In Jane Austen's Footsteps

“In Warwickshire, I have true-hearted friends.” – Henry VI, Part III

“You should write a novel,” a friend suggested casually over a cup of tea. “Your life,” she added,  “has been so ‘Austen-esque’.” The comparison of my ‘romantic narrative’ with the stories of Jane Austen does seem apt in some small ways. After re-establishing our acquaintance in 2007, my Darling English Boy and I pursued a long-distance relationship built firmly on correspondence. Beyond emails and text messages, in true Austenian fashion, we actually wrote letters – and sent them in the post!

On one occasion, the Darling English Boy signed his missive: “Your Mr Darcy or Colonel Brandon - which ever you prefer.” What a deliciously romantic choice! And, what a boon: a man who knows his Austen from his elbow. (I was completely hooked.)

One thing about Jane Austen neither of us knew was her affection for Warwickshire. The City of Bath may well lay claim to being Austen’s place of residence. However, in her novels she decries the “insincerity, smoke, confusion, and horrid gatherings” that were unavoidable features of city living. Without doubt, Jane Austen was a country girl at heart, and Stoneleigh Abbey, here in the heart of Warwickshire left a lasting impression on her.

In 1806, Jane Austen arrived at Stoneleigh Abbey with her mother and beloved sister, Cassandra. This trio was enrapt by the beauty of their cousin’s newly inherited stately home and its bucolic setting. Nestled on the banks of the River Avon, Stoneleigh Abbey sits on 690 acres of parkland and is surrounded by a lush, verdant landscape. Austen found here the “life and liberty” she so missed in hustle, bustle and din of Bath.

Taking in the view from the house, one can see the woodland grove that gave Austen such pleasure on those late summer days. She called Stoneleigh’s woodland grove a “pretty wilderness.” This phrase resurfaces famously during the iconic encounter between Elizabeth Bennett and Lady Catherine de Bourgh in her masterpiece Pride & Prejudice.

Stoneleigh Abbey and family figures associated with it provided Austen with ample fodder for her renowned novels. It is referenced at length in the description of Sotherton Court in Mansfield Park, and as one takes a turn about the estate, thoughts of Pemberley immediately spring to mind.

By far my favourite feature – after the breathtaking Georgian plasterwork in the Grand Hall – was taking a stroll along Jane’s favourite path. On a (surprisingly) sunny summer day, I found myself following in Jane Austen’s footsteps. What better inspiration could there be for a would-be novelist or avid Austen fan?

Every September, hundreds of “Janeites” (as Jane Austen fans are known) flock to Bath for that city’s annual “Jane Austen Festival”. I have yet to persuade the Darling English Boy that we should don Regency costumes and join them. Lucky for him, I have found a touch of Jane Austen much closer to home.

More details

Stoneleigh Abbey – “Warwickshire’s hidden jewel”                                                                                       Jane Austen tours Sundays (1pm) and Wednesdays (12pm). Special Jane Austen evening tours with wine and canapés, throughout the year. See website for details: www.stoneleighabbey.org

A very Jane Austen day

"My dear Cassandra, have you remembered to collect pieces for the Patchwork? -- We are now at a standstill." 

- Jane Austen, a letter to her sister, Cassandra, dated May 1811

I relish my days off, when I'm not racing around Charlecote Park, or sweating out an submission deadline -- staring blankly at my computer screen awaiting inspiration for my monthly column to strike! (O, for a muse of fire...)

Today was an exquisite "play day".  The sun shining brightly and warmly (!) late into the afternoon. This morning, after taking Lucy for a short walk, watering the garden and speaking persuasively to my temperamental rose bushes, and I sat in one of our new patio chairs and listened to the sound of starlings screeching and chattering boisterously over head.

(We have new neighbours -- a growing family of starlings have built a nest in our roof, right above our bedroom window. They wake us with early each morning with a racuous dawn chorus!)

On these sort of days, I pursue simple pleasures, and today I had the joy of finishing a patchwork quilt I have been working for years! It has been so long, I cannot recall when I first started this project, precisely. 2004? 2005? 2003? Goodness knows.

One thing is for certain, I did not quilt while I was living in NYC. There are quilters and knitters in New York, no doubt, but the City just never inspired that kind of vibe in me. I need the quiet, and sounds of nature spur me on.

Jane Austen was a keen quilter (amongst other things) and she relished her pursuit of this oh-so feminine art.

