One of the blessings of my life lies in having friends who like to cook, who do cook, and who invite me to dinner.
Last Saturday David and I joined them for a special evening.
Upon arriving, we were served cranberry prosecco in funky red flutes. Then we stood around the island in the kitchen and munched ham terrine on crackers.
Dinner comprised short ribs, garlic mashed potatoes, and peas. Since the hosts helped the plates, we didn’t have to be embarrassed at the size of the servings.
Coffee and slabs of red-hot dotted red velvet cake, made from scratch by another of the guests, rounded out the meal (as well as its partakers).
Then we sat and discussed a wide range of topics: obeying our husbands (we do it all the time but no one notices); the history of common law marriage; Timothy Leary, Walter Huston*, and LSD; playing the piano at the Baptist church; the cardinal that keeps flinging himself at their kitchen window; strainers from IKEA; dinnerware that refuses to break when you’re tired of it; the Olympics opening ceremony; and the soporific effect of eating all your mashed potatoes.
Another blessing is having a friend who says the red-and-white checked tablecloth is the only Halloween tablecloth she has, and who then apologizes for not having any Halloween napkins.
This is a person I understand. This is a person with whom I can share a wavelength. This is a person who doesn’t seem to mind that I’m missing a few marbles of my own.
Now I can’t wait for October. Maybe they’ll invite us down for Valentine’s Day.
* We didn’t talk about Timothy Leary, Walter Huston, and LSD. We talked about Timothy Leary, Houston Smith, and LSD. I told you I’m missing a few of my marbles.
Okay, it’s not Houston, it’s Huston. I was half right the first time. And if anything else is wrong with this post, that’s too bad. I’ve done all the correcting I’m going to do.