I'm going to New York for a wedding of friends, and then further north to spend a week where I've never been.

I created all of the paper goods for the wedding and can't wait to see them in the hands of friends and strangers, hopefully running their fingers back and forth across the letterpress along with me.

Perhaps the seasons don't shift, but instead we do. Maybe they look at us, thinking, "I can't wait for them to turn to spring! Oh, spring's so chilly. Summer already, humans!"

I like the idea of turning into summer, or any season for that matter.

On either side.

I paid a long-awaited visit to the gardens at Thomas Jefferson's dreamy Monticello.

Maira Kalman on the subject.

Swimming lessons in the river and blackberry ice cream pie at the top of the mountain. Didn't I tell you it was "the most American of weekends?"

It should be noted that Parker also wears his life jacket and goggles during his nightly baths.

My morning ride into work on a cloudy day, just as the foliage—what little there was in May—turns into concrete. You'd expect disappointment with the transition, but it's seamless joy as the skyline grows out of the trees.

Today marks the first day of Chicago Bike to Work Week, if you're local and interested in participating.

I went to D.C. and Virginia over the weekend. My aunt lives out that way, and my sister, grandma, and nephew visited, too. Great minds, little minds, and four generations of family—it was the most American of weekends.

We went camping for a night in May, driving up into Wisconsin with no particular destination in mind. Landing outside of New Glarus, we pitched our tent. It was a short hike into town—an old Swiss settlement—where we shared some beers and dinner, and I finally worked up the courage to grab Sam's hand and join the elderly locals on the dance floor.

"Jess, you have to let me lead."

"But, I am . . . right?"

I was laughing so hard at our sloppiness, my head buried in Sam's shoulder, that I couldn't dance for long anyway. We walked the mile or two back into the woods, to sleep under the still-bare branches and all of those stars. But first I settled up on the picnic table, lying out in the cold, body upturned toward all of those stars.

Samuel and our dear Ben sharing coffee, mid-sentence, on a chilly Memorial Day weekend.