Thank goodness, we found shade and a light breeze. Resisting the urge to hide-out from the heat, another day sweating it out at home, William persuaded us to pack a picnic and take it to a park. Sensible young man.
I have no problem conjuring the most romantic Austen inspired scenes, witty discourse, and refined grace, all in the dappled light... but the whole picture is not quite so shiny... searching for ice packs, trying to match a lid to the plastic tub, forgetting the apples I washed, dreading the yellow jackets, avoiding the muddy spots, feeling less than graceful and accomplished. Feeling a hot mess. And you know what? Jane had these moments, too... were she here, in this heat, I would nod in sympathy when she might repeat:
Romantic ideals are well and fine, for daydreaming, for inspiration. I think I fare better with a little commiseration and realism, sensibility, which is why I loved discovering Jane Austen's heated quote at Audrey Finch.
Our picnic was tasty, healthy, plentiful. We found lids, we found dry ground, we evaded bugs. I even got to recline, and read, to gaze at green leaves beneath a blue sky. Blissful luxury, I know.