We went shopping, my girl and I. She needed "business casual" clothes, which she complains are not at all casual and do not effortlessly fit her shape, which to me is very beautiful, but more curvy than most pencil skirts allow. She has to wear business casual every Friday when titans from the food and hospitality industry come to speak to her freshman class. This daydreamy girl who thrived in the hands-on engagement of progressive schools is learning to hold her focus in a large lecture hall. It helps, she says, that the speakers are talking about things that interest her.
She is only just figuring out what business casual actually means, but I think she's ahead of the game because I still haven't figured out how to dress in that way. We managed to outfit her with a few staples, including a navy blue pencil skirt that made her exult "It does exist! The pencil skirt that fits me perfectly!" She also got a fabulous white jacket with threaded edges that can take her to any professional event, and a few tops and button downs.
My girl is in business school y'all! She's mastering all those icky math concepts that her mother avoided with great commitment. It's the hospitality business that she really wants to master. She'll spend a year at the Culinary Institute of America as part of this joint degree program, which she tells me she is enjoying. She said, "You'll be happy to hear I love my school." I love that she knows I'll be happy to hear that.
That blurry photo of my girl saying bye to her dad is the best I could get since I wasn't prepared. Maybe you had to be there, but it was lovely and funny, the two of them rocking side to side and acting goofy as they do. The day after she left, my cousin and her husband (whose heart is once again stable, thanks to a pacemaker and meds) and their boys came to spend a couple days with us. Her oldest is looking at colleges in the New York area. The cycle turns again. This is the cousin who is raising my Aunt Winnie's grandson. You should have seen Aunt Winnie's face when he walked in. It was like the light just exploded in that room.
My cousin and her youngest son have an amusing relationship. He is always trying to convince her of things she refuses to be convinced about. Here they are in a skeptical moment in our kitchen.
And here is my other nephew, the one who is looking at colleges. He wants to pursue music production. It is probably the only thing he is interested in other than being in a band a playing his guitar. He is a very mystical child of the seventies, despite being born in the nineties. He is totally channeling Hendrix and Marley and rocking out a huge stop-sign afro that becomes corkscrew curls after he showers because his dad's straight thick Native American hair is mixed in there. Both are great looks for a musician. His mother is tearing her hair out, though. He's not the least bit interested in anything other than his music. He is a tender, artistic soul.
I snapped this photo of my cousin's husband stroking his youngest son's head. It was such a familiar, unconscious and loving act as the men lounged about watching Sunday afternoon football, jumping up periodically to yell at the screen.
It was a good weekend. I did other things, too, like have lunch with two of my women friends on Saturday and see that Lee Daniels movie, The Paperboy, which I found disturbing for no ultimate reason. And now it's just my husband and me in our cosy nest once again. He is my playmate in the sand box, the company I keep, my lover and best friend who propels me home every evening. Life is good.