How to Feel Ten Again

I woke on Saturday morning to birds chirping what I chose to interpret as a sweet birthday song outside our bedroom window.

Everyone in our house has a summer birthday. Jack, who turned five, kicks things off in June, then my sister-in-law Nancy in July, followed by Louise, now eleven, the very next day. I tend to put a lot of heart into these occasions—themed parties for the kids, a pile of presents, dinner and cake for Nancy—so by the time we arrive at mine on July 25th, my sense of festiveness has usually somewhat fizzled.

And then there’s Michael in August. He regards celebrating the passage of time as vaguely sinister, so we generally arrange a trip somewhere and I toss off a happy birthday sotto voce.

I’m curious about how people choose to spend their birthdays, particularly once they’re quite grown up. We had a dear friend who, well into his eighties, liked a dinner party to be given in his honor every year, for which he would prepare a funny speech. I admire this.

This year, I tried to rally and organize a little outing on a picnic boat. But somewhere around discovering that the charter company I’d used in the past had gone out of business, I stalled. And then realized what I actually wanted for my birthday was to do nothing.

Nothing sounded fantastic.

Michael kept asking, “Are you sure? I’ll throw you a party. You’ll feel better.”

I assured him I would not.

I like to think of my birthday as a day to find my way back home—to conjure my ten-year-old self, who spent hours daydreaming, climbing the garden wall and belting out A Chorus Line.

Ideally, it leaves room for a little loafing around. I like being with my nearest and dearest, who are contractually required for twenty-four hours to be nice to me and let me choose the playlist. And I like doing things that make me feel young again: swimming in the ocean, which may be the closest grown-ups get to the sensation of being tossed around by your father when you were little; singing too loudly; painting something for no particular reason.

Having announced that I wanted absolutely nothing, I ended up having an extremely festive birthday.

I highly recommend having friends staying with you on your birthday. The party is already there, wandering around the kitchen looking for coffee.

Then another dear friend appeared for the weekend, carrying a painting he’d made of me hanging laundry, with HAPPY BIRTHDAY worked into it, along with a bundle of old-fashioned clothespins he’d brought from London for my new clothesline.

It was such a sweet reminder that the best presents aren’t necessarily the expensive ones. They’re the ones that say: I know you. I noticed.

Although, extravagant presents can also be quite nice.

Michael has an uncanny eye for jewelry and gave me the most beautiful pair of earrings, so exactly right that I nearly cried.

Nancy, meanwhile, is possibly the best gift-giver alive. Everything she wraps up is so perfectly considered that you begin to suspect she has been quietly taking notes all year. She even makes her own wrapping paper: brown craft paper finished with a sticker of one her beautiful Loboloup designs, and silk ribbon.

There was a Lulu and Geogia rattan tray to go with my rattan cup holders and pitcher for garden apertivo; a cookbook stand; a Sean Pritchard’s book Outside In I’d been wanting; perfect little bud vases by La Souflerie; a fetching light weight beach bag by Kule big enough to hold towels for six, and a beautiful nightgown and robe.

Our friends Phil and Margot gave me two thoughtfully chosen novels, The Things We Never Say by Elizabeth Strout and The Inimitable Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse (my first) that immediately migrated to the top of my reading pile. The children made paintings they had worked very hard on and a chocolate birthday cake.

We ate lobster for dinner. The evening ended tipsily around the table in a country-music sing-along—or maybe it was just me singing. I can’t quite remember.

I’ve been listening to a lot of country lately. My Porch Rocking - A Country Summer Playlist is here, should you wish to join me in this development.

And apparently one very good day was not enough.

The next day my Micro Snobbery essay, which began life here on Substack a few weeks ago, was published in The Washington Post—and is in the actual paper today. There’s a gift link here, which bypasses the paywall, should you have missed it.

That same day, I took over Cabana Magazine’s Instagram, documenting a summer Sunday in Amagansett for their Stories. I had maybe too much fun creating an idealized dreamscape which, in late July fortunately requires less fraud than it might in February.

