Sunday Funday

It is Sunday. A beautiful, delightful Sunday.

At this point in my weekend I sit happy. I have just now come in from my little garden that is blooming and fragrant and has made friends with several neighborhood butterflies and one fearless hummingbird. My payment for care-giving is the frequent swoops they make around me as I shower and admire the flowers. The rosemary is so fragrant and the basil makes my mouth water just thinking about it. It might be the most therapeutic task I know of- to garden.

A successful Sunday by Beth. Step one, wake up at dawn, which is impressive considering the good time I had last night. One of Nick’s friends celebrated his recent success on the PGA Tour by graciously having his friends over for a relaxed, but fine party at his home. The bartender was certainly a professional and the night turned out to be everything one would hope for amongst friends; funny stories, lots of laughter, a little history shared and a few new friends made along the way. Upon waking, I decided to bite the bullet and not roll around forcing a lazy morning onto myself and instead I got the dogs leashed and we hiked our usual trails in the Chattahoochee Forrest. We sat and watched the river flow for a while. Well, I sat and Selma put on her best performance to distract me from river gazing. She hops like a deer and sprints like a cheetah and spins in circles and digs a bit… snorts a little loose dirt and runs wild in large circles making paths through the trees as she goes. It’s really incredible! And it works. I laugh at all the contorted body movements and the intense and ever changing expressions on her face, complete with ear flaps flat behind her to give her an aerodynamic advantage, and eventually start cheering her. This is my morning glory.

Step two for the morning was to wake my husband up in the most abrupt fashion I could muster. So, I turned on 92.9, acoustic sunrise, and let it blare through the speakers and challenged the dogs to a race to the bed. Works every time! Nick was up! All three of his girls were on top of him smiling and energetic and Selma Lu Mela was a doll and included a complimentary face wash. Brilliant plan. I even worked out a short shoulder rub for myself. How about that! I splatter myself loudly on the bed and I get petted for it. Works for me! This is my morning pride.

Step three… brunch with my best friend. Husbands welcome. We had a brunch date for four at The St. Regis, Atlanta and my, my how wonderful it turned out to be. The décor in the hotel is phenomenal. And that is not my word to describe it. It is literally the word out of Nick’s mouth as he sat down. Fancy hotel, fancy words. We moved from our coffee and assorted muffins to pancakes and omelettes, which didn’t disappoint. Having wished for pancakes all morning, I was more than pleased when Chef Crystal suggested them. The chef is a friend now, made through Julie, my best girlfriend and a bit of a foodie. She knows good food. We concluded the breakfast with a nice gift, compliments of the chef, a spicy Bloody Mary, (which happened to include a tiny jalapeno pepper that Jules mistook for an olive and accidentally popped into her mouth whole!) The chef shared some knowledge. Bloody Marys are St. Regis’ signature beverage because the St. Regis, New York City was the first to ever concoct them back in 1930-something. What a valuable piece of trivia. Although, I never order them, I am impressed with this odd drink and admire the bravery in those who sip them as well as those who invent them. After touring the hotel and pool and refreshing myself with rosemary water, we parted from our friends and promised to make this our new preferred brunching location. It was really great food, hospitable service, and luxurious ambiance. I will suggest it. This is my morning delight.

Step four in my Sunday morning is home. Sending my Mr. to hit the course and dabbling on my stories, watering my lovelies and hugging my puppies. I guess nothing else is needed for me to be thankful on a Sunday. This is my morning contentment.

Earth, Love, Grace, and Happiness.

Every Sunday please.

A Jot, from my sofa seat

Love, love, lovely love of mine.
I’m here for you in the sleepy slumber of your nighttime dreams.

On the wind of winding nights as ivy bends and grows on trees.
Do you hear me on the breeze as limbs creak and windows squeak?

Love is the language that I speak.
Love is the rhythm of my heart’s beat.

I grow and I flow in your blood as your racing heart thumps and pumps.
The shallow breath that falls off your lips leaves you pale and weak.

Keep your eyes shut, my love; and fear me not, you see.
The prickles on your skin feel me swirling nearer and nearer; you can’t hide; you can’t compete.

I’m here as you sleep.
As you weep, my love, like the winding vine grows.

China Affair

For whatever reason, I’m obsessed with china. I adore plates. Tea cups and saucers send me into blissful oblivion. Add a fancy charger and I might not be able to contain myself. My dear little dog is named China and my other dearly departed dog, Shakti, now rests in a beautiful sugar vase that has a dainty lid and resembles an urn. It was all too appropriate I thought, since she sat with me as I drank coffee and tea and loved her sister named China. Anyway, all of this makes me sound loopy but it is true. I want to cook so I can decorate the table and actually invite someone to sit down to it. The food adds beauty, of course, but I’m looking at the Limoges no doubt about it. Why all the blistering excitement over porcelain? I ask myself this all the time.
I think I was raised by a woman who was always aware of the motto ‘Its the presentation that matters’. No, I know I was raised by her, but I think that was her motto and it made a hasty jump from her everyday intentions to both of her daughters’ everyday intentions. I claim several odd tendencies like this, but the china collecting came from no where. I never spent time in the kitchen when I was young. It made me anxious and I only wanted to escape it. My sister and mother were okay with that, often welcoming my departure so they could continue their delightful culinary experience without my furrowed brow hanging about. But as I’ve grown older I’m drawn toward this thing… an experience one has at a nicely decorated table with beautiful china and real, delicious food. I love it. I use all my china. I store none of it. I set the table and my husband and I sit down across from one another and talk and eat on fine china and drink from crystal and wipe our mouths with cloth napkins and Damn! It feels like I live the good life every night we do it!
I remember stories about women who regretted registering for fine china, stating that they stored it in their attic nicely and securely and never touched it again (with the exception of some grand occasion like an engagement party or the occasional Christmas when the entire family came over). Then, I once read a very touching story of a husband who had the unfortunate task of sorting and packing away all of his wife’s belongings after she tragically passed. He noted that she had such special possessions that were, let’s say, ‘in waiting’. She was holding on to them for a special occasion that warranted using them. She had lingerie with the tags still on, china that she loved in bubble wrap, and when he saw this he said it broke his heart. It was a strong life lesson for me. And from then on I used my favorite stationary and lathered my fancy soaps. Now, still having kept the essence of that lesson, I choose to decide that any day I want to be special is special and I use my Bernardaud. Don’t feel like cooking? Doesn’t matter one bit! I put Whole Foods pick-up on my pretty plates! And when I pass it on in the end, I will love the memories created by my china obsession even more than the actual set of china.
Yes, it’s just a plate. But it’s an opportunity too; to feel special, to invent celebrations, and to be your grandest. “Do you love it? Use it!” That’s what goes through my head. Unfortunately for my husband, when I’m shopping and see china, “Do you love? Get it!” also goes through my silly little brain! Oh well… a boy needs to eat and it is after all the reason why I cook!