The Firsts of Sunday Dinners

The past two Sunday's in our Sunday Dinner Series, have sported some important firsts. The first First was our first Sunday Dinner at my house. My first dinner party. My first home cooked meal in my own house. I was so tickled. I selected some new recipes to try in combination with old Laura classics. I'm gonna toot my Salmon horn. I can manhandle some Salmon.
The clan came over just a itchin' with anticipation. Ellen however, was developing some flu-like symptoms so we excused her from post-dinner card playing so she could spread her germs into my colorful throw pillows and leave balled up tissues in my sofa. To the horror of us men-folk, Mom and Ellen forced us to end our evening with the final and most off-putting scene of Dirty Dancing. Ellen recited lines right on cue while Mom provided musical percussion. They eventually all filed out and left me with my biggest pile of dishes to date.

The second First was the first ever attendance of Carolyn and Dave to our Sunday Family Dinner. I think there's a new home being thrown into the rotation. Our dinner with Carolyn and Dave was prompted by Dad's fervent attempt to upstage Chris' and my meal. Chris is a sensational chef, preparing the kinds of meat dishes folks splurge on maybe once a year. I chose wacky dishes, pairing unsuspecting ingredients for a whole new dining experience. Dad promptly objected. "I can't be outdone by these kids!" he shouted to no one and he declared this Sunday to being a Lebanese feast. "They can't compete with this!" he mumbled, shaking musky spices into a bowl of raw meat.

Dad prepared the pungent dishes of his childhood and invited Carolyn and Dave to sample the exotic fare. To really sprinkle defeat over Chris' and my meal, Dad accented the patio with paper lanterns and Middle Eastern background music that bellowed high-pitched, ethnic wails from our cozy backyard gathering up and out, out into the neighborhood for all bystanders to hear.
"Have those Union's joined a cult?" the neighbors surely wondered.

Giggles and Dave brought Sunday Dinner to a whole new level. The uproarious laughter hurt even my ears. It was one of those nights where everybody brought their story telling A-game. The sassy comebacks, the witty remarks, and cheersing to Father O'Malley. Buddy found our decibel level most off-putting and hid from us in the bushes. I think Dad drugged us with his tribal meal. I'd tell you all of the juicy one-liners but I'm afraid it would expose us as terrible people. I'd almost brought along my buddy Tim to this dinner for he was enticed by a Middle Eastern meal. Thank goodness Tim didn't come. If the howling sitar music hadn't scared him away, our unbridled laughter at Dad's one-armed man impression would have surely caused him to sweat. What would he have thought of us?

"Surely every Sunday can't be like this?" Carolyn said on the way back out to her car. It would be exhausting. I was tired from laughing. My eyes were sore from happy tears. Gosh I just wish everyone could have dinners like that one.

Makes you so grateful for good folks.

Ross Marine

Last week, Dave and some of the folks I met at the Volvo party set me up to shoot the Governor's Cup Awards. That's a fishing thing, so you know. Here I thought I was attending a party of government types and law enforcement. It is in fact an awards ceremony for fishing tournaments, big fish, and boat crew things.

This party was especially exciting for a number of reasons. Ross Marine is a private marina on John's Island. This means we had a sensational marsh view and got to watch the sun sink down over the water. I love anything on the water but it was exceptionally Lowcountry feeling over there. It felt like such a southern party. I also just happen to like John's Island for it is but one island away from my dream retirement island, Wadmalaw.

There were happy people, tasty snacks, good tunes, and such a pretty setting. I got so tickled by people's conversations. I'd find myself hovering over a table of folks, listening to their stories. I'd laugh out loud at the punchline and then suddenly remember that I was hired help. The group would politely turn to look at me. My toothy grin would sink down into what I thought might look like an artsy, pensive expression and I'd slowly wander off "to take pictures." I'm sure I'm an awkward photographer girl.

Giggles and Dave showed up after while and Dave saved the day with his boob-shaped flash disperser. When it came to shooting the actual award ceremony, the flash on my camera washed out all of the warm lighting. Dave brought along this rubber contraption that softens the flash and makes nighttime shots closer to what you see in real life. None of those red eyes and inky backgrounds.

So really, Dave shot the Governors Cup Awards. I just went to the party.

Lu's Place

Alright Georgie. It's the moment you've been waiting for.
Snooping around my new place!
I've finally got the whole place put together and am now trying to fill the empty room upstairs with an unassuming victim who will pay rent on time and not have lots of ne'er-do-wells over for dinner.
I have a lead. I'll keep you posted.

You last peeked inside this residence when I wrote about Ellen's Digs. Now, it's Big Lu's place and she gets to spoil herself with a pet-less, hair-less, litterbox-less home. So, downstairs features great natural lighting, a spacious living area, and a reading nook that I'm most excited about.
I've spent much less time fussing about the upstairs as my bedroom is more of a storage space that I happen to also sleep in. Mom is so thrilled about redoing my old bedroom that she keeps bring over piles of things that I don't have space for. She finally realized that this house is too small for all of the things she wants to pawn off onto me and has since resigned to stashing things in Dad's closet. Poor guy.

