I can’t tell you the number of fellow Southerners who still add Knox gelatin to various forms of fruits, vegetables, liquids and pour into either ring molds or individual molds and “refrigerate for several hours” as many a Junior League cookbook advise
Aspics are old as can be
Chaud froid
Actually kept meats from spoiling
Tomato aspic is a highlight, still, during warm months
Its gelatinized cousins make appearances at other meals
My maternal grandmother loved a congealed salad
Having spent a lot of time with that generation, I, too, am in love with a good wobbly concoction often served with a bop of mayonnaise
This week, we will congeal cranberries with pineapple, celery, and pecans
A two day process
It’s one of our favorite parts of the Thanksgiving meal
The ring mold, with removable center for an easy salad release, is cleaned and ready to go
There is nothing fashionable, trendy, small batched, artisanal, curated, or farm to table about our cranberry salad
Well, may be the cranberries
We serve this every Thanksgiving instead of the blob out of the can which I have nothing against. We just grew up with this version or ones like it
Same with green bean casserole
Didn’t grow up with it
We don’t make it
A few years ago, a second cousin and I traded our receipts of cranberry goodness with pictures of final products
Captioned messages with
Yes we cran
Cran you dig it
Jelly?
Get it?
Jelly?
Two grown men fighting over who had the better version of congealed cranberry salad
His grandmother, a great aunt of mine, would have giggled herself silly as she often did
I think my version is the best
Especially with that bop of mayo on top
Which is a requirement
One year, we were in the North Carolina mountains for Thanksgiving with an actual blizzard raging outside
Fourteen inches of snow
There was no mayonnaise in the house
So, Thanksgiving morning, I took eggs, salt, lemon juice, cayenne pepper and vegetable oil and beat up homemade mayonnaise
What else did I have to do in a blizzard?
Those assembled loved it
As we have to have that bop of mayo on top
I have dear friend who may read this and be physically ill due to that person’s unmitigated disdain of all things congealed and the whipped fat bop on top
Apologies in advance ATP
However, I cannot imagine Thanksgiving without the following work of art on the sideboard
This version is from 300 Hundred Years of Carolina Cooking (Including Game Preparation) by the Junior League of Greenville, 1970, Greenville, South Carolina
Specifically Miss Nelle Griffin’s receipt as modified by me
Forget the Lime Dressing shown and add that bop o’ mayo
Gobble gobble
Cranberry Salad
2 packs (about 1 quart) fresh cranberries
3/4 c sugar
9 oz crushed pineapple
Juice of 1 orange
Rind of 1 orange, grated
Juice of 1 lemon
1/2 c boiling water
2 envelopes Knox gelatin
1 c chopped celery (minced really)
3/4 c chopped pecans
Grind cranberries in food processor until fairly small. Mix cranberries, sugar, and pineapple and refrigerate overnight. Let gelatin soften in orange and lemon juice. Add boiling water to fully dissolve. Add to cranberry mixture with remaining ingredients. Pour into ring mold or individual molds and refrigerate overnight. Serves 8
Once the place where we out of towners went to figure out what the cool kids were wearing
Over the years, our stops in the flagship store on Madison have felt more and more like out of body experiences than high touch, high end, exclusive retail
“Um, who in the world would wear that?”
“What is the matter with Barney’s?”
“This is not the store we knew”
“Who’s gonna pay for that?”
The press announced with no small amount of schadenfreude that it’s all a thing of the past
A great shopping experience
Cutting edge clothes
Beautiful space
Concierge service
Gone
Over
Finished
Which brings us to the subject at hand, our meal at Fred’s in the City
We love Fred’s at Barney’s
Clever play on the Flintstones
Brightly lit space on the Ninth Floor
We went there the day after Thanksgiving a few years ago
Place was jammed packed
We went there with just we four a few Saturdays ago on our trip to NYC
The eight floors below seemed empty
The concierge smiled as we entered off Madison
But everything else in the store was dead
Dead
Especially the mens’ department
I guess my Barney’s brand ties are now collectors’ items
We looked at some items before our 1 p.m. reservation
I swanny
No one was in Barney’s
No one
It used to always be packed
We took the elevator to the Ninth Floor, and, on exiting, it was like nothing had changed….felt just like 2012
Wait?
