Happy Birthday, Jane

My dearest Miss Austen,

Felicitations upon the anniversary of your birth, dearest one, and the joy of the day to you. Might one inquire as to your true age, or would such impudence provoke a sound tongue lashing? What's that? Whisper in my ear.

Oh, good heavens, you are quite advanced in years, aren't you? No need for ruffled feathers, it was just a passing comment. However, you may consider being seated for the remainder of these blogs. Oh! I shouldn't bother yourself with that horrid word, dearest. "Blogs" - vapid word that it is I believe that it will, hopefully, pass quickly from use. Pardon me, Jane? Yes that is true, you are quite correct there - in all likelihood another, even more disgusting term will arise in it's place; that's the way of the world in which we now live.

Do stop laughing at me, Jane. I realize you do not actually reside in this world in that sense, in the "above ground" sense, however, as you can see, quite a few of us love to pretend that you do.

And never say that it was I who initiated this birthday blogging business (nefarious words, all of them). No, Jane, I was contacted by a comely woman of the continent, possessing both breeding and character, a Maria Grazia by name, a lady by deportment and an aristocrat, I am certain, by birth. Far be it from me to carry tales. However. This Signora Grazia is providing details regarding your - oh, how shall I say this kindly - advanced years - to everyone, not only to the villages and pleasant towns with which you are familiar; but, she has also taken it upon herself to divulge this natal nonsense to the global community, Jane.

One wonders what grudge she may have against you, but I digress.

My sincerest wish was only to thank you, Jane dear, for your writing, your humor and your very existence. We learned your true nature through your writings; we believe we know you through the characters you created. The bright, witty Lizzy Bennet quick to anger but ready to ask forgiveness. The brave Elinor Dashwood who appeared self sufficient, cold and indifferent to her sister's eyes but who loved deeply in silence. The well meaning but hopelessly self involved Emma Woodhouse. The steadfast Anne Elliott who lost her love through weak submission to her family only to find him again in maturity. Catherine Morland who allows her imagination to run away with her. The unexceptional Fanny Price, timid and shy, who travels her own emotional road to maturity.

And, of course, thank you for the wonderful men, Jane. Ah, the men! They have brought romance to our souls and a smile to our lips. It was through these gentlemen and ladies that we discovered the true you, Jane. They are, each in their own way, like you - gifted and flawed and terribly funny.

Happy Birthday, Jane! Merry Christmas, everyone!

Karen V. Wasylowski