Reflections - Jane Austen Comes to Wells Wood

Jane on Screen

Friday, October 9, at 6:50 p.m., my fingers trembled over the computer keyboard. In ten minutes, I would discover why my friend Jennifer’s cheeks blushed cherry blossom pink, eyes lit like luminaria, and lips curved into a child’s Christmas grin at the mention of an Annual General Meeting (AGM) for the Jane Austen Society of North America (JASNA).

And this was no regular AGM. Jennifer and her daughter Amy organized the conference around the topic of Jane Austen’s Juvenilia, her teenage writings. The event would take place in Cleveland with special events held at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, the Cleveland Museum of Art, and Trinity Cathedral. I caught Jennifer’s enthusiasm and decided to make my first AGM trip to her AGM. I even planned to attend the ball wearing a Regency dress which came into creation with the help of four fairy godmothers. [See “Like Cinderella” May 17, 2020]

But COVID happened. The JASNA board cancelled the AGM in April. Jennifer and Amy scrambled to get a virtual AGM online instead.

During the week prior to the weekend conference, I’d visited their virtual meeting’s website multiple times to familiarize myself with the schedule and pages for Main Stage, Breakouts, and nine other choices. The conference would begin at 7:00 on the Main Stage.

I clicked.

500 Error.

That hadn’t happened before. Probably our rural internet connection had winked off and on. I X-ed out and signed in.

500 Error.

The clock ticked. After four years of Jennifer’s excited chatter and a year of ball gown creating, I got an error message? In disbelief, I left the website and entered a third time.

500 Error.

Blinking back tears, I told myself I could still visit the site during the next thirty days to view recorded events even if I couldn’t watch live with all 1,400 other Janeites. And I emailed the volunteer coordinator. (Since her name is Jennifer too, I’ll call her Jen B. to lessen the confusion.)

Jen B. had asked me to post a question in chat for breakout session A-5. That wasn’t the breakout I’d selected but, being a question queen, I agreed. Now I wasn’t sure.

JW: I won't be able to help with A-5 after all. My computer won't let me connect tonight. I've read the email about reconnecting several times. I just can't.

Jen B.: I’ve just been texting with Jennifer W. We all are getting the same error message right now. If the vendor can get the website back up and running, will you still help?

JW: If I can watch, I'd be glad to help. Poor Jennifer. After all her work, this isn't fair.

Jen B.: You are right. I feel horrible for Jennifer and Amy. I'm saying a little prayer that it will be worked out soon. Let's see what happens.

Over the next half hour, I logged in every five minute until WE’RE HAVING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES popped onto the screen. I heard jaunty guitar music. Progress! Finally at 8:15, Liz Philosophus Cooper, the president of JASNA, said, “Welcome to the Twenty-Twenty Annual General Meeting for Jane Austen Society of North America.”

My facial muscles expanded into a grin that I imagined mirrored Jennifer’s in her Ohio living room. The grin lasted while the presenters transported me into Jane’s teenage world.

For example, I’d never stopped to ponder the depths of the simile that Jane used to describe the character Charlotte in Lesley Castle—“her face as White as a Whipt syllabub.” Julienne Gehrer described syllabub as a sweet, flavored whipped cream. Whipt meant extended whisking with a utensil made out of a bundle of stripped birch twigs, and white wasn’t just a color. It referred to part of the cream produced by the Alderney cows that Jane’s mother tended—the part with the fat removed.

And I fell in awe of Juliet McMaster. She charmed me with her Kenyan-British accent when telling stories of how, like teenage Jane, Juliet preferred boys’ games growing up at a boys’ school. She’s an Oxford literary scholar and a trained artist who creates entertaining cartoons and captivating sculptures including a gargoyle for the Washington National Cathedral.

Losing her eyesight at age eighty-three, Juliet gave her speech with a handful of papers instead of index cards or a teleprompter. She would nod to within four inches of the paper, which showed the wild, white hair atop her head, then bob up to explain how she planned her illustrations for Jane’s Juvenilia: read for details, draw to the main theme, and focus on contrasts. When asked if Juliet would ever illustrate Jane’s adult novels, Juliet said, “No!” Because Jane’s novels don’t describe characters like her teenage fiction and because the novels’ tone is more serious than Jane’s early farces, Juliet said, “My cartoons wouldn’t be appropriate.”

