(no subject)
As if sensing my sudden departure-spawned lapses into the very lachrymosity I spent the whole summer spurning, my grandparents seemed damnendearing caricatures of themselves late this morning, scurrying about mounting blue wicker-and-lace wreaths that recall the word homespun and soothing, simplifying, one heavy leadglass goblet of too-sweet tea at a time. Burgundy brocade fell in thick folds above the turquoise sewing stool, and next to cream-colored kidd gloves and cranberry boot buttons lie the daily devotional she read aloud from, drawling and daring, “The Lord has given-Sarah, I’m going to say you instead of thee!” There’s something so blithe, buttery about the first syllable; Say-ruh, sipping Ceylon, slipping between crisp, sedum-studded sheets, shellacking maple-footed settees and the heathens perched upon them with a double coat of gra-cious-nuss. She flipped assuredly to the right worn pages, rested perpetually cool fingers on my warm, ink-stained own, and wondered aloud and utterly in earnest how those fetching Ted Hughes Types I’m eternally taken with will manage make any money.
Oh, how I’ll miss these midweek escapes!-relishing wordly-feeling words from beneath two woven throws, naughtily slicing off scraps of justkneaded biscuit dough, and a valiant tenor telling me “You are important and very special; remember that every day and every night.”
Oh, how I’ll miss these midweek escapes!-relishing wordly-feeling words from beneath two woven throws, naughtily slicing off scraps of justkneaded biscuit dough, and a valiant tenor telling me “You are important and very special; remember that every day and every night.”