Today is June first, which means the countdown of the remaining days of my thirties is down to single digits, and small ones at that. Yikes. Softening the blow, though, was a lovely Memorial Day weekend, full of all my favorite things: friends, family, cookouts, deviled eggs, bruschetta with fresh tomatoes and chocolate silk pie. Oh, my goodness. Plus, with the rain that fell, we had both puddles (great for jumping in with galoshes on: if you haven’t done that in awhile, you really should) and the emergence of turtles, which made every walk kind of like a nature safari. This week, I’m busy trying to get organized for our upcoming beach trip, which will encompass not only my fortieth (I STILL have trouble typing that, why is that? I’ve had all year to prepare myself!) but our ten year wedding anniversary.
When I think about THAT milestone, I just keep having flashes of my favorite movie, Grosse Point Blank, when Jeremy Piven and John Cusak are driving along and Piven says, suddenly, “Ten years! TEN! TEN YEARS!” and starts beeping the horn, freaking out that it’s been so long since high school. Tell me about it. It really feels like maybe it was only last summer that at this time I was fretting over the weather and how my hair was going to look and whether all my cousins would be able to find our the farm where we were having the ceremony. The wedding planning just encompassed EVERYTHING, but now that I’m looking back, I’m like, why? It was one day. What’s really mattered is all the ones that have followed. It’s like how obsessed I was with my pregnancy and birth plan and all that, and then it’s suddenly over, but parenthood is forever. I have to say, though, as someone who waited to get married for a long time, and wasn’t sure it was even necessary, I have come to like it very much. And I will especially like going out to the beach next week with my husband and my daughter and a couple of good friends, where we will stand on the sand and do a short but sweet redo of our ceremony. This time, though, no fancy dress, no caterers, no rehearsal dinner. Just us, barefoot, with my husband getting to wear shorts, the way he wanted to the first time around. He only had to wait ten years. Poor guy. Hopefully this will make it up to him, at least a little bit.
In other news, this afternoon I have been multitasking. Which is to say, trying to catch up on my movie watching WHILE puttering around my office. Sort of like half-watching a movie, half paying your taxes kind of thing. Today’s film: The September Issue, a documentary about Anna Wintour, the editor of Vogue, and her staff putting together their biggest issue of the year. Watching this, I swear, was like witnessing an alien planet to me. Everyone is so skinny and angular, and fashion is such a passion to them, like a religion almost. Watching it in khaki shorts and plain white T-shirt, with no makeup, seemed almost disrespectful. I swear, there are times in my life that I think it would be so fun to be part of that kind of world, in New York, fast-paced and elegant and all that. The clothes and the people are so effortless and beautiful. But then I think about those puddles, and the turtles, and think…..well, maybe not. I think I’m where I am supposed to be.
Honestly, though, the movie made me not just somewhat wistful and wishing I had better clothes, but HUNGRY. I guess it was all those skinny skinny skinny models? Yikes. Time for a deviled egg, I think.