The dress is for BabyGrand, and should fit her by Christmas; Chris picked it out and I remember how my Mississippi neighbor used to buy Polly Flinders for her little girl all the time. The little silverware was the one thing I was looking for yesterday, so she'd have a nice set here, and was the only one her size in any of the places we stopped. Just by coincidence, it is the same pattern as our set that we use most often. She's quite adept with her little plastic utensils, and the other day, I set down her lunch, and as I returned from the kitchen with my own plate and tea, I heard her say "Amen" as she reached for her plate.
And the Julia book---bought not because of the recent furor over the two J's, but because I'd never had one. I glanced through the pages with my first cup, and could imagine that strident, happy voice saying the words. This one just says "Copyright 1961" without any other printings listed, so I don't know when it was published, but I think that on the first, the three ladies were listed alphabetically.
My little water-jug that I carry in the car, and a tomato grabbed as we headed into the house---their red qualified them for inclusion, since they're a part of the nice day we spent together.
Tonight, everyone will having supper here---the four guests, BabyGrand and her parents, and the three of us. I'm about to go start a little cooking prep, and make a dish of bowtie gratin, ready for the oven, wash and tear some romaine hearts to toss with thin Vidalia, mandarins, craisins, sunflower seeds, and lime vinaigrette, a Caprese of all these wonderful tomatoes, with fresh Mozzarella and some of that shiny basil from the garden, and some lovely crook-necks and zucchini to go on the grill with the steaks.
I made the custard for the banana pudding yesterday morning, so it could chill before I assemble it today. I hope this will be a lovely dinner all together, and a good bon voyage to the friends who will be leaving early in the a.m.
It feels almost a farewell-to-Summer, somehow, this parting, like I always imagined closing out a Maine beach house would feel---that was the pinnacle of imaginary Summer experience to a Deep South child, those Maine Summers, especially the thought of spending day after day in a camp in the Northwoods. Screened porches and canoeing and swimming in a cold lake---what vacation could have been better? I have still to see Maine, and look forward to the someday.
For now, the here and now. And that's all right, as well.