Chairing

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The text might arrive while I shuttle my children to soccer or struggle with long-forgotten algebra as I help my seventh grader with homework. Or I’ll text as I switch laundry out or leave a PTA meeting. The texts are usually just one word: “Chairs?” That single word boosts my mood and enables me to make it through the day.

Why the word chairs?

Well, our neighborhood has coined the term “chairing” to describe our impromptu cocktail hours in our Adirondack chairs. My neighbors have owned their chairs for years; picking them up in Cedar Key as a reminder of the special hold that island has on them.

Mine came to grace my yard more recently. My husband surprised me with them at Easter-choosing four chairs rather than only two, so that we could always invite the neighbors to join us. To say these chairs have revolutionized the way I live and use my yard is an understatement.

We’ll gather in one yard or the other many evenings. It’s a given that if you see the other couple in their chairs, you’re invited. It’s that Southern Hospitality that you think died with your great-aunt Millie or the kind of Southern Grace places like Celebration try to recreate, but fall just short of capturing.

Bottles of wine, antique stemware and seersucker napkins are expected. Snacks are a must—I find myself keeping pimento cheese or cream cheese and peach pepper jelly on hand at all times for chairing. Cheese straws or fig flat-bread might be featured, or if it’s been a crazy day, we might just pass around a box of Wheat Thins.

We sit and visit, review our days, discuss The Goldfinch or latest Vanity Fair article, theorize on where the missing Malaysian plane might be or discuss the great mysteries of our neighborhood, the current topic being why another neighbor keeps a step ladder in his front yard.

We stay as long as we can until the wine’s all gone or the mosquitoes eat us alive.

Knowing your neighbors and knowing them well is a luxury in these times. We four—five now that Pookie is graduated and home from Ole Miss—benefit from this old Southern way of living. Using fine china, antique wine glasses and linen cocktail napkins during chair time reminds us to cherish and appreciate the lovely perfection of ordinary days. Sharing food and drink to nourish the souls of your neighbors and your spouse is an act of love and serves to build the kind of life-giving relationship that seems intrinsic to the South.

We are the 2014 versions of Atticus and Miss Maudie in Adirondack chairs instead of on porches.

Cecelia is a military brat turned Southerner. She is an avid reader and lover of camellias, blue and white china, gin and tonics and tomato pie.

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