Frittery
For the first time in years, we won't be hosting a Fourth of July party on our balcony this year. Neither one of us is up to it. I was willing to give it a shot, but Kathleen decided that we'd sit this year out. Or, rather, we'd visit the new apartment of one of our regular guests. He's got a great rooftop view of the fireworks, far better than ours - probably because he lives only a few blocks across town. Then we'll go out.
I went out for lunch yesterday, and quite to my surprise I ran into the parents of one of Kathleen's bridesmaids. They were dressed quite correctly for midtown - I felt like a slob even though I was wearing one of my pricier shirts - but were staying closer to home because, in view of the holiday (they said), their regular midtown restaurants were closed for lunch. Or maybe just closed. They asked after Kathleen, whom they've known since she was in the second grade.
Coming home with the best of intentions, I nevertheless frittered the afternoon away (I had been quite industrious in the morning). I chatted online; I caught up on a number of blogs; and, every five minutes or so, I went to look at the first of the four dining chairs to come back reupholstered. A Mr Solo on 85th Street rebuilt the chair before reupholstering it, so now it's both handsome and sturdy. Kathleen and I had picked out the material at Gracious Home three weeks ago, but having only seen a small swatch we had no idea how the fabric would "make up." It made up very nice, thank you. When Kathleen came home for dinner, she was as pleased as I.
Such household improvements used to delight me as only Christmas does children. Since discovering my calling, I'm rather less feverish about householding.
