Yesterday morning, the wind was strong from the southwest across the field and through the lilacs. I flung open the windows letting it all blow in. The fragrance was intoxicating. I thought of Edna Mary, a Victorian great-auntie on my father's side. She maintained a classic Edwardian 'S' curve even beneath her usual carefree '40's, floral dresses and white butchers apron. I never saw her without thick medium taupe support stockings and black oxfords. She baked date pie that would put you into a coma, kept little blue lovebirds in a tall white wire bird cage atop a marble pastry table at the backdoor of her white kitchen. And there was a crocheted doll with picture hat - turquoise - hiding the TP in the white tiled bathroom upstairs. Lilacs. The house always smelled of lilacs. It was my great-uncle's funeral luncheon - must have been - the house was alive with people I'd heard about and seen in pictures. Old mens' voices drifted up from the parlour - tinkling silver and china from the kitchen. Buxom Auntie stood at the top stair carefully wiping her eyes. She was a sheath of tiny black pleats, high neck with a single gold bar pin clasped at her throat and flowing down her entire length, a row of tiny black buttons. She smiled at me and patted my head. Her teeth were brown from tea and the dates, too, I think. I liked her. She tucked a white linen handkerchief beneath her left cuff. "Come with me," she said, "Fanny brought sugar cookies." She smelled of lilacs.
I am Decadent Housewife.
I live in the country.
I hum opera in the kitchen.
Welcome to my life.
It involves men. Speedy, Violinist, Fun, Buff and Geek Guy aka GG - four twenty-somethings and one husband - ah yes, and, The Baby Violinists.