Sunday, May 30, 2021

Day 2 of cold-and-damp has opened with overcast skies and a cat who has retreated to his late-sleeping winter hours. Thus, I wallowed in bed till almost 6 a.m., undisturbed by sunlight, birdsong, or a pet leaping full force onto my chest.

The boys have reluctantly given up their canoe trip idea: the forecast continues to be miserable for standard Memorial Day fun. Yesterday, even wearing three shirts and a coat, I was frozen when I got home from my outing to the McLaughlin Homestead. It took me hours to warm up: I felt like I'd spent 6 innings in a drizzle-swept lawn chair watching the Sisyphean progress of a "spring" Farm League baseball game. Those games always had a similar ice-inducing effect on my system.

Other than being cold, the outing was delightful. The homestead's grounds are lovely but slightly ramshackle, with large spreads of shade plantings that gave us hope for our own plots-in-progress. Valerie and I discovered that we were prone to laugh at the same road signs, and we slightly disgraced ourselves by giggling during the lilac-care tour, when the mild young arborist was suddenly pounced on by two old ladies who shouted at him for not starting the tour on time (he did) or in the correct place (he did), and browbeat him into repeating everything he'd already said in his talk. They were classic comic old lady bullies--say, Miss Doggett in Barbara Pym's novels; Mrs. Proudie in Anthony Trollope's--and the poor boy capitulated like a curate. As we walked away, he was meekly beginning his speech over again. . . .

I got home in the early afternoon to discover that the social whirl was not over: the boys had made reservations for indoor seats at a restaurant. To be sure, it wasn't very inside, as all of the windows and doors were wide open and we were freezing, but there were four walls and a ceiling.

Tonight we've been invited to our northcountry friend Lucy's new apartment in the neighborhood, to meet her cat and drink mojitos, and then she'll walk back to our place for dinner. I'll be serving American chop suey, classic food of the Harmony/Wellington diaspora, and this time everyone will be warm enough. 

I have to say: I am loving the communal rebirth.


nancy said...

I agree -- I find myself inviting people to come visit after their vaccination period is over (much to my husband's disbelief!)
We are finally getting rain, thank goodness. We are heading to Maine tomorrow (armed with geraniums and trowels) in order to fulfill the obligatory family cemetery tour. A few days ago, I was overwhelmed with a wave of nostalgic longing for "home" (my childhood family camp in Evans Notch). I could feel the summer heat, smell the drying yarrow and bracken and meadowsweet. Tomorrow will be cold and rainy and I will be pelted with black flies, but it will be good to sit by my parents' grave and see if the lilies of the valley and wild thyme that we planted years ago are still alive.

David (n of 49) said...

"The Harmony/Wellington diaspora" - :)