candy kitchen

This weekend was my last in the Hamptons in a long while (hopefully in forever, but you never know - I may have a wedding to attend there or something in the distant future). We spent most of Saturday sorting books and board games, trying to figure out which we would keep and which we would donate. My mom hates dealing with these kinds of things, but I absolutely love sorting. There’s something immensely cathartic and satisfying with separating yourself from those material things you don’t actually need, thus making the ones you actually keep matter all the more. (Hosting a TLC or HGTV show similar to Clean House and Hoarders still ranks amongst my top dream jobs, in case you hear of any openings.)

So which books were worhy of my keeping? All in all, I must have saved two dozen. The volumes I refuse to separate myself from include Off the Road by Caroline Cassady, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey, The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein and Les Yeux Jaunes des Crocodiles by Katherine Pancol. I also kept some books I haven’t read but intend to, such as No Place to Hide by Glen Greenwald, When We Were Orphans by Kazuo Ishiguro and Morrissey’s autobiography. That, and a selection of cookbooks for our apartment in MTL (through which I intend on teaching the girls to read French).

We managed to donate an old dollhouse and some children’s board games to St. Ann’s Thrift Shop, as well as all our less-cherished English books to Book Bay (both in Bridgehampton). I’m so glad to be giving away my bass to Emma from La Gamine Moderne, and my guitars and amps to two of my sisters’ friends. There’s nothing like knowing your instruments are in good hands. All we have left to take care of is driving the remaining unwanted French books to the FIAF and bringing our vinyl collection back in the city to its new permanent home.

As much as I love sorting, it can be an exhausting task, both physically and emotionally. So we well deserved to treat ourselves to a family meal at Candy Kitchen, one of our two favorite diners in the Hamptons (perhaps THE only two diners in the Hamptons?). We each stayed true to our habits and ordered the usual: a triple-decker club sandwich for dad, a tuna melt for mom, a burger and vanilla shake for Olympe and two scrambled eggs for myself. I also got a slice of warm apple pie for dessert, which ended up being shared four ways. Solid diner food, right there.

I’m writing this entry on our way back, from the back seat of our car. It’s almost surreal to think this was my final weekend staying at the house we’d owned for a little over seven years. This was - and still is - the house where I sewed my first dress, read many of my favorite books and ate some of the best meals my mom has ever cooked. It’s also the house where I would have weather-related anxiety crises in my early teens, where we buried our guinea pig and where I had to sit through all four hours of the original Doctor Zhivago film. For all the good and bad memories I have of 175 Warfield Way, I can’t say I’ll miss it one bit. Life moves on.

Bonus: we've officially completed our own 'Trump Your Cat'. Meet Morris Trump.

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