Here's a picture of a quilt she created in 1811. Her quilt, along with other pieces of her surviving needlework, is house at Chawton House, the Jane Austen museum in Hampshire:

Jane Austen's quilt

I'd like to think that Jane Austen would have applauded my very modest efforts: a two fabric, simple block patchwork.

 

I'm a long way off attaining her level of ability. Her quilt is a complex, diamond-shaped maze of 64 different fabrics! 

Completed all by hand -- no electricity, remember!

Amazing.

p.s. A close-up of my quilt pattern...

The Empress's New Clothes

Here I am, back at long last. The past few weeks have been the most glorious, heartfelt, and overwhelming of my life. I have thought long and hard about the best way to share what has transpired, and what it has meant to me. I search for words, but can find only tears. Happy ones.

To say that our wedding day was joyous is true, but does not go far enough to capture the utter joy it was. To say that the day was magic/magical, is true, but still not enough to convey the sheer magical fantastic-ness of it.

To say that it was everything I had ever wished for, dreamt of, prayed for, and imagined would all be true, but still would not go far enough to express what I feel right now.

To be sure—confirmed perfectionist that I am—there are moments I wish I could rewind and re-do somewhat differently, (who doesn’t feel that way?) but overall our wedding day was as “perfect” as it needed to be.

And I am learning, slowly, that there is something in the imperfectness and unexpectedness of life/things/people/events that is utterly human and should be valued and regarded as precious in its own, and often mysterious, way.

(I can guarantee that the concept of “perfectness” will be a recurring theme from this point on, as I have already begun to ponder the idea of what it might mean to be a “perfect wife.”)

But, for now, back to “the day”…

More than anything I was aware in a remarkable and profound way of being utterly surrounded that day by love. There was one moment, amongst so, so many, that really stands out for me.

At the end of the service, the choir sang a choral blessing (John Rutter’s very lovely ‘The Lord Bless You and Keep You”), and I swear, it felt to me as if, in that moment, the D.E.B. and I were being washed over by a sea of love and blessing, surrounded and embraced by not only all of our beloved family and friends who were present, but also by the love and good spirits those have gone on ahead of us in eternity. Bliss.

Once my head is out of the clouds I will share all the wacky and wonderful practical details such as how, yes, I did go for an early morning swim at the gym the morning of the wedding(!); and which shoes I finally settled on in the end (!!!).

For now, I am savouring my favourite moments, and replaying the scenes that felt and were indeed like a fairy tale.

Our wonderful, talented, gifted, incredible wedding photographer, Elizabeth Harper, did an amazing job of capturing our special day. She sent me some sample shots to whet my appetite, along with a note saying that our wedding seemed to her to be like a scene from a Jane Austen novel/movie, and I have to say that is exactly how it felt for me too, as it all happened…

….The absolutely perfect, crystal clear and warm (!?!) weather. (Truly, there is no day like a perfect English, summer day.)

All the smiling faces that greeted me as I entered the church…

….My handsome, gorgeous D.E.B. smiling at me as I walked down the aisle.

The choir singing “our song” – Howard Goodall’s “Vicar of Dibley” theme tune (Psalm 23), that moment could have lasted forever and it wouldn’t have been long enough! Everyone was crying. Me, the D.E.B., the vicar, the choir, the world! The lead soprano got so choked up, her voice cracked a little at one point, which just made us all cry even more!...

…Saying our vows…my turn to have my voice crack…

Standing on the altar and singing “Jerusalem”, with the Barford W.I. standing and singing in the back rows...

Speaking of W.I.!!! As the D.E.B. and I exited the church the Barford W.I. formed a guard of honor for us to walk beneath. They saluted us with long wooden spoons adorned with garlands of flowers.   

...The Church bells ringing out joyously...

Magic.

The whole day was sheer magic. Such an incredible expression of love, family and community. (And that something you can’t plan, organize or manage on theknot.com!)

Our reception at the Granville was absolutely splendid! The D.E.B.’s brother, a.k.a. The Guru, was the best Best Man, ever. His speech was all in rhyme like a Shakespeare sonnet, and he even created a Quiz.

Yes, there was a written trivia quiz during the reception! How awesome is that?! No, I didn’t win, but that’s okay. J

And the evening dance party with fabulous, (I finally fulfilled my DJ-ing fantasies!) and we danced till the wee hours.