That’s nostalgia?
Seven years ago?
The brightly lit space
The waiters in constant motion
The hostesses being gracious yet firm
“Just a moment, Sir, your table will be ready”
The foursomes who eat there every Saturday
The table of a famous actress in the corner
The well turned out NYC family with disaffected daughter and son constantly on their phones
Us
The London family whose table backed up to ours
The little lady who seemed lost until the waiter approached. She grabbed him by the arm and said, “Oh, thank God. Jose! It’s you. Where’s Walter?”
“Your husband is this way…..”
We sat in a booth facing the windows
Lobster bisque
Caesar salads
Lentil soup
Frittes for the table
Always frittes for the table
The two ladies from New Jersey with their daughters
“I can’t believe this is all going away”
“Drink your Bloody. May be the last one”
It felt so clubby
And bright
And familiar
The food was never going to knock the socks off of its patrons
But, it was always good
And reliable
For a chain in a department store
The announcement some five days later that there would now be pop-ups and instagrammable events in the store makes our meal there seem like some glorious invocation of the past
A recent past
Something so sad about the great temple of commerce going away
Something so comforting about our meal at Fred’s
Always so comforting
The lentil soup special that day pleased our eldest
Huge chunks of lobster in the bisque
The bread basket teeming and ready to be dragged through olive oil
So last century
So damned good
All I could think as I read the news about Barney’s demise was that I was glad we were there for one last luncheon
In light of the lentil soup special that day, I also thought there was something Biblical in the announcement that 660 Madison would soon be gone
Jacob and Easau
Selling off the Pressmans’ birthright for metaphorical bowls of lentil soup
Barney’s CEO stated that her entire industry is in survival mode
I would move my wife and children there in a minute if we had a gajillion dollars
I love everything about it
Including the large rat that ran across our path on our way to supper in the tony, quiet, and decidedly un-hip UES
But, mostly, I love it because of the people
The people we were scheduled to meet
Godfamily
They live in London
They used to live in New York
We don’t see them enough
We were going for Godmama’s birthday party on Friday night
And the other people I love
My high school pals who live there, too
I love them
Like love
A few weeks before the trip, I sent out another APB to the crew
A few emails, texts
Cocktail hour scheduled
I could only meet for any hour or so before the birthday party, said party being the whole reason we were there
Arranged
Done
Planned
Time and place appointed
So, I left my wife and children in SoHo on a Friday afternoon after the best lunch visiting with the Godfamily in NoHo
After we had gone further downtown in SoHo
To Glossier Flagship in Lower Manhattan
That’s a whole other crazy story
Anyway, I walked from Canal Street up through that benighted bastion of consumerism, over to Broadway, back through NoHo, past Grace Church and The Strand Bookstore, around Union Square, then up to Gramercy Park and then into The Freehand Hotel, prearranged meeting spot
I would love to have access to Gramercy Park, from the Krom Moerasje, little crooked swamp
My kingdom for a key
Because it’s beautiful
And private
I put my phone through the fence to grab that shot
Hope I don’t get a fine from the Gramercy Park Association
But, from basically Canal Street, t’was a hike
Glad the weather was perfect
My AirPods played playlists of music from high school
Lots of music from high school
Had to get my mind right for people who have known me for over thirty years
Earlier in the day, I had seen one of those meeting us at the hotel
Hadn’t changed a bit
As I walked through Union Square, I received a text from him
“Will be a minute or two late”
Another text from our organizer, “Running a little late, getting on the train in BK”
Another text from another friend, “Where are you?”
So, we all met up and visited and laughed and laughed and commiserated and laughed and told stories and laughed and laughed some more
I love these people
Shoes weren’t all that were lit
They say they love me
I pay them handsomely
We pick up right where we left off every time
But we never really leave off
We never do
It’s great to be connected
Our myriad conversations shan’t be repeated here
Two members of the class behind ours joined us, too
We lived in the same dorm
Love them almost as much as my own classmates
They had to get to Brooklyn for Peter Hook’s concert
New Order indeed
As the clocked ticked and the sky darkened, I checked my watch
I had to be on East End Ave by 6:30
No way I was making that
In addition to the two heading to see Mr. Hook, there were others who had to go to the next event
What the City doesn’t sleep when I arrive?
