Third Day
Casey and I spent the morning pacing up and down about two miles of beach, while I told her a long and complicated story. We are becoming increasingly close with every passing day of this vacation—which is the greatest blessing this trip has had in store for me so far. I told David, while he was cutting the sleeves from an old t-shirt for me, “I never knew your wife was magical until now.”
“Yes,” he said, pleased. “She is.” I think he’s glad to have such an obvious (to him) fact recognized by me, whom he has long called his “magical sister.” So now there are three of us in the family who are magical. What does “magical” mean? Oh, you know—a little of this and that. We all three have unusual blue eyes, if that matters. We all have very strong imaginations, a deep sense of the significance of things, and a desire to avoid the cliché expression. We are also all strongly empathetic, feeling with and for other people in ways that we don’t even understand. And we all “make things up.” David and Casey understand fairies.
I went outside to sun myself. Mike, David, and Casey joined me. We talked of houses, of dimensions and diagonal views and loggias and whether or not a multi-family estate made as much relational sense as economic sense. Two hours later I came in and found myself the color of a broiled lobster—that is, bright pink all over my limbs and face. Tanned at last!—or rather, I will be, once the fire of the sunburn cools a little.
The men spent part of the morning gathering tables and preparing for tomorrow’s clambake, which is Very Serious Business. Tomorrow we will all get up early to bring seaweed from the beach. Clambakes involve a deep pit, lots of coals, seaweed, corn, potatoes, clams, lobsters, and I don’t know what all else. I am eager to find out! There are a number of relatives coming—twenty-odd. Some of the cousins I haven’t seen since early childhood, but most of them aren’t really cousins anyway, not by blood. On Mom’s side of the family we have only two real cousins, two little girls belonging to my mother’s brother.
We spent the afternoon reading, of course. Nate played a computer game called Rome Total War, and Marjorie watched part of North and South on Daddy’s laptop. I fear I may have missed my opportunity for a sail, since I turned down my chance in favor of talking to Casey. It was worth it, though, and I can always go sailing next year.
A thunderstorm rolled nearby, but I don’t think it means to touch us. Weather is utterly unpredictable near the sea—which is one of the things I love about it. How pleasant to finally find something as moody as my own self! It gives a sort of companionship to life, though of course I know that I shall be less and less driven by my stormy emotions, learning not to love too well and hate too well my loves and hates as I grow up into Christ—whereas the seaside weather will remain, I suppose, eternally in doubt.
Dinner is in a little while, though the cheeses and crackers have already appeared. Lemon hummus is a new thing, but I think I like it very much. Last night I had a glass of Chardonney also, but I don’t like its oakish aftertaste as well as I remembered. David let me try a sip of his red Zinfandel, and I think I will prefer that for tonight. Marjorie and Charity seem to feel that it is their absolute right to have a sip from anything the adults are drinking, which is indeed family practice, so long as the sips are limited to one or two. They would want glassfuls if they weren’t underaged—as it is, both have spent extended time in Italy and know what it is to have one’s own six ounces of wine.
However, children in our family are not permitted to drink underaged, and when we do reach twenty-one we are expected to practice a high degree of self-restraint in all matters alcoholic. Wine is never consumed during the day, for example—it is only permitted with dinner, and then not every night. Also it is not unusual for one or several of us to go off wine completely for an extended period, as a fast, to make sure we still can. I myself fasted through most of June to keep Mom and Dad company on one of their fasts. It is especially important for the girls to be comfortable with restraint, since alcohol will be forbidden during future pregnancies. At all times, “Don’t drink alone” is a family proverb.
These practices are not “rules” exactly, nor should I quite use the language of “permitted” for all of them, but they are serious customs seriously (if quietly) observed.
Despite all these precautions, collecting and comparing wine tastes is a pleasant diversion. I enjoy it reasonably, I hope, and never mind much when it is time to lay the practice aside for awhile. Were I to marry a teetotaler, the loss of wine would be no great sacrifice. Still a red Zinfandel is a pleasant smooth drink, goes well with chicken, and I enjoy it for its ruby color as much as anything else. Looking at a glass of wine, I always think what a great diversity of gifts we have been given for our human enjoyment, and how much trouble God went to, to make each taste and color a separate, living thing. How I love God for that!