Screenshot of Juliet McMaster

Listening to Juliet give an interview, a speech, and JASNA’s toast to Jane Austen, I understood the reverence in Jennifer’s voice a year before the AGM when she’d whispered, “Juliet McMaster agreed to be a plenary speaker.”

Jennifer wouldn’t speak in awe about my part in the AGM.

After watching Kathryn Sutherland’s Main Stage speech, “A Wild Mind and a Disciplined Eye,” comparing characteristics of Jane’s teenage and adult writing, I clicked the Breakouts button.

500 Error.

Not funny. I’d told Jen B. I would cover A-5, Ryoko Doi’s “Cathareine, Catherine, and Young Jane Reading History: Jane Austen and Historical Writing.” History isn’t my strong point, and the scholarly title made my head swirl with doubt. Nevertheless, I accepted the job to help our Northeast Ohio JASNA group.

Struggling with cyber connections, I entered the breakout room seven minutes late. Professor Doi’s Japanese accent was so thick, I only caught a word here and there—no complete sentences. My desperate eyes found a click here for captions button. Saved! I clicked.

500 Error.

Would another seven minutes pass before I got back in? Doubt changed to panic. I emailed Jen B.

JW: I tried to click on captions for A-5 but got the error message. I’m having trouble understanding the talk.

Jen B.: Captions won’t be up until after the conference. I’ll post for you now. Will you put up a reminder at 2:00 for participants to put questions in chat?

JW: Will do.

I logged in and watched the chat messages at the right side of the screen. Praise and questions poured in. At two, I added a lame message. “Thanks for getting up in the middle of your night to be with us, Professor Doi. We’ll put questions here for you to answer at the end.” As if the messaging Janeites from around the world needed encouragement.

After the breakout session, I reported back.

JW: Chat filled up with questions and praise. I posted the message at 2:00.

Jen B.: Thanks for a job well done.

Well done? Only if Juliet McMaster were looking for a farce to illustrate.

And my social participation?

500 Error.

At an in-person AGM’s, first timers wear special name tags so that veterans will welcome them. Seated tagless in the great room, I felt invisible. But . . .

I didn’t follow any other chat discussions—too distracting from the talks.

I didn’t join the social hour—too shy to type messages with strangers.

I didn’t join in the scavenger hunt or bingo games—too sleepy.

I did participate in the Virtual Promenade. To strings playing Spring in Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, I gazed at elegant strangers and hooted when a photo of Jennifer in her bonnet appeared. I was the only one wearing a mask—an outsider again.

While I slept, Jennifer emailed at nine minutes past midnight Sunday morning.

Jennifer: Hope you are having fun at the AGM! It's been a crazy ride. And nothing like what we planned for the past 4-5 years! But when the site works, it is AMAZING! I hope you had the chance to see a lot of stuff, play a quiz, post on the social wall. I saw you in the promenade! Awesome!

Her punctuation triggered a mental memory of her bubbly AGM voice and the picture of her face—a Rembrandt painting of joy. And she took time to email me while 1,400 other Janeites were expecting her to keep the program rolling for them. Humbled and honored, I reflected on my first-time experience.

Jennifer, busy making the AGM run smoothly, had reached out. Jen B responded with the kindness and grace of Jane’s character Anne Elliot to my pestering, insecure, mini-problem emails. Both gave me a glimpse of what the social aspect of an AGM could be.

I had experienced that inclusion feeling earlier in the year while watching Virtu(al)oso, Piano Cleveland’s Global Piano Competition for Artist Relief. Three hundred sixteen miles away, my sister Anita watched too. Through hundreds of emails, we critiqued performances and collaborated on picking winners. Her doggie duties, my disappearing emails, and hurricane Isaias knocking out her power for three days didn’t deter us. I connected with her and the event. [See “Piano Sisters” August 23, 2020]

The next time I attend a huge virtual JASNA gathering, I’ll find a partner to accompany me via text. We can message during the social events and on breaks between presentations. I’d already had four fairy-godmothers help me dress for the ball, after all. I just needed a cyber Jane-sister to turn my experience into one like Jennifer’s. AMAZING and AWESOME.

