This same time, years previous: the case of the slipping snood, in recovery, magic custard cake, walking through water, the quotidian (6.19.12), refried beans, this particular Friday, what I got, cabbage apple slaw with buttered pecans, swiss chard rolls, and sour cherry crostatas.

When we were in Pennsylvania last weekend, we spent the night at my aunt and uncle’s place. We arrived at their place right before bedtime, and, while visiting with my aunt in the kitchen—she was flitting about, smacking flies with deadly precision and then carefully dropping their mashed bodies into the compost bucket—I asked if their family would be attending church in the morning.

“No,” she said, and then, dropping her voice to a confessional level, “We actually decided to take advantage of all the company and put everyone to work. We’re going to do peas first thing.”

When I got up the next morning, most everyone was already outside on the patio, pans of peas balanced on their laps.

Conversation fluttered from topic to topic—trees that might need to be cut down, a cousin’s rationale for eating ice cream for breakfast instead of at bedtime (then I have all day to burn off the sugar!), building projects, job offers, etc. My cousin’s wife had just had a baby that morning, so phones kept pinging with text updates: gender! size! name! pronunciation of name! And all the while, our hands were moving—pop open the pod, thumb-scrape the peas out, toss the shell into the basket, and repeat.

Wanna know something? A patio pea party makes for a pretty awesome church substitute: grounding, meditative, productive, and relational.

Yo, churches! Beat that.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (6.16.14), dobby and luna, language study, a dare, when I sat down, Kate’s enchiladas, naps and mowers, cold-brewed iced coffee and cold-brewed iced tea, old-fashioned vanilla ice cream, and how to freeze spinach.  

On our way to a Pennsylvania wedding this past weekend, we stopped at the mall to buy a suit for my husband. He’d purchased one himself earlier that week, but when he’d modeled his purchases for me at home, I’d coldly vetoed nearly every single item.

I told you I needed you to come with me, he huffed.

I told you not to wait to the last minute, I puffed.

It turned out fine. There was a JCPenney store en route and they were having a huge sale. And taking all the kids to the mall ended up being sort of fun. Like, really fun. Like, maybe the highlight of the entire weekend?

While I interrogated a JCPenney employee on the intricacies of men’s fashion and my husband shimmied in and out of jackets, the kids alternated between exploring the store, running laps, selecting ties, and getting friendly with the mannequins.

Oh wait. That was me getting all cozy with the plastic people. My bad.

And then my older son was like, “Hey, Mom. Can I get my ears pierced? I’ll pay for it myself.” And I was like, “Sure, sweets.” So we all paraded to the piercing center where my husband signed forms and my son got holes punched in his ears.

Suit buying and ear piercing, all in the same hour. That, my friends, is called High Entertainment, Murch Style.

Confession: I kind of hate suits. Possibly because I associate them with religious pomposity, but also because they’re ridiculous. All pretense and no practicality. The uniformity of the outfit—matching pants, matching jacket, matching vest—makes me twitchy. And ties are straight-up weird. A noose around the neck? Come on. (I do like the vests, though. Sexy, schmexy.)

But then my husband stuffed himself into a gray summer suit and I was like, Oh. Um, wow. Maybe suits aren’t so bad after all?

I don’t think my children had ever seen their father in a suit. They were agog. Our youngest began fussing that he needed his own suit now, and later, when we stripped down in the parking lot post-wedding in preparation for our trip home, the older two filched bits and pieces of his get-up and then strutted about the lot.

Anyway. Now my husband has a suit in his closet and my son has holes in his ears.

The end.

This same time, years previous: sinking in, street food, stuff, garbled, Greek cucumber and tomato salad, this, too, shall pass, a glimpse, sheet shortcake, sourdough waffles, microwave flower press, fresh tomatillo salsa, and freezing strawberries.