do this. so off i went with the 1st load to the laundry room. it’s equipped with one washer and one dryer for all seven apartments. i loaded the washer, fed it coins and detergent and scooted back before anyone saw me.

after brewing my cuppa, i sat down at the computer to catch up on social media and thank papa for this day, asking holy spirit to order my weekend.

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photo credit: pixabay

after a nice conversation with m. on messenger, i drank my coffee, scrolled twitter and the cia life tracker (oops, i mean facebook. do not send me any ugly messages. you know it’s true.)

with caffeine powering me, i began the business of picking up and clearing out to get the vacuuming under way. when that task was accomplished, i carted the second load of laundry to the laundry room. this one had the sheets and mattress pad in it. i purposely did it in this order so i wouldn’t have to do the third load today if i ran out of mojo. the first load went into the dryer and i returned to the vacuuming.

after cleaning the bathroom and kitchen, i went to retrieve the  first load from the dryer, folding it after throwing the sheets, etc. into the dryer. with the first load was folded, i went back to my apartment and finished cleaning the main living space. hang in there with me. we’re about to change gears, i promise.

after a suitable amount of time passed, i returned to the laundry room to retrieve the second load from the dryer and get the third load drying. the end was in sight.

i pulled open the dryer door to find a foreign object on top of my items. YES. something that DID NOT belong to me was in my laundry. my CLEAN laundry. one of my fellow tenants put his (yes, assuming the male species) wet bath mat in MY hot dryer cycle, paid for with MY $$$$, with MY clean sheets and mattress pad in it.

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photo credit: jane what???

jane very loudly exclaimed, “WHAT???” yes, she did. i did. whatever. we ALL did.

ladies, i bet you KNOW every thought i was having in that moment. WHO does THIS??? WHAT???

going into full detective mode, i considered which apartment housed the guilty party. there are only 7 here. the process of elimination pointed the arrow to the culprit(s) quickly.

i walked over and knocked on the apartment door, waiting a moment. no answer. but i could hear the silent, ‘uh, oh’ through the door.

i returned to folding my sheets, hearing that same apartment door open and close several times while i was still in the laundry room. i smelled their fear at being busted for this heinous act.  the big momma alter ego was having too much fun.

possession is still 9/10’s of the law. i have the offending bath mat secured in my apartment. it is my hostage until the owner is courageous enough to knock on my door and own his offense.

in wisdom, i notified my landlord about this infraction. he offered that if my big momma voice was good enough for him, it will be good enough for them as well.

this, friends, is jane what???’s crazy story for the day. you can’t make this stuff up.

something tells me the boys will just go buy another bath mat..

WHAT???

 

jane doe productions llc copyright © 2019

thirteen months

july 2017 to august 2017. thirteen months filled with love, laughter, healing and thirteen months of intense warfare, deception, heartbreak and overcoming. she’d lived to tell.

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photo credit: pixabay

sword in her right hand and scepter in her left, she’d learned her lessons well. relationships ended from bad choices and the enemy overplaying his hand.

demons were overcome in battles fought only to win. there was no other way except through. her gifts and abilities were honed and refined, becoming useful, dangerous weapons.

father moved her back to the place where the war had begun seven years earlier. standing in a ‘live to tell’ place in time, the song played in her head, the words encouraging her fingers on the keyboard.

if i ran away, i’d never have the strength
to go very far
how would they hear the beating of my heart
will it grow cold
the secret that i hide, will i grow old
how will they hear
when will they learn
how will they know

a man can tell a thousand lies
i’ve learned my lesson well
hope i live to tell
the secret i have learned, ’till then
it will burn inside of me

the truth is never far behind
you kept it hidden well
if i live to tell
the secret i knew then
will i ever have the chance again

some stories would be told without repercussion while others were time sensitive, requiring discernment on their release.

others still would hold consequences. choices for righteousness would be offered yet again. others would remain secret. honor and love protect both the guilty and the innocent.

