The Bleak December

I used to think that E.A. Poe should have a counterpart. Well heeled, happy, a ray of sunshine called Edgar Allan Rich. A combination of both Cherryble brothers and Mr. Fezziwig, but handsome.
It's such a dumb, cheerful idea.
Mr. Rich's powers of gladdening have failed me after a disheartening November. Politics, sudden death, a sad but dutiful trip to the Pacific Northwest (no shade to my Washington pals). The land of Sad-squash. It's so bleak, all hope is lost and your dreams are crushed. Not a fair assessment, I know. It may have been the funereal aspect that caught me.

Black velvet inspired by the picture on the lower right. And a 3/4 sleeve dinner dress in a brocade that has been languishing. It may languish longer.

 I did make a few half-hearted attempts at sewing, I started and abandoned a couple of ball/evening dresses for our annual Holiday ball in Pasadena, then opted for something from the closet. Because why try.

Look petticoat has a border! I call that progress.

I did find enough bon ami for raillery with my London friends. I'll pull up my socks and go onward to The Great Dickens Christmas Fair. Because I need a little Christmas, right this very minute.

Every Your Thimble Servant,

Miss Brilliantine.