Here’s what cheer: the French backed out at just about the last minute, via email, citing “family events.” They have had this event on their website for 10 months. Surely they knew last fall, or last winter, or this summer, or a month ago, when their family birthdays or anniversaries were. Things that happened 50 or 60 years ago–seems like you had some advance notice on that one, folks.
Anyway, lucky for us they sent in notice before we gave a tour of the museum to the French Ambassador and the regional Consul, but not before we’d marketed this to the Alliance Francaise and the French American school. I think there’s crepe on somebody’s face. (Forgive the lack of accents: I’m doing this on the web on my iPad, so symbols are hard to insert.)
Overalls are done, though I did get a nosebleed last night and bleed on one of the ankles near the vamp, I think. Historic sewing isn’t done until you’ve bled on it at least once. Which brings me to the devil dress.
Ah, yes, it is 34 degrees this morning, so my wool is packed into my runaway bag. (In my basket I will have the rosewood box and pewter creamer I stole from my master.) The devil dress fits, in its way, but I think I have not yet figured out quite how to apply it to, and keep it on, my body. Cassandra the dress form (she’s full of bad news I ignore) allows me to pin into her, of course, but my own flesh is so much less accommodating. For one thing, it bleeds, and for another, I say “ouch.”
This is the only picture I like, and I wish I’d taken off my watch. Rest assured I do not wear it in camp.
At 7:00, my ride will arrive and off we’ll go, safety tape and fire extinguishers in hand, with the hope that someone–anyone–comes to this crazy event. We do want to win attendance.