when the last showdown occurred, she was still standing, having never hit the ground. she stood shocked, betrayed, bruised and bloodied with a deep stab wound.

her nemesis was a pawn of the enemy, a sister she had loved well, trusted implicitly, shared her life with on every level. when the bad acting was fully revealed and over, she forgave quickly and easily.

scissors in hand, she quickly cut the puppet strings above her head one by one. freedom came like a freight train, joy and peace flooding her soul.

witchcraft is ugly. it takes the wounded captive but cares not if they are destroyed with the intended target. the enemy cares little about collateral damage or friendly fire.

the spirit made several attempts at re-entry into her home and life. she put it on notice, now clearly recognizing it as the same one that had astral projected into the tacoma convention center a year earlier. “if you come in here, or anywhere in the realm of my authority, i will cut your silver cord and it will be over for you. your choice. i have permission.”

she closed the spiritual doors, gates and any other potential opening, taking care to remove anything from her possession that constituted a soul tie.

jewelry is not lovely or valuable if it has bad juju on it. she blessed it and gave it to an employee at a local retailer, a young woman delighted at the unexpected gift. those earrings would look lovely on her. might as well do good with them.

the exposure increased and intensified over several months at the end, a mental game of chess that turned physical on occasion as the enemy tried to take her out.

she knew she needed help. every morning she asked the spirit of truth to lead her into all truth while asking father to show her where witchcraft was operating in her life. he showed her and quickly.

she questioned him about the unraveling and inevitable end on august 25, understanding very little as physical strength flowed back into her body.

on august 26, he said, “everything has a season.” she nodded, taking it to heart. she knew he would tell her more as she could bear it.

it didn’t take long.

on september  8, he continued. “you asked for preparation, for training, for discernment and equipping. opportunities were given to you to increase in those areas.”

the training was hard, ugly, painful and costly. the losses alone nearly made her give up hope. instead, she held the promises tightly in her fists, speaking them out and reminding father of them often. they would not be stolen. she had confidence he would restore what had been damaged or stolen.

when she asked jesus to pull out the last knife, it didn’t hurt too much at all.

she learned her lessons well. she lived to tell.

jane doe productions © 2018

 

 

shouting into the wind

they drove to the coast for the day. she had some props to stage and photograph for a piece she was writing. she invited him along for company, for help and because she loved him.

it wasn’t a good weather day at the beach. the temperature was cold and the sky was overcast. the wind blew hard. after parking the car, they got out their cameras to explore the treasures of the beach.

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photo credit: jane doe

it wasn’t long before he began walking the other direction, intently focused on unusual birds and adjusting camera settings. maybe today he would get perfect shots that would fix all the broken things.

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photo credit: jane doe

she watched him go, giving him time do what he loved. it was low tide, offering them a rare opportunity to see eddies and tide pools normally hidden in high tide. the wind and the waves formed intricate designs and patterns in the sand. she took a few photos as she admired the handiwork and creativity of the one who’d made it all.

after a while she needed his help.  she began calling his name as she walked toward him. to her surprise, he turned and walked the other direction, oblivious to her calls, to her existence on the beach with him. she started shouting his name hoping he would hear her voice above the wind, willing him to hear her deep calling to his.

suddenly, stark reality pierced her heart. tears and wind stung her eyes. she stopped shouting and stopped walking.  she stood still in the wind watching him walk further away from her.

she realized he wouldn’t have needed to hear her if he saw her and honored her in his heart. he would have sensed her need and heard her calling him in his spirit.

but he couldn’t honor her because he didn’t honor father. and there were things blocking his vertical relationship with his abba. they were cameras, lenses, flash drives, birds, animals, all good things, yes, but they’d become idols.

the very gifts he’d been given were now stumbling blocks as he looked to them for identity and fulfillment. every day, he put them first, blocking the goodness, love and healing father wanted to pour into him.

those good things caused blindness, a tunnel vision in every part of his life. he was unable to see anyone else because he was focused on himself. similar to a funhouse mirror, the tunnel vision was destroying the very relationships he said mattered most to him.

