This blog post was written a few years ago, but the sentiments remain the same. It’s a gorgeous day in TN, so enjoy this little post and do some picnicking or novel reading today.

It’s happening again…

I’m pinning Regency era empire waist gowns on Pinterest. I’m listening to classical music. I’m sitting on a bench in one of the rare gardens in NYC and sighing. I’m itching to paint. I’m reading Austenland.

and I’m longing to be Lizzy Bennett, or Emma, or Jane, or even Fanny Price. Again.

Seriously, is it too much to ask for to have balls and to go riding and embroider cushions all while wearing an elegant gown?

Reading Austenland obviously only exacerbates the situation. Why doesn’t Austenland really exist? I would pay gobs of money to immerse myself in the time of Jane Austen. I don’t need actors pretending to fall in love with me, but just to experience another time period would make my dreams come true.

Back in middle school I started a Little Women Club. I was inspired by a scene where the March sisters sit in a wooded clearing each doing their own task and engaging in conversation. We wore long skirts, had tea parties, crocheted, embroidered, painted, read books, played piano, and pretended to live in a time other than our own.

It may seem a little silly to wish some of these things now that I am an adult and married, but it is not the Regency era, Austenite men I am craving (I already have a Mr. Darcy, honestly) – it’s the simplicity, the coziness, the business of crafts and projects, and the elegance of dress and manners.