One of us had to go on back to BK
One of us had to be at another party
One of us had to be in the same neighborhood as the Mayor whom they all despise
The rest were going out to supper
Finally, the time came
“Want to meet us later?”
“I don’t want you to leave”
“Can’t we keep you here?”
“Let’s go”
“Let’s go, then”
“And, yet they do not move”
“Isn’t that Waiting for Godot or something?”
“Ham, you’re gonna be late”
“I know, but it’s o.k.”
“Know where you’re going?”
“Sure, 23rd street to the 6 then up to 86th street, then walk on over to East End”
“You got it”
“Need a Metrocard?”
“I have one”
“You’re not a tourist”
“I am such a tourist”
“You hate SoHo; you’re not a tourist”
“You’re going to a party on East End Avenue; you’re not a tourist”
“Trust me; I’m a tourist”
So, we hugged
I hugged them all
Men and women
Equally loved
I walked downstairs and then out into the cooling New York evening and over to the station
As I swiped my Metrocard, I thought, “Damn, I love those people”
As I switched the Spotify station to a lengthy playlist of a certain nostalgic band, I began to cry
Really cry
Like crazy cry
Just full on blubbering
Right there beneath 23rd St
Runny nose crying
Glad I have a handkerchief crying
Crying through the rushing wind and squealing brakes as the 6 pulled into the station
I really stepped on the train heaving
As I held the metal pole held by countless riders, no one paid me one wit of attention
Oh, look, crazy dude crying on the 6
After
All
It
Is
New
York
About the time we rolled into the 51st station, a nice lady standing next to me put her hand on my arm
I took out my AirPods
She said in a lilting Islands accent, “You o.k., Sir?”
She had on medical scrubs
“No, Ma’am. I just left a group of people whom I adore and who adore me. I don’t get to see them enough. It hurts me to leave them.”
“Well, that’s a gift from Him,” she said as she pointed to the sky
More tears at that
Before she got off at the Hunter College Station, she stop and turned, patted me on the arm and said , “Well, good luck. Be glad you have friends.”
“Thank you,” I said. “You have no idea how glad I am”
By the time I got to 86th Street, at least I had stopped shaking
As I walked the five blocks toward the river, I started to smile and giggle at our conversations
They are all wicked smart
And funny
By the time I got to East End Avenue, I was fine
By the time I walked into the party, only my Guardian Angel on the train and I knew about my emotional outburst
She probably thought I was another tourist who had lost his mind in the City
The next day, I heard from another New Yorker classmate who now lives Upstate who said she would have come into the City had she known we were all gonna be together
Arriving at my favorite garden store some twenty minutes before they opened, I had no choice but to proceed to the nearest Bojangles for a biscuit and some coffee
Had to
Duty bound
What else would I do early on a Saturday morning?
If you’re not familiar with Bojangles, then, well, you’re obviously not from this part of the world
In the Bo Zone
Bojangles Chicken & Biscuits
Based out of of Charlotte, North Carolina
A Southeastern Staple
It’s Bo Time ™️
Highly recognizable branding
Yellows
Reds
Their biscuits are handmade every day
Magazines have published odes to them
Cajun Filet Biscuits have comforted many a hungover patron with buttermilk and flour and fat and thinly fried chicken breast dipped in hot sauce
Their coffee’s pretty great, too
On the morning in question, I had time to kill, so I went inside to place my order
The lady behind the counter precioused herself to me prior to my turn at the register
As the customer ahead of me finished his order she said, “Well, that’s $13.14. That’s fun to say, idn’t it? Thirteen, fourteen”
I thought so
The patron ahead of me didn’t respond
He smiled wanly
“It’ll be ready in a jif, dahlin,” she said to him
I smiled as I stepped up to the register
“May I please have a sausage and egg biscuit and a large coffee?”
“Oh, I love your manners! And, of course you can, dahlin,” she said
Smiling still, she said, “Well that will be Six dollars and Sixty Six…oh..no..no…no..no…no…no.”
Her countenance changed
Furrowed brown
Worried concern
“Dahlin, I am NOT making change with Satan’s number. I am sanctified. Can you order something else?”