vertical relationships with father, jesus and holy spirit must be correctly aligned for horizontal relationships with people to work.

first things first.

jane doe productions © 2018

 

 

possibilities, potential and promise

it was 5 am saturday morning. she was wide awake. sleeping in wasn’t happening today. another roller coaster week in her never a dull moment life was over. it was time to rest and reflect, laugh again.

it was a melting pot of warfare, sleepless nights, tears, passionate conversations with bad endings. demons swearing at her. nice. what was that about being blessed when you’re persecuted and people talk ugly to you? she shook her head and laughed. the devil only has a hissy fit when you’re doing something right. well then.

trust the process

“trust the process,” her friend told her. when she heard it, she knew it came right from papa god’s heart. trust the process. indeed. she’d asked papa for his best for her.

she’d seen him through his papa’s eyes for some time now. she saw him in truth, in perfection, as a beloved son even when he wasn’t fully awake to this reality.

he’d had brilliant prophetic words spoken over him, words of promise, hope and a future. he saw vignettes of unlimited possibilities and potential, the ways papa god wanted to bless him as his son. he saw how his gifts and talents could be brought to life.

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photo credit: pixaby

most importantly, he was presented with the beautiful gift of a wife, a full partner he could walk with in this life. would he step into his destiny? would he come back for her?

this was a major life decision. in returning to her, he’d be turning his face fully back to papa god. it meant walking arm in arm with him in unity. it meant stepping into sonship.

it meant radical change in direction, a homecoming worth celebrating loudly. the cloud of witnesses perched on the edge of their seats wondering how this would play out. would he choose well? would he be bold and courageous? yes, the stakes were high but the reward was great.

she’d prayed intently over him and his family for cleansing and restoration in their blood lines. for all the enemy stole to be returned to them 7-fold.

weeks turned to months, months grew to years. she wept over him, took communion over him, visioning life with him. she determined to cooperate fully with papa god, willing him to have every opportunity to make the best choice for his future and future generations.

she prayed for wisdom and revelation that the eyes of his understanding would be open. she prayed for his heart to be one with father god’s heart again. she called to his spirit to rise up and lead his soul, declaring his spirit would only be led by holy spirit.

faithful friends stood with her and prayed. in all of it she kept telling papa god she wanted his best.

she gave him wide margins to work things out on his own. she spoke when holy spirit prompted her – and sometimes when silence was the better option. grace covered her.

unconditional love often gets an unexpected response

wisdom dictated several things she would not compromise. those things had earned her unfriending, blocking and ‘goodbye.’ unconditional love often gets an unexpected response.

jesus chimed in on her thoughts, showing her some of his daily experience. he’s telling us, “i love you, i’m here for you, not leaving you. ever.” his compassion rises, watching us trying to stitch up our gaping wounds. we lay there bleeding, still holding up the hand, saying, “i’m good here. get the hell away from me.

see how we are

see how we are. still, he doesn’t leave. he waits until we give in, showing him our wounds, allowing him to love and heal us. she remembered her conversation with jesus, drowning in her own lake of mess. “i am so freaking broken. what do you want with me??

she could see it wasn’t him rejecting her. it was a combination of pain, fear and angst speaking, a realization that the old ways of dodging brokenness weren’t working.

she didn’t leave, either. she loved him hard, praying for him when she would have rather kicked his backside. love never fails, never gives up. it gets up in the morning to love another day, to love the hell away.

now, she waited, trusting the process, waiting on the promise.

the best man is coming for her.

copyright jane doe productions © 2018

 

the white orchid

it was a birthday gift from a *sister, the one who filled the role of *jonathan in their david and jonathan relationship.

