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).
Today was the Jane Austen tea. My first time costuming since the Victorian Stroll. First time blogging in three months.
That doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing, but it’s taken the form of a firehouse of grief and anger at my representatives. I haven’t had anything left for this space. But I’ve been thinking about when and how to drop back in, and here I am today, for better or worse.
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.*
The Victorian Strolls happened again this year. Please note the lack of enthusiasm. My spirit is weary.
I did the Saratoga Victorian Streetwalk with my family on Thursday, November 30th. The planners brought back the magical window ballerinas, in even greater numbers than last year.
