After the close of my non-homeowner life --- which went vastly more smoothly than friends had warned; we finished after 45 minutes; the title agent was from Easley, S.C., so we chatted and smiled over our shared home state --- I proposed a celebratory lunch at l'etoile, one of our favorite places for brunch. We had yet to eat there for lunch, and this meal held its own against its sister Sunday fare.
We were by far the youngest couple in attendance, and lingering over lunch in the company of Charlottesville's well-heeled retired made me feel oddly luxurious, as though I could forget I was using Paid Time Off and was instead a well-to-do young woman who naturally spent her midday meals in the finest restaurants, dressed in Anthropologie from head to toe and nibbling on smoked salmon and potato salad whilst sipping sweet tea.
Actually, we started lunch with a glass of champagne --- not sparkling wine from California, mind you, but champagne from Champagne, France. We ended it two hours later with black coffee and coconut cake. And all the while, we were seated in our own pale room, with an oil painting of the marsh at sunset above us.
After lunch, we packed up a few boxes and brought then over to 808 Bolling. I had dressed down by then, and wearing my Pumas, explored the backyard more thoroughly. So much had sprung up and out since last I had seen the yard, a month or so ago. My favorite discovery, by far, was of a bush of lavender. I went into little raptures over it.