She was not joking
Her eyes were wild with fear
Wild
Knowingly, I replied, “Well, get behind me, Satan. Let’s start over then”
“Now we’re talking, dahlin” she replied. “Now we’re talking!”
She all but high fived me
Too blessed to add to her stress
Should always stick with the Cajun filet and not be led astray by the serpent
Because, much like my new friend at Bojangles, I am not making change with the devil’s number
In honor and memory of my neighbor Don Jones, who loved to work in his own plot of land
Green is a color, especially in early spring
In a most tricked out 1970’s color scheme – harvest golds, burnt oranges, avocado greens – a cross stitched saying hung in my maternal grandparents’ hallway leading to the bedrooms
My mother had cross stitched the saying, had framed it, and had presented it to my grandparents, who, at the time, were pretty great gardeners.
Who plants the seed beneath the sod and waits to see believes in God. Anon.
Faith in its truest form
Nathan, whose last name I know not, helped them weekly. He was a wizard in the garden
Really, I never knew Nathan’s last name. Still don’t. He worked for my grandparents, my great aunt and uncle, and some of their friends
Nathan knew how to turn a spade
Green thumbs on both hands
On both sides of my family, I come from a long line of amateur tillers of soil who love to get their hands dirty, who love to see the flowers blossom, who love to see the bulbs produce, who love to plant
I think my European antecedents were all peasants, vassals, serfs, no matter what the family histories may say
I love to work in the dirt
For me, it is a matter of faith to plant, till, sow, hoe, harvest
God put Adam and Eve in a Garden
Jesus is the Vine; we are branches
My Great Grandmother Gladys Jones, who lived in Bishopville, South Carolina, had a garden with roses, daffodils, flox, Queen Anne’s lace, azaleas, spirea, tea olives, a beautiful bed of pink oxalis in front of her porch. Old timey plants
She knew her stuff
On a visit to our house in Beaufort, she turned to my father, her grandson, whom she adored and said, “George, I see you have a wisteria. Hmmmm”
The wisteria came out
My great aunt and uncle Kemp and Rachel Kempson had a beautiful garden with foxgloves. Aunt Rachel kept egg shells in water to provide calcium to certain plants
My great aunt and uncle Bob and Laura Thomas trained smilax to grow in what were essentially hanging baskets on the side of their piazza in Ridgeway, South Carolina
My maternal grandfather grew amazing tomatoes every year
Bumper crops year after year
He had the touch
My maternal grandmother nourished a flowering quince whose original progenitor was from her grandparents’ home in Virginia
My father is still nourishing a portion of that quince today
She also tended well her myriad camellias
If anyone knows where I can find an Irene Coker variegated red and white bloomer, let me know
I like to think I have inherited the green thumb
Nothing makes me happier than working in our garden
You should have seen it last week
It’s small
It’s urban
It’s become a Charleston style garden after some 15 years of work
T. Hunter McEaddy designed it for us
Landscape Architect that he is
I grew up watching my parents plant and tend, mow and rake, water and fertilize
Same with all of their neighbors
I swear Beaufort was filled with gardeners, and with helpers in those gardens
African American men who knew how to do
Jack Haynes
Sam Cole
And, again, men whom we addressed only by their first names: Arthur, Julius, Willie
Not appropriate, but it was the time in which I was reared
Jack Haynes helped my parents from time to time and other families around Beaufort
He was a bird
One Saturday as Jack Haynes was helping my father with some yard project, my father broached the subject of another family Mr. Haynes helped on weekends
“Jack,” he called, “you think Miz So-and-So is a little crazy?”
“Crazy?” he asked, “Crazy as shit!”
We have never forgotten that in my family
Crazy as shit
She was. But she was smart enough to hire Jack Haynes to help out in her yard
I like to think I paid attention to the Jack Haynes of the world
Additionally, I love reading books about plants and gardening
Latin names really help in learning about a plant and how to care for it
Those names are in gardening books, too
Books such as
The Gardens at Hatfield by the Dowager Marchioness of Salisbury
Penelope Hobhouse on Gardening by Penelope Hobhouse
Obvs
Gardens of Historic Charleston by James R. Cothran
The Charleston Gardener by Louisa Pringle Cameron
No amount of reading substitutes for doing, though
I can gauge the seasons by what I’m doing in the garden
Those of us who are diggers in the dirt are always looking at least two months ahead
Did I put the aluminum sulfate around the hydrangeas soon enough?
