Ah, children! Boy, do they keep you humble.
My seventeen-year-old daughter Rebekah accompanied me yesterday to the P. Seth Magosky Museum of Victorian Life in Joliet where a photographer from the Morris Daily Herald took pictures of me in Victorian dress and on the location where we shot the Bryony trailer and music video.
While I changed in a cold upstairs bedroom from my nice warm jeans into a cold satin gown and tied on my tulle-filled bustle, I graciously accepted Rebekah's well-meaning comments of, "You don't look bad for fifty," and "How could you do this without me?"
To prove her point, Rebekah clasped my borrowed jewelry around my neck and balanced my hat atop my head. Next came the hard part: descending the polished wood stairs in a pair of slippery-soled shoes. Pat Magosky, museum curator, stood at the bottom, shaking his head and laughing at my careful, halting steps.
"If I fall down and break my neck," I told him, "I promise to haunt your house forever."
Pat's wife Andrea Magosky entertained us with stories of Joliet's past until the photographer arrived. Then the real fun began. The photographer decided that, for the first picture, she would position me on a small couch near the grand piano. That's when I heard the soft giggle.
"Stop laughing," I warned Rebekah.
The photographer draped my skirts "just so," which elicited another muffled snicker from Rebekah and additional chastisement from me. We repeated that routine several times.
"My kids aren't used to seeing this side of me," I said.
The photographer smiled in understanding.
Next, the photographer snapped a few pictures of me standing between my "Bryony" displays. Rebekah chuckled, then clapped her hand over her mouth.
"Do I have something taped to my back?" the photographer said looking around her.
I glared at Rebekah.
"Since it's such a key part of the story, let's take a few at the piano," the photographer said.
I sat on the bench and placed curved finges over the keys (Note to self: Have James show me a real chord or two for future shoots). Rebekah fled from the room, laughing, laughing, laughing.
The photographer smiled too and good-naturedly finished up with some additional shots of me on the couch.
"I don't take very good pictures," I said.
"These are fine," she replied, still smiling and snapping away.
She selected two interior "Bryony" illustratons and asked me to email them to her, along with the cover and "Bryony" logo. I thanked the photographer for her time, as well as her patience with the peanut gallery. The photographer, who doesn't have children, graciously dismissed it.
Back upstairs, while I switched back into street clothes and Rebekah repacked my costume, we wondered how messy the warehouse might be on a Monday and whether or not any recycling boxes had arrived. I mentally reviewed the story I would finish writing while she worked and hoped I had brought the right notes.
"Did you pack my flash drive?" I asked.
Rebekah shook her head in mock exasperation. "What would you do without me?"
We had returned to common ground.