And yesterday I had birthday lunch with a dear friend I’ve been missing.

For a person who specifically requested nothing, this was becoming an embarrassment of blessings.

Now our houseguests have gone back to London, rain is coming, and the house has that slightly strange hush it gets after people leave. Strangely, I feel oddly younger and lighter, despite the cold hard evidence to the contrary.

And perhaps that’s the nicest thing about birthdays at this age. The number itself becomes less interesting. What you notice instead is the accumulation around it: the person who knows you well enough to bring you old-fashioned clothespins, children who make you a cake, friends who choose the right books for you, someone who knows exactly which earrings you’d love. A life made up of evidence that you have been paying attention to one another.

Anyway, enough sentiment. What are we eating?

This week will be quieter and wetter, and I seem to have rashly promised several extra pieces last week that I will, for real, publish this week: a tour of our upstairs renovation plans, plus July in Our Garden, including my favorite vases and the flower-arranging shortcuts I rely on all summer.

Those flowers you see lurking behind Michael in his reels? Straight from the garden.

But first, the week in meals…

MEALS & MOODS

MONDAY — The Last Supper

Mood: Don’t go.

One last dinner before our friends leave.

Burgers and hot dogs, grilled expertly by Nancy, with crispy potatoes, broccoli and a big green salad.

TUESDAY — Honey I’m Home

Mood: Tomatoes and blackberries doing all the work.

Michael returns from the city, so Pasta alla Checca: diced ripe tomatoes, olive oil, garlic, mozzarella and basil tossed with hot pasta.

On the side, corn and a green salad with peaches and a sharp vinaigrette.

Blackberries are ready to pick from our vines, so the children will be sent on an important mission. Just add cream and a spoonful of sugar.

I’ll also start a loaf of bread to rise overnight, which always makes me feel competent despite requiring almost no effort.

WEDNESDAY — SWEET SUMMER RAIN

Mood: Meatballs for my little meatball.

Rain is forecast, which means we can briefly pretend it’s October.

Meatballs at Jack’s request, creamy polenta, garlicky broccoli, tomato and cucumber salad, and the homemade bread from yesterday.

THURSDAY — GOLDEN HOUR

Mood: Dinner tastes better on a blanket.

Assuming the rain stops: a beach picnic.

Cold roast chicken, tomato and mayonnaise sandwiches, potato salad with lots of herbs, fridge pickles, watermelon and something cold in a thermos for the grown-ups.

Ideally eaten at Barnes Hole Landing while the children disappear to the jetty.

FRIDAY — THE CHILDREN COOK

Mood: Tiny chefs, enormous mess.

The kids have cooking class at Amber Waves, so I’m taking inspiration from the farm.

Garden pesto with whole-wheat pasta, green beans with lemon and olive oil, and a cold cucumber salad.

Last week at their cooking class, the children made a delicious cornmeal and whole-wheat peach galette with the yummiest ricotta-goat cheese sauce sweetened with maple syrup and sharpened with lemon juice. I’m going to attempt it again with blackberries.

The children will presumably explain what I’m doing wrong.

SATURDAY — FAMILY FOR LUNCH

Mood: Lunch becomes dinner.

Family coming for lunch, menu TBD depending on what looks good at the farm stand.

I’m thinking tomato tart, a big salad, corn, or maybe a poached fish, and peaches with cream.

Then, probably out to dinner.

SUNDAY — PIZZA ON THE GRILL

Mood: Festive Again

Homemade pizzas made by the kids on the grill: tomato and mozzarella, pesto and zucchini, and whatever alarming combination Jack invents.

For dessert: ice cream.

EXTRA CREDIT — LET’S PICKLE

Mood: Preserving my sanity.

The garden and farm stands are reaching that late-July stage when everything needs to be eaten immediately.

So this week: quick-pickled cucumbers, red onions and whatever else is threatening to take over the refrigerator. A jar of something pickled makes me feel that I have the household firmly under control.

This is largely an illusion.

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