Earlier this week, I found myself online at Ikea looking at cushion covers as a matter of extreme urgency.
I also went down a rabbit hole researching an Armani perfume I used to wear in the 90s, long discontinued, and checking out the vintage bottles still available on eBay.
Both signs, clearly, that I’ve been distracting myself from more pressing practical/emotional matters.
Within the last fortnight, we’ve had a family memorial service, our youngest finished his GCSE exams and attended his (junior) prom. He looked crazily grown-up and, maybe it was the bow tie/something about the way the light was hitting his actually-stubbly-jaw, but I’m still puzzling at how we got here, so fast.
And, finally, our eldest graduated from university last week.
It’s safe to say I’ve been quite emotional.
The last time I sat down to write you this update, I was distracted by the music and sounds of the muffled PA system at the junior school fete in full swing across the road and it almost undid me.
Neighbourhood playground sounds are their own, particular kind of white noise, aren’t they? One that becomes only more nostalgic with the passage of time.
GAH. See what I mean?
Hopeless.
So, about the dress
Speaking of the graduation situation, sorting out what to wear was the source of some stress, which, at its peak, resulted in my getting stuck inside a neon orange maxi dress in the changing rooms at Zara.
I loved the colour (super-summery!). And I thought it would be nice and cool (take that, hormones and humidity!).
I didn’t get the dress. Instead, I picked up a simple, printed shirt dress with side splits that went WAY higher than I realised—not great with wind and intermittent showers. The sensible mothers had opted for simple floral shift dresses, and pastel linen suits. (WHY HAVE I NEVER BEEN A SENSIBLE MOTHER?)
But it was wonderful, and this, actually is one of my favourite pics from the day.
My dad was famous in the family for his ‘back shots’ when my brother and I were growing up, and our 70s/80s family albums are filled with them. He always maintained that they said so much about a moment, or a passage of time, and I think he was right.
I could say more about how this photo speaks to me about our girl stepping out into the next chapter in her life, and our joy in seeing all those students getting to graduate and celebrate together, in person—such a gift and a blessing after the last two years (something which the Dean of the cathedral spoke movingly about at the college Leavers service a few weeks earlier).
But then I’d be OFF AGAIN.
So I won’t.
But, you know? ….
Take a load off
Since summer has arrived here in the UK—i.e. it went really hot, really suddenly, then it went really cold and rainy again, and now we’re in a heatwave—I’ve been trying to hang out the laundry more.
Obviously, it’s the greener option over using the dryer, not to mention better from a savings perspective, with the sudden, steep rise in energy prices (which, in all seriousness, have come as devastating for many).
What I hadn’t realised was how soothing I’d find the habit of stepping outside to peg up a load, before the day gets underway. Getting out into the fresh air for a bit, much earlier than I would have done otherwise, helps to clear my head.
Doing something so simple and methodical with my hands kind of gets me out of my head, if that makes sense?
While the results are nowhere nearly as pretty or colour-co-ordinated, as this—in my family’s hometown in Italy—I’m grateful for this simplest of rituals in a way I hadn’t expected.
(Sidenote: if you’re even faintly interested, this socks/smalls dryer has been a game changer. The hook doesn’t fly off the washing line in the wind, and it’s also got a bazillion pegs. Well, 36.)
Meanwhile, how have you been? Tell me anything: about how you distract yourself when you should be doing something else. Or that perfume you wish they’d never discontinued, or how you stop towels turning into cardboard when you air-dry them (especially, please tell me this).
Or just reassure me that you, too, end up Googling things like “what is a 50 cm x 40 cm cushion cover in inches?”
So I know it’s not just me.
I cackled when I read about what sensible mothers wore compared to the dress you bought. Who wants to be boring like that? Not you and not me! I loved this newsletter and, of course, the picture of sweet Sofia ❤️
Sensible mothers are overrated, Jenni! Thanks for sharing your insight through story-telling - I'm enjoying them so much!