Ladies Luncheon

You know those old novels that talk about things like "Taking a turn about the garden" and "delighting in the conversation of the evening" and "dying of a severe chill"? It seems like such a begone era and a world apart, and for this Rocky Mountain girl it was! Until, that is, I drove to Kentucky and attended a ladies luncheon. 

Here. At this house. This is a residence. Where someone lives, all the time. Say what?!

It has a name. Also a wikipedia page. 

Lauren, my new sister in law, has three life long best friends. One of those friends grew up in this home, and her incredibly classy Mother hosted the luncheon in honor of Lauren. 

Katie and I kept giving each other glances that said "is this seriously happening?!" and inwardly squealing with joy a little bit.

They put the "younger girls" in the dining room, and the Mothers and Grandmothers ate in the other dining room. That was incredibly wise on the hostess's part, because the conversations differed greatly, I guarantee it! We honestly tried hard to be proper and dignified, but we all belly laughed a few times. Couldn't help it.

After our meal was finished she brought out a mini wedding cake, and the Mothers gave Lauren tips on cake cutting, which was adorable. Then we ate it, and died a little bit.

Then we decided to explore the gardens, so out we went to take a turn. The flowers - oh my goodness. And the lawns! They go on for ever, without a single sprinkler! What?!

See? I told you. So proper and elegant. Or something.

Lauren's Mother and Sister gave her her wedding gifts - the something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. Every single gift was so thoughtful, I totally cried through it.

The whole afternoon was really so beautiful. I learned so much about hosting! As we were leaving, the hostess said "Now ya'll can go back to Utah and host your very own ladies luncheon!" and Katie and I looked at each other and said "No, we can't. There's no way we could replicate this!" 

We'll stick to being our Rocky Mountain girls, who die of joy with new experiences like this.