Did I add the Hollytone to the Meyer Lemon in time for there to be fruit?
Did I order the paper white bulbs?
Did I order the caladium bulbs?
Did I put the basil in enough sun?
Did I take out too much of the aspidistra?
Did I trim the all the suckers off the limbs of the crepe myrtles?
Did I dig out the lemon balm after it got too leggy?
I don’t want to over plant
A well-known gardener was once quoted as saying she had a fine garden, then she filled it with plants
Accordingly, I only make two annual pilgrimages to Hyam’s Garden Center on James Island
It is my Mecca
Delphiniums don’t last; nothing does
One trip to Hyam’s in mid-October
One trip to Hyam’s in mid-April
For the annuals
The pops of color
I will over plant a pot
Crowd it out
With flowers and greens and seasonal herbs
In October, it’s for pansies, violas, sweet alyssum, stock, foxgloves, delphiniums, snapdragons, parsley, rosemary, potting soil
In April, it’s for periwinkles, pintas, gomphrena, purple shield, million bells, basil, mint, oregano, cilantro, coleus, potting soil
The rotation changes
But not much
I plant 100 caladium bulbs in late April
All the same color of green and white
White Christmas
Every year
I hate change
I live in Charleston
High bright shade
I plant 40 or so daffodil bulbs in October
I am tending a Pink Perfection camellia that came from a cutting from my grandmother’s house in Camden, South Carolina
It’s taken about seven years to be almost two feet tall
I planted another camellia last year
That kind green bud
There are accidental problems in any garden
And in any life
Lambs ears burn up in our heat
Lavender plants, too
Even plants with full sun directions can use a little shade in our subtropical tending to tropical Zone 8
But, there are wonderful surprises in any garden
And in any life
For example, that Wandering Jew taken from a cutting from my in-laws has really taken over in that back corner
Its purple haired beauty spilled from the confines of its clay container and made a run for it, sprouting and colonizing all over
It will take over
We have had two trees taken out of our yard due to two named storms
More sunlight than ever
The grass actually grows
It’s a lot brighter
The yews we planted love it
Yew would, too
I am the grass
I may move my plumbago to give it more sun
The morning glory I run along our back fence every year adores the additional light
So, what’s your story, morning glory? I’m writing this one
Around Mother’s Day, our fence and arch are covered in Confederate jasmine that perfumes the whole yard
The most heady of smells
Around Hallowe’en, the two tea olives by the front porch perfume the whole yard
The most ephemeral of smells
Latch strings on the outside
I love to weed
I love to be covered in dirt
I love to sweat through the dirt
I love to cut back
I love to trim
I love to prune
I love to spread pine straw
It hides a myriad of sins
I love stand with the hose and water, air pods in place, music going
That cold beer at the end of a full day of yard work tastes so damned good
As the seasons change, it will be time to get to work in the yard
This year, I’m letting two planters become incubators for monkey grass with which I will eventually line a bed
I think I will cut back the hyndrangeas as they are getting kind of leggy
Aluminum sulfate works
But what to put in those planters by the gate?
That’s the best part of being a digger of the dirt
Fashions fade; style is eternal. Yves Saint Laurent
Frock me running
On August 19, 2019, I received a text message from a young lady who works at a certain store in Charlotte, North Carolina
“You and MP better be coming to the Fashion Show!”
My reply, “What fashion show?”
“You got an invite via email”
“Must be in my junk/spam”
“It was sent to your regular email Check it and lemme know”
So, I checked spam/clutter/junk and found the Paperless Post Invitation
You’re invited to the Capitol Fall/Winter Presentation
Tuesday, September 24, 2019
Noon
Capitol
4010 Sharon Road
Charlotte
Got it
Quick calls to MP
A few texts later
I reply
WHY NOT? ALL IN
What does one wear?
