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.”
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.
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.
