I had to go to the bank today. It is quite a distance from my house and takes a while to get there. I have to go through a quaint, little town and today I got caught by a red light right in front of the old train station.
I could see the railroad tracks. They were rusted and overgrown with weeds. The once, probably busy train station had long ago been occupied by antique shops and hardware stores.
Suddenly I am catapulted back in time and find myself stepping off the train with the assisting hand of the smiling conductor.
I am a true Southern lady, dressed in full couture. I have on a large-brimmed hat, sprinkled with an array of colorful flowers around the band. I am wearing a pink brocade, bustled dress which shows off my tiny waist, accented by my tight corset.
My small feet sport the latest in womens’ footwear and my hands are covered with dainty, white lace gloves.
I am accompanied by my husband, a proper Southern gentlemen. He is a tall, handsome man. He is dressed in his finest suit, which shows off his social standing and he wears a fashionable silk top hat. He has a mustache that is framed by a crop of thick, curly hair. He carries a silver-tipped walking cane which is purely for aesthetic value.
Our children are whisked away by the nanny, leaving us to obligingly speak with the other passengers until the horse and buggy arrives to take us and our wooden trunks, laden with our extensive wardrobes and accessories, to the elegant mansion up on the hill.
When we arrive, we are greeted by butlers and maids who are at the ready to perform any task necessary to insure our comfort.
In the afternoon, we are served a feast fit for a king in the elegant dining room. The delicious crown roast is prepared to perfection and served on the finest bone china. We eat with sterling silver utensils and our wine is poured into Waterford crystal glasses.
The chandelier that hangs over the table is five feet across and is adorned with almost a thousand shiny prisms.
After dinner, the men retreat to the smoking room to enjoy fine cigars and tell tall tales, while sipping warm brandy.
The women go to the parlor, where we sip mint juleps, talk about the latest Paris fashions and cool ourselves with hand-painted silk fans. We make plans to go to the local dress shops the next day.
When we retire for the night, we are shown to our room. There are heavy velvet drapes covering the numerous, massive windows. There is a canopy bed with a thick, down-filled mattress and an exquisite hand-stitched quilt.
A bath is drawn, filled with lavender-scented water and lush towels are warmed over a brass pan that has been heated with hot coals.
The maidservant helps me out of my corset. I am modest so she respectfully holds my robe like a shield as I step into the tub. As she leaves, I instruct her as to which outfit I wish for her to carefully place on the chair for the next days’ activities.
Later, we lay in bed, exhausted from the long trip, ready to drift into a blissful sleep.
I close my eyes but I am suddenly startled by a loud noise.
A horn is blowing, signaling that the light has turned green.