My granny is traditional, yes. She wears pearls and Ferragamo and Louis Vuitton and went to Harvard.
And today she hosted high tea at the start of our second natural disaster this week...a hurricane. It was cool, actually-- I got to meet some of her friends from high school. They are a fun and rowdy bunch. Or about as rowdy as five giggling elderly black women can be.
|dress-maeve by anthropologie|
We ate in the old Cassatt mansion, where my granny is living now. It's really beautiful: crown moldings and a baby grand piano and a winding staircase...there is even a servant's bell. Not bad for a nursing home. I mean senior living community. It's classy. Mad Clessy.
Anyhoo, the tea went spectacularly, or at least as well as it could have gone given the fact that there was a torrential downpour outside, no gas at the gas stations, no batteries or water, and no candles. In spite of this, everyone and their mother (okay- everyone and their grandmother) seemed to be out-- the trip out to the burbs was nearly doubled from traffic.
This reminds me of my old college days in Florida when we'd wait out the hurricanes: there is quiet anxiety coupled with who-gives-a-fuck excitement.
Sorry for cussing, granny,