A moment

The wedding photographer sent his photos to the happy couple this morning. The family chat is blowing up with everyone's favorites. There are too many gorgeous moments to share, but here is one I love, even though it’s soft focus and more of a mood. These two sometimes joke about being the first Black extras to appear in a Hallmark movie. Well, according to this image, they are the radiant stars!

Hope

Grand-niece Amara watches her Aunt Kamala accept the Democratic nomination for President of the United States.

Another anniversary!

The man and I have been married for 38 years today, and last night we celebrated with our children and heart children at Chef Tom Colicchio's flagship eatery Craft. The sommelier, Cheron Cowan, was lovely, every wine pairing told a story, and the entire staff was warmly attentive, making sure our little family celebration felt special. Every dish on our custom menu was perfectly delicious, and at the end of the meal the chef de cuisine Andrew Whitcomb came out to our table to ask if we'd enjoyed the meal. Oh yes, we certainly had. After talking with us a bit and sharing details of Tom Colicchio's cooking life—who knew he was the first to bring to America the French method of braising short ribs to that impossibly tender and flavorful outcome?—he invited us for a kitchen tour. Then, when we were leaving the sommelier Cheron impulsively opened her arms to me and said, "May I hug you?" which was the sweetest gesture, because the thought in my head the moment before was I'd love to hug her, but maybe it's not appropriate. She was one of those people you meet and have the sense that you already know each other. The entire evening was delightful, and we especially loved hearing about the newly marrieds' honeymoon adventures. Oh my darling man, how I love this family we have created together, and all these bonus children who bring us such joy. I would do this walk with you again and again, my love, in a million lifetimes. 

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Other updates: My new book contract came through yesterday and I signed it promptly so I am now officially on a new project. Meanwhile my husband is hard at work on a new scientific paper in which he and a colleague are identifying a newly discovered species of fish, and its distinctive characteristics. He had said to me recently, "I'd like to get my name on another scientific paper soon," and so he is.  As for our children, someone here remarked that they attend an inordinate number of weddings, and that is true! My son and his wife are off to England next week to attend the wedding of one of my son's mates, and the weekend after that they will back in the city, on their way to Connecticut for the wedding of yet another friend. Simultaneously, my daughter and her brand new husband leave for Mexico tonight to attend the wedding of two college friends, and when they get back they, too, will be heading north, to Ithaca, New York, for another college friend's wedding. My daughter and her love have already attended five weddings this year, and my son and his wife have attended a few as well. I think all this suggests that their generation is in their commitment era, and also that both my children have rather lovely circles of friends. May all these newlyweds share sublime love and laughter despite the many twists and turns and evolutions of marriage, that's my prayer for them all.

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I did watch the Democratic National Convention this week, and thrilled to so many highlights—in particular the Obamas speeches, and Kamala Harris's adorable nieces teaching the audience how to correctly say their auntie's name, and the moment when Coach Tim Walz's state championship winning football team walked onto the stage with their dad bods clad in their long ago high school jerseys and big grins on their faces, every one of them happy to be there for their former coach. Those men looked to me as if some of them might have previously voted for Trump, but I have a feeling they may vote differently this time. But it was Tim Walz's authentic sharing of himself and his family and his values as he accepted the VP nomination—and the beautiful sight of his 17-year-old son with one hand clasped to his chest and the other pointing to the stage as he cried, "That's my dad!"—that completely undid me. I imagine that like so many who watched Tim Walz speak, I was beaming with joy and optimism, because that is what Tim Walz and his true-hearted family inspire. And then last night, I cheered as Kamala Harris prosecuted the case against Trump, and shared her own policies and values, in such a powerful presentation that I was simply in awe of how much I had previously underestimated her. I can't wait to vote for her and her running mate in November. Are they perfect candidates? Such creatures do not exist. Are they the best hope for the future of our country? Oh, absolutely.

World shaping

I woke up this morning with a heavy weight on my chest, and I couldn't figure out why. It's been a while since I've awoken in such a low mood, feeling sad and lost, with no good reason. Maybe I have too much time on my hands. I'm eager to get started on the next book, but the contract is taking a while, in part because most people in publishing vacate the city in August, and everything just about shuts down. 