“Yes,” he said, pleased. “She is.” I think he’s glad to have such an obvious (to him) fact recognized by me, whom he has long called his “magical sister.” So now there are three of us in the family who are magical. What does “magical” mean? Oh, you know—a little of this and that. We all three have unusual blue eyes, if that matters. We all have very strong imaginations, a deep sense of the significance of things, and a desire to avoid the cliché expression. We are also all strongly empathetic, feeling with and for other people in ways that we don’t even understand. And we all “make things up.” David and Casey understand fairies.
I went outside to sun myself. Mike, David, and Casey joined me. We talked of houses, of dimensions and diagonal views and loggias and whether or not a multi-family estate made as much relational sense as economic sense. Two hours later I came in and found myself the color of a broiled lobster—that is, bright pink all over my limbs and face. Tanned at last!—or rather, I will be, once the fire of the sunburn cools a little.
The men spent part of the morning gathering tables and preparing for tomorrow’s clambake, which is Very Serious Business. Tomorrow we will all get up early to bring seaweed from the beach. Clambakes involve a deep pit, lots of coals, seaweed, corn, potatoes, clams, lobsters, and I don’t know what all else. I am eager to find out! There are a number of relatives coming—twenty-odd. Some of the cousins I haven’t seen since early childhood, but most of them aren’t really cousins anyway, not by blood. On Mom’s side of the family we have only two real cousins, two little girls belonging to my mother’s brother.
We spent the afternoon reading, of course. Nate played a computer game called Rome Total War, and Marjorie watched part of North and South on Daddy’s laptop. I fear I may have missed my opportunity for a sail, since I turned down my chance in favor of talking to Casey. It was worth it, though, and I can always go sailing next year.
A thunderstorm rolled nearby, but I don’t think it means to touch us. Weather is utterly unpredictable near the sea—which is one of the things I love about it. How pleasant to finally find something as moody as my own self! It gives a sort of companionship to life, though of course I know that I shall be less and less driven by my stormy emotions, learning not to love too well and hate too well my loves and hates as I grow up into Christ—whereas the seaside weather will remain, I suppose, eternally in doubt.
Dinner is in a little while, though the cheeses and crackers have already appeared. Lemon hummus is a new thing, but I think I like it very much. Last night I had a glass of Chardonney also, but I don’t like its oakish aftertaste as well as I remembered. David let me try a sip of his red Zinfandel, and I think I will prefer that for tonight. Marjorie and Charity seem to feel that it is their absolute right to have a sip from anything the adults are drinking, which is indeed family practice, so long as the sips are limited to one or two. They would want glassfuls if they weren’t underaged—as it is, both have spent extended time in Italy and know what it is to have one’s own six ounces of wine.
However, children in our family are not permitted to drink underaged, and when we do reach twenty-one we are expected to practice a high degree of self-restraint in all matters alcoholic. Wine is never consumed during the day, for example—it is only permitted with dinner, and then not every night. Also it is not unusual for one or several of us to go off wine completely for an extended period, as a fast, to make sure we still can. I myself fasted through most of June to keep Mom and Dad company on one of their fasts. It is especially important for the girls to be comfortable with restraint, since alcohol will be forbidden during future pregnancies. At all times, “Don’t drink alone” is a family proverb.
These practices are not “rules” exactly, nor should I quite use the language of “permitted” for all of them, but they are serious customs seriously (if quietly) observed.
Despite all these precautions, collecting and comparing wine tastes is a pleasant diversion. I enjoy it reasonably, I hope, and never mind much when it is time to lay the practice aside for awhile. Were I to marry a teetotaler, the loss of wine would be no great sacrifice. Still a red Zinfandel is a pleasant smooth drink, goes well with chicken, and I enjoy it for its ruby color as much as anything else. Looking at a glass of wine, I always think what a great diversity of gifts we have been given for our human enjoyment, and how much trouble God went to, to make each taste and color a separate, living thing. How I love God for that!
posted by Praelucor at 9:35 PM
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