Jennifer and Janet in the Promenade

Reflections - More Anti Than I

Log House

I plan for potential problems. Spence is utterly, completely anti-potential-problem planning.

On Tuesday, September 22 after listening to a recorded robo call twice, I hit the off button and said in my serious-teacher voice, “We need to make a plan. Penn Power is making emergency repairs in Sandy Lake tomorrow. Power will be off in some areas from eight a.m. to two p.m.”

Spence kept his eyes on the news article he was reading. 

“If Sandy Lake loses power, we often do too.”

“We’ll handle whatever happens.” He tapped computer keys. “Don’t worry.”

If I have a plan, I don’t worry. Waiting for whatever happens can be disastrous. I know. I taught first graders. Though I didn’t discuss the event with Spence again, I made mental plans.

First, keep slippers within reach. As soon as the lights blinked off in the morning, I would dash outside and throw the switch to disconnect the solar panels from the grid. I didn’t want the responsibility of electrocuting any line workers.

Second, postpone washing breakfast dishes. Without the electric pump functioning, well water wouldn’t replace the water we drained from the basement tank. We should save the water for essentials. I could manage the sacrifice of waiting until the power returned to wash dishes.

Third, organize electric-free activities. Drive to Meadville to buy fabric for a Halloween wall hanging, write four snail mail letters, process the walnuts we’d harvested, and finish reading Girl Waits with a Gun. Whoa. That gave me more choices than I could complete in six hours.

Fourth, charge my phone overnight. For certain, I would need to hold my phone's flashlight up so Spence could search the basement for the extension cords and adapters needed to connect the solar panels to the essentials—the downstairs freezer and our WiFi.

I was ready.

The next morning, the kitchen clock chimed 6:00. I wanted to roll over and sleep another hour. But, I remembered the power outage alert and eased out of bed. That gave Spence, who groans but gets up with me, enough time to cook breakfast on the electric stove while I executed my morning routine—ablutions, scribble three pages in a morning journal, and practice yoga in the loft. During that last one, I had my slippers handy to carry out the first step of my plan.

Solar Disconnect Switch

The lights stayed on. Eating breakfast, we listened to National Public Radio. The workers must have had a late start. I wrote a letter to a fifth grader, my pen pal since her great aunt Lori, aka my friend Sister Loretta, died.

Power kept flowing.

Sighing at missing my dishwashing vacation, I cleaned up in the kitchen. I’d gotten to scrubbing the cast iron skillet when Spence called, “What time was the electricity supposed to go off?”

Casually, as if I hadn’t given the matter a second thought, I said, “Eight. I guess the outage doesn’t extend this far north.”

Dishes finished and exercise walk taken, I left Spence in the kitchen connected to a ZOOM meeting and slicing tomatoes to boil down for sauce.

At Fox Sew and Vac in Meadville, a worker mistakenly asked, “Can I help you find something?” She spent the next half hour carrying fat quarters from all corners of the quilt shop to match the remnants I’d toted to the store.

Back at home, the kitchen smelled like tomatoes and bubbling sounds came from a six-quart pot on the stove. I saved the other items on my activity list and used electricity to prepare the new fat quarters for the sewing project—machine overcasting the cut edges, rinsing them to bleed out excess dye, and shrinking them in the dryer. 

The next Wednesday, September 30, the phone rang. 

        Hello. This is a message from Penn Power. Due to the need for         emergency repairs, power will be off for various streets on                Tuesday, October six from approximately eight a.m. to two p.m.         In case of emergency or inclement weather, service will be                 rescheduled for Wednesday. 

The robo voice didn’t designate a borough or township this time.

I wasn’t worried. I had a plan, and we’d collected three times as many walnuts to husk, scrub, and lay out to dry.

The image of walnuts laying on a screen six inches above the basement floor triggered red flags. The cats are fond of tipping the bowl holding hickory nuts that Spence gathered on our walks. The cats would have fun batting rolling walnuts into nooks and crannies or scattering them to make tripping hazards for us old folks.

No worries. I have time to plan for this potential problem. And Spence will handle whatever happens.

Reflections in Deer Creek