On Instagram, I see posts by people from many different circles of my life, all of them in the mix with one another on Martha's Vineyard, where the cool folks meet up in Oak Bluffs, the preferred playground of almost everyone I know, it seems, come August. Even the Obamas are part of the scene, along with some people whose books I've written, and the editors who've published them. Many people are surprised that I've never been there. Our family never started that summer ritual when our kids were small, as we always decamped instead to the Caribbean. We had parents, grandparents, and other relatives to visit—and stay for free—in three different islands, Jamaica, Antigua, and St. Lucia, so Martha's Vineyard never elbowed its way onto the vacation roster. 

I'm not proud to admit that I secretly battle intense fomo as I browse social media, watching everyone live their best life on turquoise shores and gather in summer whites on the porches of cottage style homes. But that's not why I feel blue today. Maybe I just feel lonely. Everyone is off doing their lives, going to work, traveling abroad, resting in their country houses, and I am just here, marking time. I guess I'm trying to touch the sadness I'm feeling with this post, to write it out of me, to seek all my blessings on the other side. 

The man and I will be married 38 years this Friday. I've made a reservation to celebrate with our kids and their loves at a restaurant owned by a member of the Top Chef family. At the restaurant's invitation, my daughter and I pre-selected dishes from their menu to customize the experience—three appetizers, three entrees, two sides, and two desserts—which they will serve family style for our group of seven, and for which they will print a personalized "Happy 38th Anniversary" menu with our names at the top, a nice keepsake of the evening. 

All that to say, there's nothing I can point to that is truly amiss in my world, other than my internal weather just ebbing and flowing again, as it does sometimes. Perhaps I will take my Kindle outside and sit on a bench under a tree and read and breathe in nature till the heavy gray clouds dissipate a bit. 

Here's a lovely spot of brightness, our darling Harper, now fifteen months old, looking very demure, very mindful, very cutesy (it's a Tik Tok meme, however I'm told by my nieces that the moment you try to explain a meme, it's already passé, so I'll just say, if you know you know, and if you don't, it will be probably be over by the time you google it anyway, so don't bother). As my poet friend Rebecca said when she saw this photo, "A true world shaper, that one. It's in the eyes."

Excuse me while I live vicariously

My daughter shared these images from Paros this morning. This is exactly how I've always imagined Greece, but how amazing it must be to actually stand in these places, the imagined becoming real.

Randoms

"I don't get nearly enough credit in life for all the things I manage not to say."

I saw that meme on socials and it rang so true, especially in light of all the things I would like to write on the site formerly known as Twitter about one JD Vance—most recently in response to his apparent belief that the sole purpose of "post-menopausal females" is to take care of grandchildren, and women who, God forbid, pursue careers instead of becoming mothers, are selfish and not in service of the republic. Oh there is so much more. But I know I would only be shouting into the void, that my venting would make not an iota of difference to that Project 2025 avatar and power-addled, misogynistic fraud. Now my vote in November—that will count for something. I can't wait. 

This spoke to me, too. I've been missing spending time with one particular friend who is still very wary of Covid—with good reason, as the virus is once again mutating and marching. My friend mostly stays inside at her home, the way we all did in those two lost years, and she masks up faithfully when she goes out. And yet she came unmasked to my daughter's wedding, despite the event being held indoors. I knew it was an act of love, dared perhaps because she'd recovered from her first bout of Covid fairly recently. I'm just grateful that she and everyone else in attendance seems to have remained healthy since.

 

 

And this picture—I found it in the digital forest, aka the shared family album into which we dumped all the photos we took at the wedding. I'm intrigued by this moment because there's so much going on. My son was in a celebratory mood and didn't bother waiting till the reception to down some champagne while his cousin, the maid of honor, carefully blotted happy tears that threatened to ruin my daughter's make up—her dad had just presented her with the bridal bouquet he'd made—as my other niece held the flowers aloft. The mood was jubilant. And now I'm remembering how, at the end of the night, my daughter, flush with joy, threw her arms around me and merrily declared, "I'm married, Mama!"

One more, the honeymooners in Santorini, Greece, or maybe they were in Milos, where they went afterward. They'll be back home this weekend, with stories I'm sure. I read somewhere that the sharing of new experiences deepens the bonds of relationships. May they have many more adventures together, my beauties.

