A Pre-gig Vignette

I walk into our family room wearing a 19th c. corset over my 18th c. camisole. Too late to remedy, I discovered that the 2” I’ve shrunk over the last several decades have caused the boning in my 18th c. stays (corset) to stick into my pelvic bones. I’m having new stays made, but for tonight’s gig, a fundraiser to save General John Glover’s house from demolition, I’m stuck wearing my 19th c. corset. I have just tied on my panniers, hoops which extend each hip 4” on each side, and am looking for my quilted petticoat. It goes under the 5 yards of embroidered silk skirt, and is quilted to prevent the hoops from showing under the silken overskirt.

I’m hurrying because we carry a lot to our 18th c. concerts: my harp and dulcimer, an antique harp stool, Dan’s mandolin and guitar and his folding stool, our colonial card table, lights and an extension chord, a large oaken basket holding pewter drinking vessels, set lists, tuners, extra strings and my harp key. We need to arrive early to set everything up and tune. 

Wearing my wig cap which holds my hair close to the scalp and makes me appear bald, I look pretty strange as I enter the family room. Liberty, our Border Collie, is lying on the rug. As soon as she sees me she jumps to her feet and begins vomiting in that energetic and thorough way that dogs have when they throw up. I watch her in stunned silence as she moves to the other side of the rug to finish vomiting. I don’t know what to do; I can’t grab her and haul her off the rug for fear of getting soiled. I’m also wearing white stockings and white satin embroidered 18th c. shoes.

“DAN!” I scream. Dan appears, wig-less, but otherwise in costume. He grabs some paper towels and attempts to clean up the mess.

“We don’t have time to deal with this right now, “ Dan says. “I’ll roll the carpet up and we can clean it tomorrow. Go finish dressing!”

I locate my petticoat and gown and struggle into them. The 19th c. corset gives me the wrong shape under my gown; an hourglass. 18th c. stays shape a woman’s body like an ice cream cone, with the breasts resting at the top, like two scoops of ice cream. I have to pin everything together to make it work.

Dan has most of the car packed, so I put my wig on, grab my cape and hurry out to the  car where I fold my voluminous skirt, petticoat and hoops into the front seat of our old Honda CRV and seat belt myself in. The seat belt pushes down on my corset so that I can barely breathe.

People who see me with my harp often comment, “OOH! You play the harp! You must have such a serene and peaceful life!