So, Lu's Place...

Dad's Favorite

When Ellen left for college all those years ago Dad started this little comedy bit that he thinks is just so funny.
He blatantly favors Ellen, right in front of me.

Suppose I take care of one of Dad's yard chores for him while he's away on business.
"Look what your sweetest child did today." Mom would say to him, pointing at my stellar performance.
"Oh!" he'll say with delight. "Remind me to call Ellen to thank her."
If there's any mention of his good and faithful daughter, Dad finds a way to attach Ellen's name to the label. "She's always helping out around the house." Mom will tell a friend at a dinner party. "She so thoughtful."
"Yeah." Dad will add. "Ellen's really something."
Say I make a suggestions about dinner... "Well, Ellen doesn't like asparagus."
"But I do!" I'll tell him. "I love asparagus. I'd really like asparagus."
"Let's call and see what Ellen wants." he replies.

This list goes on.

To date, the most appalling offense took place when Ellen came over one random, unimportant afternoon. She rang the doorbell and I got up to let her in. As I walked down the hallway, Dad stomped towards me shouting, "Ellen's here! Ellen's here!" and as he ran up behind me, he shoved me sideways into the wall, tripping up my feet, and barreling past me to open the front door. I stood dumbfounded as he hugged her and carried in her purse.

Why am I telling you this? Because Dad topped himself this weekend.
Since both Ellen and I were out of town for our birthdays this year, we requested a joint birthday celebration at our Sunday dinner this week. Really, we just wanted a cake. Mom foolishly put Dad in charge of the birthday cake and after another chart topping dinner by Chris, Ellen and I were presented with this offense...

I wasn't even surprised. Nothing new here. The bit never gets old.

Dad chuckles softly at his own genius and quickly made an insulting addendum to the dessert.

This could really damage a gal. Dad is so lucky I don't have feelings.

Volvo Penta

Last week was a big week for the boating world. Right here in Charleston, Volvo debuted a brand new, first-of-it's-kind pilot boat. This new pilot boat features three engines and a bunch of other attributes that mostly excite the male gender. The boat also had two big firefighting hoses that pump some insane amount of water per minute. That's really all I remember.

To celebrate the debut, the harbor pilots and Volvo threw a little party right outside the boat's new parking slip. Dave was commissioned to photograph the event and he brought me along as his second shooter. Before the party started, Dave and I scampered around taking pictures of the new boat and the people in charge of things. All of the Volvo Big Wigs and harbor pilots gathered on the dock and talked with folks from boating magazines and websites. Dave and I took pictures of the Big Wigs, including one that looked so much like Will Ferrell that even Dave giggled each time he saw him. The Big Wigs stayed invested in their conversation though they would occasionally peer over at me and give my camera the stink eye. I believe they were accidental stink eyes caused by a mixture of the low afternoon sun and general confusion about who I was and why I was present, for this was no party for ditzy twenty-somethings.

After all the boating banter, the pilots took the Big Wigs for a ride in the boat and while Dave photographed from the dock, I got to climb aboard and capture the delight of the Big Wigs and reporters. I mostly stayed out of their way as they looked around and talked engines. I did get to stand on the very tip top of the boat while they demonstrated those firehoses I liked so much. I was also taken down into the engine room by a very pleasant fella who thought I might want to photograph the beauty of such masculine fun. He delicately placed some giant ear muffs on my head and then swung open a heavy, submarine door. There sat three big squares and a maze of pipes and chords accented by knobs, both red and yellow. I stared at the mess. The pleasant man beamed. 

"These are the engines." he told me, pointing at the big squares. He looked at me earnestly. I smiled and raised my camera to my eye and pushed the button. He verbally labeled a number of things in the dark, industrial room and then waited quietly for me to take pictures. I indulged him, knowing full well that I could create no such artsy scene from this bunker. 

As we arrived back to the dock, the party was getting started. People trickled in and waiters wandered through the crowd with trays of shrimp and baby quiches. I scampered about, photographing folks looking at the boat and discussing their Tuesday. It was sensationally difficult to stop myself from taking artsy pictures that in no way could be related back to Volvo or the boat itself. I pointed my lens at a cluster of barnacles. What would Volvo do with a picture of barnacles. Focus Laura.

The Big Wigs gave speeches and cracked a bottle of champagne over the hull. I became fixated on these little cheese puffs and chased around the redheaded waitress that carried them, predicting her footpath and setting myself in it. I enjoyed being at the party. I liked watching people chatting with friends and laughing at stories. Because it was a workday, folks started slipping out shortly after the speeches but Dave and I hung around for a few last photos.