I went home this weekend. And it was wonderful, of course.I love being surrounded by familiar, domestic things. Such as the gazillion vegetables my father picked from his garden. This is only a small portion of them.
Going home made me excited to make my own home with Homère next year. (He even has “home” in his name — bah, how perfect. You can laugh at me but I don’t care.) On the way to go wedding dress shopping (and yes! I bought one! and it is the most beautiful thing ever! I’m so excited to wear it! I’m sorry I can’t show you), I bugged my mother and grandmother for registry tips. Just what is a soup tureen, anyway? They are full of knowledge; I’m grateful to have them.
We also made lots and lots of apple butter for favors for my wedding. When I say, “we,” I mean mostly my grandparents, who were visiting from Minnesota and brought apples from their trees with them. I’m not quite sure how I coaxed them into doing it, but all I know is I got home from the airport and they already had 80 jars of appley goodness made.
Grandpa did most of the squashing of the apples. But I helped, and in between all the other chores he decided to do around the house (he almost never stops working — “No rest for the blessed,” he says), he got a break to read The Killer Angels.