Everyone made sure that the D.E.B. and I felt feasted, feted, hallowed, honoured and celebrated. And I do feel that something tremendous has transpired, an incredible shift in my soul and psyche. I do feel that I have changed.

The title of this posting obviously refers to that old children’s story about the Emperor who doesn’t realize he was nude. He actively ignored reality, what was staring him straight in the face, and he lacks clarity and self-awareness.

By contrast, my fairy tale is all about embracing new life, starting again, and seeing things afresh. Shedding the “old clothes” of the past, and putting on the snazzy, new garments of the future!

It has been a remarkable journey, and the D.E.B. and I have come a long way both individually and collectively. The past was not very kind to either of us, and for all our blood, sweat and tears, neither of our paths were particularly smooth.

I think of the character, Paulina’s words at the end of Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale, after all the trials and hardships the lovers have all endured, finally to win their crowns of love and wedded bliss at the end of the play, she says: “You are precious winners all!”

Funnily enough, the D.E.B and I are very like the characters in The Winter’s Tale, who take 16 long years to get their relationships/lives together, in that it has taken me and the D.E.B. 13 years from the time we first met, to get from there to here.

What a journey it has been. We both had to kiss a few frogs before we found our Prince/Princess Charming, but the good news is that dreams do come true. We finally reached the happy ending. 

Results in Hottest Brit Boy competition, and a new Brit Boy to Love

And the winners are...

1.) Colin Firth!! 

(Jane Austen fans unite! I would love to say that I shall be congratulating Colin on his victory in person, but alas, no.)

2.) Jonathan Rhys Meyers 

(JRM should be been disqualified because he is, in fact, Irish, but he remained in the poll because he is: a. incredibly hot, and b. currently playing Henry the Eighth who was, in fact, English.)

3.) Jude Law 

(...Be still my heart...)

4.) Clive Owen 

(Meow!)

5.) A tie! Simon Pegg and Edward VIII tied for last place.

(Clearly, this is the category for women of character and substance!)

Note: Someone asked me why the D.E.B. had not be included as a choice in the "Hottest Brit Boy" poll. A very sweet thought, but I'm not into sharing. *Smile*

As promised, I have discovered a new Brit Boy to love: Matthew Goode. All I can say is "Goode golly," what a hottie! 

Yes, that is a beer AND a cigarette in his hand!

I just saw Matthew Goode in Brideshead Revisited. Super film, and the costumes are to die for!

It's the sort of movie that makes you think, "Why can't/don't we dress like that still?"

Speaking of Brideshead, going to the cinema last week was real experience. The D.E.B. booked tickets in advance, which in and of itself is not entirely unusual these days, on either side of the Atlantic. But wait, when we arrived at the Warwick Arts Centre, I found that this was not your typical movie-going excursion. 

First -- no popcorn.  

I was stunned, and doubted my overall ability to actually watch a film without a mountain of popcorn in front of me. This was going to be a challenge. There was Haagen Daz ice cream on offer instead, which was too weird for me to even contemplate. Thankfully, there was bar ready and waiting to serve us any drink of our choice. So, after ordering two glasses of red wine -- which we were able to take into the theatre with us -- we collected our tickets which had our assigned seats listed. Assigned seats? That we actually had to sit in? Whether we liked them or not?!  (I think freedom of choice and rebellion are quintessential American traits, it is programmed in our DNA.) At any rate it was a very good film, and one I would recommend just for the visual stimuli, if nothing else.

Always something there to remind me...

I tried to open a British bank account online the other day. Faced with a choice between opening an account with Barclay’s or Lloyd’s TSB, I did what any sensible Manhattan girl would do. I made my decision based purely on aesthetics. Having a preference for lime green, I found the Lloyd’s TSB logo the more appealing of the two, so I went with them. Once I landed on the Lloyd’s website, I made short work of the virtual application. That is until I got to question number 3: "What is your relationship status?"

First of all, why is my “relationship status” any of their business? Is a person’s money greener if they are married, or widowed? The list of choices before me were: “Single, Married, Civil Partnership, Divorced, Dissolved Civil Partnership, Widowed, Legally Separated, Common Law, Engaged, or Separated.”  Truth be told, this a very fine, extremely p.c. and inclusive list, with every possible intimate arrangement therein. All except for mine. For, I am none of these. What does it mean to look at a list of relational options, and not see ones self there at all? Clearly, "More than single, less than married," is not a viable option.

