Making Use...

A Poem And A Picture For This Sunday Night

My Great-aunt Alice, Miss Rumphius, is very old now.  Her hair is very white.  Every year there are more and more lupines.  Now they call her the Lupine Lady.  Sometimes my friends stand with me outside the gate, curious to see the old, old lady who planted the fields of lupines.  When she invites us in, they come slowly.  They think she is the oldest woman in the world.  Often she tells us stories of faraway places.  

"When I grow up," I tell her, "I too will go to faraway places and come home to live by the sea."

"That is all very well, little Alice," says my aunt, "but there is a third thing you must do."

"What is that?" I ask.

"You must do something to make the world more beautiful."

"All right," I say.

--Barbara Cooney, text from Miss Rumphius

[Do you know this story?  You must read it.  Miss Rumphius has been my absolute favorite book since I was a little girl.  It happened to be one of a handful of books on the shelf at a very fancy Ryokan I stayed at during my travels in Japan last December.  That's right: an American storybook about an independent woman living on the coast of Maine*, tucked into the corner of a tatami-matted room outside of Hiroshima. 

How did that get there?

It took it as a sign and reminded myself of my childhood heart's dreams, lifted directly from the Lupine Lady: travel to exotic lands; grow old in a cottage by the sea; beautify.  

I am still working on these things...]

*I didn't realize she lived in Maine until I went there as a teenager and recognized the landscape.

Eight Months In

Eight months?  Holy moly.  That went quickly.

........

I was a difficult girlfriend.  Hard to get me into a place of commitment, then hard to keep me there.  But he stuck with me and in time our relationship matured to a place of ripeness.  Finally, when he was pretty sure I'd say yes, he asked me to marry him.  I did say yes.  We decided on a quick engagement and his joke when asked why was, "We've got to do it before she changes her mind."  

Smart man, my husband.

One evening this summer, I was chatting with a woman friend at a party.   I can't remember the exact conversation, but I must have said something, half-joking, about how I couldn't believe I was actually married (because, honestly, I still can't).  She replied, laughing, "Well, I guess you finally wore him down."

I was stunned.  Didn't she know us any better?

"Actually, it was the other way around," I dead-panned.  And I wasn't trying to be funny.  

........

Marriage is a crazy concept.  Promising to be together?  Forever?  How on earth do you know you are capable of such a thing?  Why on earth would you make such a deal with someone?  How do you know you won't change your mind?  Change your plans?  How do you know you'll be happy?

Really, people, what are we doing here?!  

I don't feel like a bad wife for asking these questions...  I feel like an honest person.

I know marriages last.  Despite the somewhat dismal statistics you read, and the high-profile, short-lived commitments printed on glossy magazine covers, we have 89 years of solid marriage modeled for us by our parents.  Both couples are well on their way to forever.

I hope I can live up to these promises I have made my husband.  Day-to-day it is easy enough to be kind and loving and forgiving, to take care of each other, to make plans for next year.  But I'd be lying if I said FOREVER was easy to comprehend from this vantage point.  

Light years, human reproduction, communication technology... these things are like FOREVER.  I understand, intellectually, what they mean and how they work.  But I still can't actually wrap my brain around the distance, the miracle, the magic of these concepts.  Know what I mean?  

But days fly by.  And so do weeks.  And so do months, apparently.  It's been eight months already and, really, so far so good.  We are on our way.  Together.

Sometimes I look at his face while he's watching football, or I feel his warm mass beside me when we lie in bed at night, and it brings tears to my eyes.  Because I think about this crazy, wacky, wondrous thing that I've done in marrying him, and I remember that he's done the exact same thing.  Against all odds and sanity, he, too, has agreed to love me and keep me forever.  

I still think it's crazy.   I still don't really GET it.  But it feels overwhelming and humbling and pretty wonderful to have him, with those promises, in my life.

Mere and Todd, Easton, Maryland, November 1, 2009.

Siena and Her Sisters

 

 

 

 

 

Three sweet girls, at home, in the middle of the day.

Christening at Wye House

My nephew, Henry, was baptized at noon on All Saints' Day in the north parlor of his great-grandmother's house outside of Easton, Maryland.  About 40 people attended the little service, led by the local Episcopal priest.  Afterwards there was a luncheon buffet on the dining room table: country ham, sweet potato biscuits, crab casserole, corn souffle, green salad, followed by brownies, lemon bars, and an apple/pear crisp.  Perfect comfort food for a drizzly Sunday afternoon.

 

 

  

 

 Henry represents the fourteenth generation to be baptized at Wye House, and the lucky baby had three of his four great-grandparents in attendance, plus all four grandparents, all of his aunts and uncles, and many extended cousins.  Read that sentence again; that's a lot of family.

The whole event recalled an earlier era, when rituals took place simply, at home, with "holy water" dipped from the Wye River earlier in the morning, and scripture read from the ancient bible sitting by the door.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 The God-Parents.

Maternal side: Henry with his mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. 

Paternal side: Henry with his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather.

Like a scene out of Town & Country, tweed was the fabric of choice and a pitcher of Bloody Mary mix sat on the marble-topped bar in the hallway.  The guest book dated back to 1949 but most of the decor was centuries older.  It is rare that a home full of such history stays in the family for as many generations as this one has.  

But it's real life, which made the day far more textured than any magazine spread.  Although the baby really is quite photogenic.

 

 

 

 

 

He was laughing, shrieking, and eating up all the love.  As Carter said of his son, "He's a real party animal."  

I giggle just looking at these pictures.  What a fun little guy.

But he's still a baby--and shortly after this quick portrait session he was out for the count.  See?

 

 

 

It may be a big old house, with an imposing history, but it doesn't take itself too seriously:

The afternoon wore on and a two-and-a-half-year old guest slouched lazily between a pair of giant, antique mirrors, with the heels of his shoes nestled into the fabric of the silky yellow sofa beneath him.  His mother sternly insisted, "Please take your feet off the furniture.  NOW."

"Don't worry," shouted Henry's great-uncle, Richard, in passing, as he walked off towards the dining room.  "It's a reproduction."

Happy Halloween

 

Panda, Charlottesville, Virginia, October 30, 2009.