Weekend with Caleb

Dear old Caleb came to stay with us this weekend. We had a very peaceful time, as you can see.

Weekend with Caleb
At the C&O.

Weekend with Caleb
Bonding at dinner.

Weekend with Caleb
Cheese-making.

Weekend with Caleb
Pyr referees horseshoes.

Being friends
Alliance forged.

Storm brewing. #locustavenue #crapemyrtle
Mercifully cooling storm.

Boy time

Before dinner calm
Pre-dinner calm.

We went to Davidson this weekend, for Chris and Lauren’s wedding. It was one of those rare weekends back home in which most of the time was spent with BOYS. (With Kelsey and Grace gone, there is little incentive to fill up the harem.)

Boys, boys, boys:

Lil Bro Peep is all grown up
Sam, all grown up.
Pyrrha and Jak
Jak and Pyrrha.
Husband!
Husband.
Caleb!
Caleb.
Mom and her daddy
Da-Dan and his youngest daughter.

Gotta love boys. Patrick also showed up, but he is not featured here, as I was in the throes of post-wedding food poisoning when he arrived. So happy to get to see him, too.

Food poisoning aside, we had a lovely, calm weekend. Pyrrha acted like she owned the place. She’s become very comfortable with Davidson living and I daresay she was rather disappointed to come back to our shack after three days at the family estate. Dublin has become her constant companion and has been showing her the Ways of the Normal Dog.

You may have noticed an improvement in photo quality (although not necessarily photo skill). This is because I picked up my new camera, Louis, which I bought from Grace. I feel very honored to have him in my care. I am sure I won’t use him half as well as his first owner, but I am going to do my best to learn everything I can. There is so much to learn! It is a formidable piece of equipment.

How nice to be away, how nice to be home.

First party success

(No photos, because hostesses don’t have time for such things.)

Last night, we hosted our first party at our new house. As Cate said, “You haven’t really moved in until you’ve thrown a party.” And so now we’re official. We gathered in the backyard to celebrate Guion’s birthday AND his amazing cobbler-making skills. I announce it freely: My husband is a way better cook than I am. It’s taken me two years to admit it, but there it is. Pyrrha did amazingly well with the whole party, considering we had 20 new people swarming her yard. By the end of the night, she claimed the picnic blanket as her throne and watched us, mere minions, flit about her.

Caleb is with us this weekend, having made his annual summer sojourn to Charlottesville. He is helpful and funny and speaks Guion’s language in a way that few other people do.

I am reading this oft-mentioned article right now and have been pondering its many ramifications; poor Caleb got an earful when he was helping me with the dishes. I need some lady-friends to talk to about this. I need those long, rambling nights with Rose, Cristina, Emily, Kathryn, Catherine

To be the heart of things

A Paris flat, unopened for 70 years. Source: Retronaut

To something proud and restless–the spirit, perhaps–that looked out from inside her, nothing must make death more humbling than the idea of its ease: death should have a harder victory. This was stepping through still one more door held courteously open for her. Better to be rooted out hurt, bleeding, alive, like the daisies from the turf, than blow faintly across the lawn like a straw. All these years she had stood by, uncritically, smiling, had she been wanting really, like other women, to be the heart of things, to be what was going on? No wonder she gave such tender attention to small everyday things, living as people wish they could live over again, slighting nothing.

The House in Paris, Elizabeth Bowen

Happy Friday! Also, if you’re cruising around for something good to read, check out Guion and Caleb’s new music blog: Jams All Year. It’s funny and erudite and will almost certainly direct you to some great new tunes.

Revived memory

Until now I had been speaking at great length about how impotent my memory had been since the time of my childhood, but I must point out that a memory which is suddenly revived carries a great power of resuscitation. The past does not only draw us back to the past. There are certain memories of the past that have strong steel springs and, when we who live in the present touch them, they are suddenly stretched taut and then they propel us into the future.

The Temple of the Golden Pavilion, Yukio Mishima, translated by Ivan Morris

Finished that book yesterday, in a pleasant grove in Darden Towe park while Guion and Caleb played horseshoes. Now on with more reading of sense and memory: Guermantes Way, the third installment (and my third consecutive summer of reading Proust) of In Seach of Lost Time. It has been such a lovely long weekend, and quite nice to have Caleb around.