Dear Jane,
I went to a tea held in honor of your birthday yesterday.
I wore the same gown as I did last year, which you would appreciate. You would also probably identify with the sensation I had after last year’s tea, when I realized that I had cut the gown’s hem too short and therefore had worn in public the 1790’s equivalent of what my generation would have called high waters (this is a term that came into use in the 1850’s, apparently, but it feels biblical, so I hope you will have a sense of what I mean).
When I was at the Victorian Stroll, I mentioned to my friend that I’d wanted to make a new gown for the Jane Austen Tea the following weekend. I hadn’t gotten to it, and it felt like I’d run out of time.
She casually replied something like, “Well, Regency gowns aren’t too difficult.”
Last spring, I made a quilted body warmer. It was my fifth one. I was trying to be creative with it, because you justifiably can’t make five of the same thing.*
When I sat down with my laptop after the costuming event I went to in order to edit pictures, I turned to the Chaplain and remarked that I could tell from my face that I’d waited till after the event for photos. I showed him what I meant in a couple of pics – In too many of them, fake smiles, a desperate glint in my eye, and blank looks stared back at me.
