easing into the fall

It’s been a long minute, and there really hasn’t been any ease at all. I drafted this post on the first Monday of August when I was conflicted and anxious about where to put my time and my body. The feeling remains. We blew out July with an over-the-top effort of an at-home wedding for one hundred. We sent Peanut back to London with a small dinner party also at home for twelve, with about an equal number of bottles of wine consumed, and three of the twelve guests were aged five and under. What a run. The wedding lead-up and festivities deserve their own column, so I’ll begin here instead with a very small recap of the dinner for twelve with twelve bottles of wine.

Before we get to that part, as for my time and my body, I seem to want to do everything but what I should do to move myself forward on what some might measure as success in what I do professionally. After putting myself all out there for my daughter’s wedding for most of three months straight, there is now needlepoint in the morning with coffee by my side. There are eighty-plus bandana napkins that have been washed on cold, hung to dry, and are now being ironed. The floors have been washed on hands and knees, and all of the garden pots are being constantly dead-headed. There is wisteria to prune, pantries and refrigerators to be cleaned and organized, and thank-you notes to write. I find myself wanting to pick up sticks in the yard and place them in neat little piles rather than putting myself in a chair to do things my brain is telling me to do, but my body and soul just haven’t obliged yet. Can I be a housekeeper and be?

Anyway, I have this beautiful leather-bound entertaining book where I haphazardly record dinners I host. I did manage to sit and write about this recent dinner for twelve, and that felt like a good start.

Peanut’s birthday is in late August; she will be in London, living in a new flat which she still hasn’t landed on yet. We celebrated her early with The Silver Palate’s Linguine with tomatoes, basil, and brie; marinated grilled flank steak, sauteed local Eden corn, and scratch blueberry pie. Sarah brought fresh baguettes and cheeses and a delicious fish spread from Moriarity’s that she and Connor had picked up earlier that afternoon. Bill’s cellar provided outrageous wine. Two generations played late-night Spud and did handstands and cartwheels on the lawn afterward. There for sure was a full moon.

Not wanting to say goodbye, we overdrank, did dishes, and then did laundry, because of course doing laundry and having clean laundry to pack can solve all kinds of issues. Lizzie and I helped her stuff her suitcases, and we all fell into bed. My alarm went off at 4:30 am to get up and get her to the airport, thinking I was going to make her her coffee and help her get organized; she was all in and fully ready to go. She’s there in London, I’m here in upstate New York, and the world continues to spin.

Picking up sticks, ironing napkins, and stitching away on a canvas are some of my ways to cope with this too-fast twirl. Perhaps I’ll find a way to settle myself at my desk, not quite sure.

Every day dress, easing into the fall, so that I literally don’t fall.

Postscriptum: since the penning of this post, my beautiful mom has died. This too will be a column of its own. We all knew there was change in the air that Friday evening. Peanut has returned from London to attend the small memorial service we have planned.