The frustration I feel stems from the fact that for some reason, I have found it hard to accept my current status as “The Girlfriend.” I find myself breaking into a mild sweat, and choking on my words whenever I am forced to introduce the D.E.B. as my “Boyfriend.” The thought has only just occurred to me that all this time I could have been introducing him, as I have done here, as my “Darling English Boy.” That would be more exotic, and certainly sexier than “Boyfriend.”

Girlfriend? Ugh. I am too old to be someone’s “Girlfriend.” No self-respecting dame over the age of 35, and under the age of 60, wants to be relegated to the realm of Girlfriend. Surely, I am not alone in feeling that the terms “girlfriend” and “boyfriend” belong to the relationship categories of the very young (as in: “Oh, yes, Tommy, our 3 year old, has a new girlfriend,”) or the very old (“Have you met Grandma’s new boyfriend?”).

When one has reached a certain age, that terrain between youth and old age, one feels that only terms with a patina of mature respectability will do, particularly: fiancée or wife. (Heck, even “mistress” and “lover” are better, or at least more robust, than the saccharine and anemic term: “Girlfriend”.)

This may be the one US-UK cultural difference I struggle to surmount. “Girlfriend” is a very common designation here in Britain. It is not at all uncommon to meet unmarried couples that have been together for “donkey’s years,” as they say, who have a house, three kids, and a summer home in Tuscany, who still refer to each other as “Girlfriend” and “Boyfriend.” My American mind boggles.

My wonderful "Superstar Writer Friend" has done her British best to clarify this perplexing social conundrum for me. Marriage, she explained, is actually viewed pretty differently in the UK. In Britain, getting married is not the requisite relationship “deal-breaker” it is and/or seems to be in the US. For many British couples, “the big step” or the most significant acknowledgement of their long-term commitment is taking the plunge of living together and building a home. Superstar Writer Friend, and several other ex-pat Brits I know who now reside in the US, have each said it was not until they moved to the US, that they realized how much more important (symbolically and culturally) marriage as an institution is to American women, and how American women/girls are so much more in invested in it than their British counter-parts.

Marriage. What does it really mean? Of course, I often ask myself: Do I really need a piece of paper to validate my relationship? (Angelina Jolie clearly does not.) And then, an even better question: Is it marriage that I'm after, or just a wedding? 

It doesn’t help that I hail from the “United States of Bridezilla,” where as little girls we are inundated from the womb with “the white dress directive.”  The dress, the flowers, the cake, on and on. And, yes, I will confess, like many a true-blue, Southern-born girl, I already have “the dress” – bought “on faith” when I spotted two and a half years ago – and the bridesmaids’ dresses, too. (Okay, look, Anthropologie had a sale…and I bought easily mendable sizes.) All of this acquired, held on reserve, in storage, for the right time and the right man to come along. I have no doubt that the D.E.B. is the right man, but when will be the right time?

My Darling English Boy has assured me, has given me his promise for our future together. On New Year’s Day morning last year, he gave me a beautiful platinum and diamond band, and a pledge that we will one day wed. Because we often see ourselves as characters from a Jane Austen novel, his gift of a ‘promise ring’ was so touching, so romantic, so perfect, so us. I felt anchored and assured in his love, until a friend—who is no longer a friend—laughed, and said to me: “Yeah, well, my 8 year old son just gave his girlfriend a promise ring, too!” Or, when a waiter off-handedly commented into a conversation he was not a part of: “Promises can always be broken.” And the next person who asks me: “Has he proposed yet?” is going to get an earful!!!!

The D.E.B. has not proposed, and it will probably be quite sometime before he does. To this, I have resigned myself. I have resigned myself to be patient and understanding. Appreciating that in addition to our different cultural perspectives on this issue, there is the added complication of the “Once Bitten, Twice Shy” syndrome. We have both been married before; and I think women are far, far more resilient than men following a divorce and the demise of a marriage. The lure of the dress, the flowers, yummy wedding cake, being the center of attention, and the Pottery Barn Gift Registry gets us gals back in the saddle in no time!  Yee-ha! I mean, just look at Elizabeth Taylor! To be fair, and not just because this is about my Darling English Boy, I do seriously think it is more difficult for men to grieve, re-group, and ‘move on to the next one’ after a long-term relationship has sadly bitten the dust.