August pause

There was such an emotional buildup to my daughter's wedding that I've been sort of coasting ever since. Outwardly, I maintained a calm demeanor, as I was very invested in not adding stress to everything else my daughter and her love were juggling. My husband felt stressed about the bridal and maid of honor bouquets that, a year before, he had consented to make, which meant I was feeling quiet anxiety about it too. But again, I masked my own stress, as expressing it would not have been constructive in the least. In the end, even though they turned out differently than my man had envisioned, the bouquets were lovely, with the wild organic feel that my daughter had requested. She was delighted when she saw them, and was even more thrilled by the fact that her dad had made them. 

The wedding itself came off beautifully, and the venue coordinator and her staff could not have been more efficient and warm. The event was held at Brooklyn Winery in Williamsburg, giving it a very urban vibe. The meal was delicious, the speeches heartwarming, the company sublime. And the dance floor was packed all night. Even during the dinner service, some folks were already shaking a leg on the dance floor, because that's how my daughter's new in-laws roll. They set the tone and everyone followed suit, and by God it was a party, just as my daughter and her love had wished. 

Both bride and groom were happy at the end of the night, even though I'd overheard them promising each other the evening before "Tomorrow might be a sh*t show, but whatever happens, we will be fine." What joy that the proceedings exceeded their expectations, and now all they remember of the day is the happy. They are on their honeymoon in Greece, now, a place they have both always wanted to visit, and how wise they are to have just gone for it, rather than doing what so many couples do, what my husband and I did, putting it off for a year, so that by the time you actually do the thing, it feels more like a regular vacation, somewhat leached of the shared wonder and soul deep exhale of an actual honeymoon.

My house was full of family members for almost a week after the wedding, and we were giddy with being together for a celebratory reason. With my brother in the house we raised glass after glass of the custom-labeled chardonnay that guests took home as a favor, and mused about how different our children's weddings were. My niece Leisa had a beach wedding in Jamaica; my son had a country wedding beside a lake in the Connecticut woods; and my daughter's wedding was quintessential Brooklyn, all concrete and brick and barrels and exposed beams and greenery walls. Three different aesthetics, yet all three occasions featured a similar gathering of family and friends, and were infused with exuberance and love.

And now, after watching the Olympics with my usual fervor, especially gymnastics and track and field, I'm still coasting, waiting for my most recently written collaboration to be published on September 3, and to get started on my next book project soon after that. We're in the contract stage now, and my new subject's agent is a bit of a stickler over certain clauses, which is giving me the tiniest bit of agita. I try to remind myself all will be well, even if I have no idea right now of the story I will have to find, and whether I will be able to write it well. I always feel this way. So that's where I am right now, floating through the days with a seam of anxiety threading through, and would it even be me without that worry thread? 

On a more positive note, I've been reenergized by the new ticket of Kamala Harris and Tim Walz as the presumptive Democratic nominees for president and vice president. I once thought Kamala Harris couldn't carry the top of the presidential ticket and now I see that I was entirely wrong. I think I failed to realize how much she was growing as a viable candidate while serving as Vice President. And what a fantastic decision she made in bringing salt-of-the-earth Tim Walz, governor of Minnesota, on board. Together, they have been dubbed the joyful warriors, as they cross cross the country speaking to ever larger and more exhilarated crowds. Before this, I was honestly going to cast my vote against Trump and his travesty of a running mate JD Vance, but now I look forward to casting my vote for the Harris-Walz ticket, trusting once more in the possibility of fundamental decency, humanity, and competence in the political sphere.

In the meantime, in this August pause, I'm doing puzzles, strolling our garden paths and sitting on benches with women friends, reading and studying well-written memoirs in the subject area I will be wading into next, and streaming diverting series. This summer I've watched all nine seasons of Grantchester, a British police procedural that is comfort TV. I’m now watching Happy Valley, also a police procedural, but with a psychological thriller aspect, which is absolutely riveting but definitely not soothing. It's really disconcerting to watch actor James Norton play a soulful crime-solving vicar in Grantchester and then see him as a very chilling psychopath in Happy Valley. Suffice it to say, he's an excellent actor.

So now I've broken the odd impasse I was feeling about blogging these past couple of weeks. It's good to be back with my friends here around our virtual table.