at the house

The lantern is lit early today.

Come in

Good afternoon

You found us.

Come in. Leave your coat on the chair; nobody will mind.

Someone is in the kitchen with the radio on. There’s a bottle open on the terrace, a bed made up for whoever gets in late, and something in a cupboard we’re not allowed to talk about until Christmas.

Wander wherever you like.

Lucy

The cat has taken the stairs again.
The first fire of the season, the puppy sitting at the screen, a basket of logs beside it   At the house now

The first fire of the year.

In the drawing room
The Thanksgiving table set on Wednesday: tapers, peonies, green goblets and rust napkins
In the dining room

Thanksgiving Begins

Candlelight at four in the afternoon. The good plates, pressed napkins, a table set the day before. And a plan that starts the Saturday before, so on Thursday you get to be at your own party.

The Thanksgiving Almanac

Somebody is lighting the candles.

Clear water below the cliffs, from the back of the boat From the terrace Sardinia, Barefoot Swim before breakfast, lunch until four, and never quite dry.
In the kitchen

A Very Cold Martini

So cold the glass fogs in your hand. Gin, a whisper of vermouth, and a freezer you’ve cleared a shelf in.

Lifting the lid on dinner at the kitchen counter Also in the kitchen Put Them to Work

A day in the house

From the first coffee to the last candle

Friends at a candlelit table late at night, arms in the air In the drawing room Until the Wee Hours A long gingham table on the lawn at sunset In the garden The Pizza Party The wicker lamp on the guest-room chest, fruit, books and magazines beside it In the guest room The Lamp Is Already On A straw bag and sandals on a painted tile floor In the hall The Only Sandals I Pack
The Cabinet

The door is still locked.

28 nights until the Cabinet opens. Letters readers get in early, on November 17.

Look through the keyhole

A note, now and then.