I know
Clothes from said store
Day trip to Charlotte to support our pals who run the place, work there, make it happen
Again, I really don’t know why they like us
Still trying to figure that one out some 32 years of friendship later
So, it was off for a day trip to a fashion show in Charlotte among the fashionable, with a couple Lowcountry kids sprinkled in just for fun
I have never attended a fashion show
Ever
Well, may be there was that one at Andover back in ’89
We’re always up to help a pal and show up hoping we won’t embarrass
As I texted our hostess’s husband, “I don’t want to look like country come to town”
His reply, “Never. I invented country come to town”
I think we were suitably attired among all the beautiful people
Got some compliments anyway
So, after another drop off at school, we were in the car to the Queen’s City
On arrival, we killed some time
Got something to drink
Then, sent a text to our hostess
“You want us?”
“Come over! Champagne and wafers!”
She meant she was serving bubbly wine and cheese biscuits, the kind with the pecan on them, made by Sarah Wrenn her own self
Arriving at the store, the doyenne herself was out front greeting
Peels of laughter and delight as we walk up, “Oh, well, look who’s here! Heeeeyyy. Thank y’all for coming. Oh, I can’t thank y’all enough! Get some champagne! Oh, by the way, fashion shows last like eight minutes. Sorry to disappoint.”
“It’s o.k.; we have to get back for a volleyball game at 7:30”
“Don’t worry. You’ll TOTALLY make that”
So, there we were, champagne in hand at 11:15 on a Tuesday morning
“Laura, I’m feeling like a total dilettante”
“Stop it”
So in went on in to Capitol
We walked in and it was kind of like being Norm Peterson when he used to walk into that bar known as Cheers. It’s always like that there for us
“NORM!”
“HAM!”
“MP!”
Everyone knows us and is glad to see us
Or they feign it really well
Decades of friendship pay dividends
Upon being greeted by our pal Wizzie Irvin, she showed us our section and told us where to sit on the removable benches
“Is this for a soccer game later?” I asked
“No,” replieed the Wizz. “That’s where you sit. Y’all sit right here. Put your stuff down on these two seats. Best view. Hamlin, you better take notes”
Don’t worry, Wizz
No, the lady on the left is not smoking, vaping, or juuling
Before the big event, we worked the room
Spoke to some of the folks
Introductions
Sipping on the bubbly
Refilling the glasses
Drinking water, too, after the long drive
Mainly wanting to hang with our pals who are hosting
“Where the hell is your husband?” I inquired of the hostess
“He’ll breeze in like two seconds before this starts”
Ran into an old college pal, “I thought I might see y’all here. Do you ever work? You write all the time and travel all the time”
“That social media can be deceiving. Was at my office for six hours last Saturday. Do I work? All the damned time”
Hugs and kisses all around
Back outside for more water where a Beaufort family’s in-law’s in-law is running late, shoes in hand
Introductions made all around
Oh, the South
“Y’all, this is not the Charlotte I grew up in! But, now, I just go with it!” said the in-law’s in-law
We are politely corralled into our seats by ladies with iPads and sweet smiles
Best seat mates on either side of us
One is a lovely lady from Charlotte who used to work at the store who it was really great to meet in real life
On the other side of MP was an attorney who lives in Charlotte who was wearing a turban
Really
A turban
So chic
So Nick Cannon
Her best friend from law school used to work with me and now works with my wife
Oh, the South
Three lawyers at a fashion show on a Tuesday….NBD
“Please put your phones on airplane mode”
People already had their phones out
So many grabs to be had
“You’re gonna love this playlist, Hamlin” said Scott Newkirk, the impresario of this opera
Then it all began
There were Twenty Two Looks
I took notes on most of them
I circled a coat that MP liked
It sold in five minutes after the show
Our favorite model told us she could not look at us or she was going to laugh
I do that to people
They see me and laugh
Our eldest daughter would have rocked Look 9, which was a mini dress by Cecilie Bahnsen, whoever that is
The Brilliant Belgian Baron van Noten does not advertise
The show was a big advertisement for his creations
Dresses
Coats
Turtlenecks
Eccentricity on display
Like the men’s tie-dye trench coat that if it were worn by any normal man, his backside would be kicked
There were men’s clothes from Tabor, the brother store of Capitol
