Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Rural Retreating

Rest assured, if I had any white shoes, skirts or dresses, I'd have stayed home and spent the weekend packing them up.

But since I don't wear white - looks awful on me - that left me free to accept an invitation to the country for the long weekend instead.

First order of business after a bountiful breakfast: an all-day pool party under a bright blue sky.

The wine was free-flowing, the memories stretched back to living in Church Hill before it was chic and just about everybody ended up in the water at some point.

I especially liked the high-spirited guy who kept cannonballing in an attempt to knock others off their floats. If not water hi-jinks at a pool party, then when?

Our host had apparently started his own partying before the guests arrived, so he dropped out for a while to take a nap, returning to his chair unobtrusively as if he'd never been away...except for the creases on his cheek.

One trio took an expedition into the woods, returning with a 6' black snake in hand, choosing not to bring it into the pool area only when I made my snake feelings clear to all.

Don't harsh my mellow with a black snake, y'all.

Mid-afternoon, swimming and snake handling paused for lunch of pizza (our host had made his own crust, our hostess had chosen all the vegetable toppings from her abundant garden), lasagna, corn on the cob and kale salad (despite the creator acknowledging that she had not massaged the kale, it was stellar).

Also, wedges of watermelon, because it could be construed as un-American not to bookend the summer with watermelon on both Memorial Day and Labor Day.

As was probably the case at holiday celebrations all over the Commonwealth, there was a fair amount of chatter about our former first couple and their unsuitability for the governor's mansion.

We had a consensus that not a single person anywhere ever needed to see pictures of our former first lady headed into the federal courthouse with a camel-toe courtesy of her polyester pantsuit.

After much laughter courtesy of multiple empty bottles of wine, we went the rural retreat route for a low-key evening of grilled t-bone steak, a salad that could been the poster child for the holiday weekend (corn, tomatoes, red onion, basil and balsamic, the second and fourth from the cook's gardens) and crusty bread slathered with Irish butter enjoyed on the screened-in porch surrounded by Chianti bottles housing burning candles,

Our musical point of departure was Teddy Pendergrass, making for some excellent R & B tangents as the evening dancing and conversation progressed. Some might say we were workin' it.

Teddy, now there was a man who looked far too good in white to pack it away, no matter what the holiday.

My Labor Day hero.


  1. Surprised that you would pack away your white, if you had any to pack. I wonder where this tradition came from or what its origins may have been. I still where white after Labor day, but I do always feel a little southern guilt about doing it. And I look good in white.


  2. Melissa, You've figured me out without even knowing me! Chances are if I did wear white, I'd flout the Labor Day conventions and wear it whenever I wanted to, so you're right. Southern guilt looks good with white, doesn't it?