A New (New) Resolve

6th of June

Dear Friends,

Having often made promise of more Frequent Writings on my part, and having oftener failed such pledges, I now endeavor to make amends with a Most Ambitious Proliferation. That is to say, I shall be writing daily, even if it is only a one line scrawl made from a Terribly Exhausted State. Now, before you erupt into Harrumphs of Cynical Skepticism, let me protest that I am in earnest! I feel that daily writing shall invigorate and inspire my writing to Great Heights as there is no better Exercise of the mind than to write. As for what to write? I recall fondly my daily journals of my younger years, and I found that penning the stories of one’s life brought Catharsis and Calm.

It is oft said that any day can be the start of a new chapter in one’s life. So prefaced, I will commence with my first true journaling this-
The Quite-Nearly-Almost-True Chronicles of Miss Morewit OR A Year of a Lady’s Thoughts

This morning I was awoken late, an occurrence that never bothers me over much (some days I don’t doubt that I could sleep through ‘til supper if left to my own devices) except that we were expecting visit, and very few of the chores and preparations necessary to receive a caller properly were completed. Should we be town gentry, I imagine we might have in our employ a number of housemaids to bustle about for us, but as the family of a country gentleman we run the manor as Ladies and Housekeepers - and I must admit that I for one bear great pride in the resulting smooth running of The House. Having tidied things up and run to town for a few forgotten essentials, we awaited our caller with a room scented with a gorgeous bunch of peonies from the garden, and graced with strong coffee (that I quite diligently ground myself) and a cherry pie just set out to cool. The gentleman of honor showed himself to lacking the virtue of punctuality, and when Mr. Sesnel finally deigned to make appearance (having sent a note, already late, to inform us of his even later arrival) luncheon was long past.

Mr. Sesnel was a self-proclaimed Professional of Photography, he had made arrangements for Mother to escort him out to forest to collect images of That Most Terrible Industry. But he was not the glamorous town gentry that we had anticipated, appearing a rather round and plain gentleman. He spoke with an elevated voice and, despite the weather being Quite Pleasant, his face had a pronounced sheen, as if it was a boiling summer afternoon. It looked to be a perpetual malady, and knowing such a tendency was his, I thought the poor fellow ought to have had the sense to carry a handkerchief with which to blot his forehead (indeed, should in not have been Terribly Rude, I would have offered him one). I greeted him politely and entertained until Mother made her appearance, but it would be false to say that I was not glad to see the back of him, for his conversational skills were drab even in their brighter moments – however, poor mother had to listen to his ramblings for quite a while longer, so I shouldn't be too Gleeful.

Of course, the Bright Side was that Mr. Sesnel left us with an entire cherry pie to enjoy, which we did, quite thoroughly!

Best,

Lady Morewit