As of today, Slatton and I have spent 4 nights in the new house and needless to say, we're in love (with the house) oh, and of course, each other.
Here's a little photo essay documenting the what's-been-going-on's:
Our first cooked meal in the new house: I really helped. Really. Spinach/mushroom frittata, strawberries and English muffin. Cold beer (not shown.)
Jason has been keeping his mother's sweet wedding china in airtight containers. On Easter Sunday, we set it all free and it now rests in our butler's pantry.
And finally, in keeping with the Easterly and nostalgic theme, I will leave you with a poem I wrote while I was working on my thesis that I am certain would make Georgia Lee proud.
Questions before Easter service, 1980
Nanny and I
wake up with Pop
at five. How do you
want
your eggs, Cricket?
He wipes oily hands across Nanny’s apron
wrapped around his waist.
He looks dainty,
but I dare not laugh.
Go, and let Mother
help you get dressed.
That’s what he always called Nanny
and I wanted to ask him why
they slept in separate rooms,
but I didn’t.
In white stocking feet, I wander
down the hall,
pause with my reflection
in Nanny’s antique tea service splayed
on the buffet. I will
wear rouge today for Jesus.
The bathroom was thick
with talc and steam as I poked
Nanny’s bare shoulder and shook the skin
under her arm.
That made her mad.
Stop, child. Brush your teeth.
Glaring at me through the lighted mirror,
I stared at her sagging breasts and felt my own,
just pink, barely raised flesh.
At the sink, Nanny’s teeth
bobbed in the juice glass
as she rubbed cold cream in circles
across her cheeks.
What if I don’t
believe in God?
Nanny said we’d be late
for Sunday School
and did I want
her to cut a switch
from the yard to whip
me with for questioning our lord?
Guess not.
Love,
kh