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photo credit: pixabay

it was breathtaking, in full bloom the day she received it, adorned with five beautiful white blossoms. she’d never had an orchid before. it intimidated her. she knew they could be tricky to care for.

not only that, but this was a gift from a friend. what if it died? this was different than failing with a plant you bought for yourself. there was pressure to keep the plant alive and nurture the relationship that was clearly from papa god. oh boy.

over time, the delicate white petals dried up and gently fell to the cabinet below. the stems that held the petals also dried up and fell off. only a long green stalk remained where so much glory and beauty had shown weeks earlier. even the stalk began to dry up. she clipped it back, hopeful it would prevent further decay. it did not.

desperate, she cut it back again. ugh. this was a failure. no, she was failing at caring for the white orchid. so she thought.

there was danger in overwatering these plants. she followed the watering instructions. and somehow overwatered it. the little pieces of bark on the top of the pot grew mold. the small new shoots at the bottom of the plant were moldy. more failure. frustrated, she cut off some of the moldy shoots. they would not recover from the mold.

conversely, the green leaves at the base of the plant were huge. they looked healthy while the stalk that once held the flowers was dried up and quite a bit shorter than before. she shook her head. overall, the prognosis was poor. the big leaves were healthy but would it ever bloom again?

every day she looked at the orchid, wondering if she should just throw it in the dust bin and be done with it. looking at it was tormenting, a constant reminder of failure.

one day, with a burst of resolve, she moved it to the window ledge. here it would get intense sunlight whenever the sun made an appearance during the rainy winter. she still gave it an occasional drink, teetering between willing it to live and wanting to pitch it. she was sure she sucked at caring for this gift. where had the green thumbs gone?

months went by. on the saturday morning before easter sunday, she decided to give it a little drink. she considered it might be wise to turn the whole plant around on the window ledge. the backside of the orchid could benefit from the sun, too.

this complicated plant closely mirrored another relationship. she wrestled with vision, hope, and big promises from papa god about this one. all her eggs were in this one basket. the investment was great, the risk high, the reward and return not yet realized. it made her lay awake at night sometimes. what was that about walking by faith and not by sight?

reaching down, she turned the plant 180° and set it down gently. sitting back down at her desk, she saw it. there was a new, beautiful green shoot growing from the stalk she’d cut back and left for dead. not only that, there was another smaller shoot growing up at the base of the pot on the top of one of those big, healthy green leaves.

new life was springing up all over this plant.

she was dumbstruck. leaning in for closer examination with wide eyes and eyebrows raised, she found yet another new shoot growing from underneath another large green leaf. even the moldy shoots that remained were growing new shoots. what???

Shirley Temple
photo credit: tv guide

the stalk she’d thought was dead was now producing new life. she looked at it, tears running down her face. new life was springing up all over this plant she’d wanted to toss out.

she looked spoke to the orchid and the man she loved in her words of blessing.

“i bless you to grow and bloom more than you were ever told you could.”

the plant and the man would respond beautifully to her words of love and encouragement.

it was easter morning when she wrote this post. the deer were passing through the back yard, playing and leaping as they often did. her morning cup of coffee went down easy as she listened to elisabeth cooper (the journey) sing about the banqueting table set before her.

the plant continued to speak to her. things were seldom as they appeared. more tears flowed.

then she heard daddy god’s quiet voice break into her thoughts, mingling with her hopeful tears.

“what you see as failure, i see as growth…”

 

copyright jane doe productions © 2018

high tea

her experience with high tea was limited to british tv programs. she’d spent countless hours howling in laughter watching ‘fawlty towers‘, ‘keeping up appearances‘ and ‘to the manor born.‘ she’d owned every episode on vhs, even had them memorized, a fact that was a well kept secret until now. she’d always had a fascination with all things british, the humor, the mannerisms, jane eyre, the yorkshire moors and old english estates. fancy that.

 

her momma told her of her heritage as a child: english, irish and german. the german slice was of little interest, further proven out by her near failure of german class in high school. the english and irish pieces of her heritage, though, they were fascinating and very alive. she was convinced narnia was a real place somewhere over there. and by george, she was going to have a chocolate box cottage one day, yes, she was.

