I Am English

No, I'm not, but sometimes I think I should have been. I look good in empire-waist dresses, and I can totally see myself traipsing through fields of English grass, a pert little bonnet covering my perfectly braided hair, as I walk down the lane to see my neighbor, Lady This-n-That, for afternoon tea and gossip about the local handsome gentlemen. That's when I'm in my Jane Austen/Charles Hardy/I am Jennifer Ehle in "Pride and Prejudice" phase.

Lately, I've been immersed in 12th and 13th-century England and Wales. Johns, Henrys, Edwards, Eleanors, Joannas, Llewelyns, Owains, Gruffydds, etc. Eating meals out of stale bread trenchers, spearing meat with huge knives (the idea of forks having yet to be imported from mainland Europe), laying seige to rebel castles, wearing extravagant emerald green velvet wedding dresses and veils, etc. What a world. I'm glad I'm not living it, but I wonder if it was fun for them at the time, even for a moment . . . I'm coming up on my last Sharon Kay Penman book. If she doesn't write another one soon, I don't know what era I'll move on to next . . .