So, I shall just bide my time until he is ready. I would be lying to say that I have accepted this situation without more than few moments of frustration (or random outbursts, during which I haven’t revealed the real source of my vexation), or that I have not, on more than one occasion, seriously contemplated the advice that I should consider drugging his food.

"When in Rome, do as the Romans."

For now, I shall wear the mantle of  “Girlfriend” as best I can, and strive to do so more gracefully. The D.E.B and I both know what is between us, and what is in our hearts. We know where we stand, and what we mean to one another. The “ambiguity” of my “status,” and our relationship exists solely in the minds of others, and what they do not see. Which is, as Shakespeare wrote, just “the outward show” and merely a question of aesthetics.

American Women & British Men

Finally. We get to the heart of the matter. 

Just what is it about British men? And why do we American women love them so?

Think of the laundry list of American female celebs who have fallen into the arms of British men: Gwyneth Paltrow, Madonna, Jerry Hall, Marsha Hunt (the inspiration for Mick Jagger's "Brown Sugar"), Gillian Anderson, on and on. 

Funnily enough, even among my own circle of friends, I can count a higher than average number of American female-British male couples.

I blame MTV. 

I grew up a child of the '80's. Wham, Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet, Flock of Seagulls, Kajagoogoo, The Cure, Culture Club, Pet Shop Boys, and the list goes on and on. We were inundated with images of gorgeous, perfectly coiffed, and often heavily made-up, British men. Who didn't want to be "Rio," or that girl who got to roll around in the jungle with Simon Le Bon in Duran's "Hungry Like the Wolf" video? 

Then, there were the Merchant-Ivory films. I mean, who didn't want to be Helena Bonham-Carter in A Room with a View, with that "win-win" choice between Daniel Day-Lewis and Julian Sands? 

But, what is it really, about the Brit boys that drives us mad, and makes us sooooo weak in the knees. Can it just be the accent? No, I think it goes much deeper than that. In a recent article in The Hindustan Times (don't ask), Englishboy cutie-pie Jude Law reckoned that American women go ga-ga over British men because:

"It's the use of words. We [British men] use words like 'lovely', and 'naughty'. I think they quite like that."

...Um, yes, Jude, we do rather like that. But, more than word choice, I think there is a larger issue here: the fact that words are being used at all. What I mean is, the fact that a British man is actually talking to you -- and listening, in fact. A conversation is being had, and, in my experience at least, a very engaging one at that. Yes, I think that might be it. I can honestly say, that for me and my D.E.B., it was a meeting of minds, first and foremost. We could actually talk about things, he actually wanted to share and know my opinion, and he loved/loves and relished/relishes how smart and sassy I was/am. 

And besides, a man who knows his Jane Austen always, always, always wins! I will never forget the time, early on, when the D.E.B. signed off on one of his emails thus: 

"Ever yours, Mr. Darcy -- or, Colonel Brandon, which do you prefer?" 

My heart skipped a beat, my pulse began to race, I broke into a sweat, and my brain melted out of my ears. In that moment, I could have crossed the Atlantic on foot!! A seduction of the mind.

Of course, I know not all English or British men are "D.E.B.s." Just like not all American men are mindless neanderthals, who can't hold a conversation. The bottom line is, I suppose, just one of individual preference. But, really, what is there not to love about an Englishman? He knows how to dress, can hold his own in a conversation, isn't afraid to be romantic--even in public!--has good manners, knows which fork to use, isn't afraid to cry, loves his mum, *SIGH* I could go on and on...  

History is also on the side of the alliance of the elegant American woman and her charming Englishman. Our greatest standard bearer was of course, Mrs. Wallis Simpson. What a woman of class, style and grace! What a beauty. Although a well-to-do socialite from a good family, to the British press and British public she was: "An American, two-time divorcee from Baltimore." 

I found an article the other day that said, when it became clear that King Edward had "feelings" for Mrs. Simpson, several groups formed around the country in protest, such as one group of women, who started a campaign called "Mothers Against the King."

Wow. Just imagine the hate mail Wallis Simpson must have received. 

Shakespeare wrote: "Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind." When Edward looked at Wallis he could see what others could not. And so great was his love, he gave up his crown, his kingdom and his country for her. Now, that is love.

And perhaps, that is what is so very appealing about Englishmen. Their grit, their almost majestic resolve and determination, and their incredible passion, coupled with great sensitivity. These are what have, and continue to attract, entice and beguile us American damsels.