Hello, Or, Saturday Morning at 9:50am
Hello! The celebration in Houston was lovely. I got to spend time with dear college roommates. And the party was a sort of Texas magic–outside by a pool at an old country club, attended by local friends and family and a contingent of young ones from Soho. What could have been better?
Why didn’t I wear cowboy anything? I figured it out, in retrospect. This is the Houston of the Contemporary Arts Museum and the Bayou Bend collection. A few people nodded to Cowboy, to The West, but in a beautiful and elevated style I could never hope to reach. Those familiar with my High WASP musings may remember that the worst sin is to appear to be trying. AKA heaven forfend a visible attempt.
And I was happy in pearls (hidden pearl drop earrings), a white pedicure, orange silk and cork wedge sandals as promised. I should explain; the pool was also a fountain. The sky quieted, and two people played on guitars and sang country songs. I am a lucky woman to have been thrown together with these friends at the silly age of 17, and to have stayed in touch for 51 years.
Also the dress was so floaty I never felt hot. Recommend.
Meanwhile in America, although attempts at autocracy increase, so does resultant protest and outcry, which has me feeling oddly more optimistic because at least we’re not alone. Cue Bernadette Peters.
Have a wonderful weekend everyone, no matter your skies.
Two Developing Trends And One Long-Established Tradition, Or, Saturday Morning at 8:41am
Hi all. I’ve always taken months off posting here and here, to stay gleeful in the process. It’s hard to do now with so much
On Changing One’s Mind, Or, Saturday Morning at 9:05am
I don’t know when exactly I decided that government was “inefficient.” Prior to 1978 I had no political opinions, really, more like an emotional characterization
Do I Need A New Dress, Or, Saturday Morning at 9:23am
Quick Question Do I need a new dress? Context. I’m heading to Houston at the end of the month, to a party thrown by a
Yesterday I Walked To The Dentist, Or, Saturday Morning at 7:41am
Sturdy Gal Reverie On Tuesday I walked to the place where I do peer grief counseling. Then I walked home. Wednesday I walked to my
Shoes For The Less-Traditional Mother-of-the-Bride, Or, Saturday Morning at 10:29am
Recreation It’s taking me a hot minute to find shoes for my mother-of-the-bride outfit. As I’m not posting images of the dress until the wedding
Stories For Us And Truths For Those Who Don’t Know Them, Or, Saturday Morning at 8:40am
So let’s first enjoy something for all who need escape, a balm, and some peace, and then we can hunker down with additional thoughts for
Today’s Post Pending Approval By The Primary Stakeholder
In other words, the mother forgot to get approval of a wedding-type post last night, and it’s now pending on the surgeon’s availability to approve;). Hope to see you here soon. Or later. (It’s here now)
Joy In Tabletops, Or, Saturday Morning at 9:29am
I imagine that in this spectacular community more than one of you have children who’ve gotten married. Or have planned parties. Hint. My job for my daughter’s wedding is to sort out the centerpieces for dinner. I’m thinking you know from tabletops and you might tell me about any great ideas you’ve implemented or come across in your beautiful lives. Here’s what we’re thinking: The venue is right on the water, on a the outskirts of a working harbor, in a very quiet bay. So, neither beachy nor wild coastal cliffs, more like the Wianno Yacht club in the 1960s-but
Every Good Moment That Comes Your Way, Or, Saturday Morning at 10:00am
You guys I just don’t know. Everything that’s happened this week has surpassed my capacity to build reasoned conceptual frameworks. We can keep calling our elected officials and donating to those who appear to be pursuing our cause. We can keep volunteering to help people in the worst straits, and donating to organizations that do the same. We surely will take care of ourselves and those we love. But if one sentence sums up how I feel this morning, on my usual sofa in my usual house, looking out the window at a rainy January garden, at the pale pink