To Celebrate: The Gastronomy of Marriage, Australia Edition

Hello, Australia!

September 1 marks the first day of spring in Australia and The Gastronomy of Marriage's first gentle steps into the world. It's being released today by Australia's Murdoch Books imprint Pier 9 in, as you can see, a lovely hardcover edition. ("Like the Dr. Seuss books," R. told a friend recently, trying to explain its dust-jacket-less, glued-on cover. Which, really, was putting me in some pretty esteemed company...)

I'm sure there are writers who want their books to burst onto the scene, zoom into the public eye. But that Gastronomy should, on still-tender legs, start with a few easy steps, seems just right to me. People keep asking me how I feel ("Aren't you EXCITED!?" "Are you nervous?" "You must be so proud!"), and all the sentiments they offer are definitely present, mingling somewhere behind my ribcage. Though what I feel most of all is awe.

The day of my wedding I stood outside the little white chapel, my hand in the crook of my father's elbow, and waited for the last few guests to find seats, the music to start back up, and then two of my friends to push open the chapel's heavy wooden doors, signaling that the aisle was ready for me to walk down.

This is my wedding. This is my wedding. This is my wedding, I'd repeated aloud while we waited, wanting to jolt myself awake to this reality — to feel awake in the moment — and not have it all rush by in a whirl, the way so many women had described it. And still, I was so excited for all that would happened from there that had someone offered me a video of the next 365 days, or 65 years, I would have watched it right then in fast-forward. I impatiently ached to know how all the details would unfold — from how the cake would look that evening to whether we'd still be as happy today, halfway toward our fifth anniversary — while knowing the smartest thing to do was to slow it down as much as possible and enjoy every millisecond.

This excitement is different, though. Today I feel as much a spectator as everyone else. It's like I've created something, birthed something into this world— a fawn; a colt; the tallest, thinnest sandcastle, painstakingly patted into position — and now all I can do is hold my breath and, full of wonder, watch: How long will it stay standing? Who, or what, will eventually hurt it or knock it down? And is it possible to even protect it?

So, my sincerest thanks to Australia for its generous hospitality, and three cheers — quiet, but heartfelt — as I stand back, wait, and watch.