The Gryffindors at Hogwarts crafted one of the men’s looks in their Common Room one night
Everyone wants to be a Gryffindor
I saw a sweater I purchased featured in that one
I’m so not on trend that I’m on trend
At Look 15, The Breeders’ heavily breathed “Cannonball” blared through the speakers
I know that was just a head nod to me
After the show I said as much
“Oh, yeh, we did that just for you,” said our hostess facetiously
“Actually, I did think of you when I added that one song to the list. We’ve talked about the Pixies in Charleston one time,” said the impersario
Oooh
Burn
Snag
Looks continued with
sequin bedecked draped columns
maxi skirts
horse prints
Roksanda open backs
Irene Neuwirth’s jewels everywhere
Everywhere
One of the looks could have used more cow bell
Then at the end, glamour
Looks 20 through 21
Giambatitista Valli Haute Couture
Wow
The playlist had turned to arias for the last three looks
As well it should have
Each dress was its own designed descant
The Prima Donna
As the last glimpse of gray Italian tulle turned the corner, those assembled began a polite golf clap
As the models went around for one last showing, the clapping increased
Then, everyone was up from their benches as though the coach said, “Clear the bench”
Less than 18 minutes start to finish
The staff and the owners hustled the benches outside
Influencers began to take pictures of the haute couture assembled before the garden wall
So many head shots
So many posts
So many hashtags
So many stories
So many pretty women
^^^^ all her vision….that one there in the simple white shirt
We talked to some folks and milled around
“Are you Hamlin? I’m Susan. We met you at the 20th anniversary party.”
“Of course!” I said, “Wow that was during the fireworks”
“Kind of late, eh?”
“Your family’s place; it’s lovely”
“If you ever wanna go out and shoot, call me”
“If you’re ever in Charleston, call us”
Conversations like that
A lovely lady stopped me and said, “Hamlin, I’m Sarah. I listened to Laura’s podcasts with you. I could listen to the two of you all day. You should have your own podcast. I’m serious.”
“Aren’t you nice,” I replied
“I’m not kidding. Your episodes with her are the best ones. So natural. So funny.”
MP smiled and said “That’s no act, either. That’s how they are all the time in their conversations.”
“Well, you should do your own. I’d totally listen.”
Her lips to God’s ears
By then, I was kind of starving
Our hostess made the rounds
And, we made it round to the corner with the cheese biscuits
Right there
The kind my mother and mother-in-law make
These have a lot of cayenne
That’s the key
And they were tucked away by some Golden Goose shoes
Silver and gold
As I stood stuffing my mouth, I watched a lot of ladies preening and prancing and putting on clothes
A lot of peacocks
#charlottesgotalot
A lot of peacocks
Confirmed by a Charlottean who used that hash tag
Her husband is one of MP’s cousins
Really
Introduced a Hamlin by marriage to my bride
Love to meet a fellow Hamlin
Even if it is by marriage
Her ex-husband might be one of my cousins
Really
We visited with some other folks for a while, including a lady who lives in Charleston
Her husband, too, is one of MP’s cousins
Really
“This is hilarious. We should do something together soon back home. I can just see you in that tie dyed coat at the club, Hamlin”
Hi-lar-ee-us
Finally, our hostess made her way over, and we visited for a bit
A lovely Charlotte lady informed our hostess of the following:
“Laura, these are my new best friends. I’m serious. How long are y’all here? I want y’all to come over for a drink!”
“We are leaving shortly”
“Well, dang,” says the new best friend
I replied, “MP is the one you want in this deal”
Laura agreed
Duh
I mentioned our departure
“Y’all don’t go. Stay. Really. Have some more champagne. Stay. Really”
“We can’t”
“Really. Don’t leave me. Grab a water”
“But you’re leaving later, too. What time you flying out?”
“Six”
“Well, see, you have to leave shortly anyway”
“I live two seconds from here. Don’t go”
She meant it
We hung out a little bit longer
“By the way, uh, where did your husband go? I didn’t even get to talk to him,”
“Oh, he got out of here super fast. Probably right back to the office. Y’all can’t go”
Crestfallen visage with soft smile
So, we hung out a little bit longer
Then we pulled the plug
“I love y’all so much,” said our hostess. “It means the world that y’all came. Really. The world.”
That kind green bud
It will take over
So, what’s your story, morning glory? I’m writing this one