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photo credit: google

papa god, good papa that he is, why, he even brought her a friend whose roots were all united kingdom. she grew up having tea several times a day. fascinating. black tea, cucumber sandwiches, sausage rolls, little cakes and tarts, biscuits and digestive crackers. licorice all sorts and peppermints. she knew about all of it, lived it. brilliant.

weeks prior, her friend had told her of this place, a real destination, a very british place with all manner of british fair. oh my. they plotted and planned to visit and eat english pastry. filled with gluten. and sugar. it was time to break all the eating rules if only for a bit.

finally, the day came. they were going to go the ‘place’ for high tea. she speculated to said friend, “certainly, there will be a portal in the place and we’ll just translate to the united kingdom. why not?” indeed, why not?

in keeping with the english theme, rain fell steadily as they drove along to their destination. the pair of them were rather a sanitized version of thelma and louise with a jesus bent, slightly more than eccentric and completely over people pleasing. this was their time. yes, it was.

her friend encountered a problem during the drive. the passenger headrest did not fit her head and neck properly, so for nearly the entire trip, she was not only uncomfortable, but also in a bit of pain. clearly, this was not acceptable. alas, there was no way to remedy the issue while they were driving, so on they went.

each lady had dressed for the occasion, looking very lovely, all made up and gushing with childlike anticipation. when they pulled up to the front of the restaurant and gift shop, she put the car in park and took in the sight before them. her mouth opened to a perfect ‘o’ like shirley temple might have done.

Shirley Temple

she drew in a long breath like a little girl seeing her first lollipop. the women turned and looked at each other. oh. my. goodness. they had arrived. they were going in. this was going to be good, jolly good, right?

they walked to the entrance and paused, trying to decide who would go in first. it was too much excitement. walking through the foyer, they approached the doorway into the restaurant. a voice without a body asked how many were in their party. she responded, “two, please,” to the invisible woman who then appeared to take them into the dining room.

they slowly entered the charming, quaint space and looked about. the hostess encouraged them to sit wherever they would like. they agreed on a table near the window with a wall opposite them on one side and more tables on the other. the wall featured various photos of british royalty. they gazed upon the royal family, prince philip and the queen mum. she was resting on the wall right above them, gazing down upon their table. surely all would be well if the queen was keeping watch.

 

their waitress left them to peruse the menus. more big eyes formed as oohs and aahs sounded over the potential selections available to their palates. this was akin to the wallace and gromit episode, ‘a grand day out.‘ could it get better? they decided on the high tea plate. it looked like a feast. after placing their orders, they looked at each other across the table, still hardly believing they were there. it was surreal. america was a world away as they took in the atmosphere.

her friend was moving her neck about, still trying to ease the ache she felt from the headrest issue. always the fixer, always the healer, she looked across the table and spoke. “if you ever get a pair of those balls….” her words trailed off as her ears heard what her mouth had just uttered in public. at the very proper british restaurant.

it hit her at the same time she observed her friend’s expression, the mirth showing in her eyes and already escaping her mouth. and then it was over. it went from zero to sixty in three seconds flat as both women erupted in laughter, doubled over with hands over their mouths. did that really just happen? yes, love, it most certainly did. brilliant.

kind reader, do stop for a moment. it’s not what you think. really. those balls are not the balls you’re imagining right now. these balls were invented by a ballerina in new york city. these are different, for different purposes. oh my. google miracle balls. you will see.

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photo credit: google

back to the problem at hand. there was no way to reel those words back in. she didn’t dare look at the family to her right. she didn’t know if the father or his children had heard her words, but they were certainly hearing them try to contain the snorts and chortles. crikey, mate.

after several minutes of hysterics, they contained themselves. the queen mum hanging on the wall was no longer looking on with approval, however. her countenance had gone from a controlled, stately expression to one of stern disapproval. who were these two brash american women sorely lacking in manners and decorum, and what was a queen to do?

High Tea
photo credit: jane doe

enjoy high tea, that’s what.

and they did. what a meal. it was more gluten and sugar than either of them had consumed in six months.

cheers.

copyright © jane doe 2017