Three Notable Dinners

I was invited to a dinner party by a new-ish friend, and it was described as a "fabulously festive fete" so I arrived in semi-costume only to find that they didn't mean you were supposed to dress festively. I promptly removed my shimmering top hat (wish I was kidding) and then made my way into the group of eight adult women who have real jobs and fine lines. It took me too much time to get to the alarming realization that they probably thought I was an adult woman who belonged in that group. I was the youngest one there and the oldest was forty-three. When did I move into this age category? I don't recall that happening. 

A neat thing happened though. We were all talking about lots of interesting things; jobs (horse-back riding instructor, party planner, software mogul), life outlooks (hopefulness, optimist, nihilism), travel (Thailand, Norway, Hawaii), relationships (I've dated every branch of military!"), etc, and it occurred to me that no one was talking about their children. At this age, everyone I talk to tells me about toddlers. Because toddlers are all they experience. "Excuse me," I said to the table, "Does anyone here have kids?" We all silently looked at each other, waiting for someone to fess-up, but no. "None of us?" Eyebrows silently questioned? Heads shook side to side. Mouths pressed into thin lines. 
"How odd," someone said.
"I never even put that together," our hostess admitted, "That must be why you're all so interesting."

We all cheers'ed to being childfree and then made points to acknowledge how much we love our friends that have kids because I think we all feared being the kind of people that society thinks childfree people are. I was caught off guard by being at a table of 8 middle-aged women who intentionally chose not to have kids. You don't find many of those in the wild and there I sat, inaccurately placed at a table of adults of course, but in likeminded company nonetheless. How niche.

Here's my favorite picture of Nick and Liv - to prove I love them.

A few nights later, Brett and I popped out to a nearby ramen spot for dinner and we sat, happily participating in the ritual of reading a menu, placing an order, and then settling in to look across the table at your dinner mate. "So!" he began. Several minutes into what was undoubtedly a new musing meant to further advance his intellectual abilities, my eyes wandered from our table to the glittering string lights cascading along the ceiling. There were houseplants high on shelves with ruffage and vines trailing down towards the tables. The specials board was written in rainbow colors. Shimmering golden trinkets dangled from the ceiling. What fun, I thought. 

"And so if you consider the willingness to uphold a moral principle as an expected part of..." I watched a girl with a shaved head and combat boots march past our table. She joined of group of artsy, grungy girls sitting on velvet couches cheersing their drinks. At another table were two girls deep in a discussion. Over there, another group of alternatively dressed women, some of them striking me as quite masculine. Then it dawned on me. I scanned the entire restaurant - women. It's all women. "Because cognitively, we understand what is correct..." Brett and the waitstaff were the only men present. A girl winked at me as she walked by. Gay. This is gay. I thought to myself. I had to search for proof. And that's when I took a look at the drink menu: Les-be-honest, The Sapphic Spritz, a Rhubarbie-Girl. 
"It's Lesbian night!" I whisper screamed to Brett. He put his gesticulating hands down.
"What?"
"Everyone in here is gay! It's all women!" 

Brett leaned back in his chair and casually scanned the crowd. Then he leaned forward. "Are you sure?"
"Look at the girls in here. Half of them could beat you up!" He looked around again. 
"You're right."
"Was there a sign? Is this an event? Are we supposed to be here?" I pushed the cocktail menu into his hands.
"Do they think I'm gay?" He huffed in frustration.
"I don't think they're looking at you, Bub. I think I'd be the real treat here." I wiggled my eyebrows at him and he grimaced. 
He looked around again at all the punk, hipster, grungy girls in there. The shaved heads, the purple hair. The baggy cargo pants. "This isn't what guys imagine when they think of walking into room full of lesbians."
"I get it."

And that's the story of how Brett and I wound up eating ramen at a lesbian speed dating event.

For Brett's birthday we threw a little dinner party. I did a full middle eastern meal: roasted sumac potatoes, chicken musakhan, eggplants and lentils with pomegranate molasses, and a beet galette with za'atar. There was also pita and salad. I was exceptionally proud of myself. It's the most food I've ever made at one time. Brett and I thought it was delicious. We gobbled it up and served ourselves seconds and thirds, noting to each other how great this turned out. We were eating with such enthusiasm that we barely noticed that our guests were not having the same experience. 

They had polite portions, unfinished piles, one was merely pushing things around on his plate, a pile of parsley picked off and pushed to one side. I wondered if Brett and my tastes have traveled beyond that of "ordinary" people. We make a lot of ethnic food and I'm certain Brett has singed off my tastebuds with many of his concoctions. Have we lost touch with subtle flavoring? I intentionally put this menu together because it seemed like a middle eastern spin on ordinary foods. Feeding people is a humbling, vulnerable experience. Normally I fret and fuss, worried people won't like it, but I looked over at Brett's plate piled high for a third time, his cheeks rosy with delight, and I pushed the pita over to the parsley picker, "Here Drew, fill up on bread," and then I went back to my plate.

I feel I'm one step closer to mental freedom. As Lollie says, "There'll be another meal in a few hours."

Apart from the social extravaganza that is The Holidays, I have been so distracted by my own undertakings that I know little of what's going on outside of my bubble. We had a beautiful Guy Family Double Decker Tea Party for Brett and Carolyn's birthdays that was most exciting. Giggs set the prettiest, daintiest table and fussed over finger foods and tasty spreads - and I took a picture of it, but admittedly, it's an awful photo. All the humans in the frame have their mouths open, anxiously awaiting incoming breadstuffs. Nonetheless, it was fun to have everyone at the table.

The biggest change, surprisingly, is the lack of Grace in our house. (The dog - not the virtue.) We have been surprised to find what a big presence she had from someone who never said anything, rarely made noise, and often left the room when we entered it. Brett and I have gotten back to our normal routine, but Pippa may as well be lost at sea. Grace entirely dictated Pippa's days for the last eight years so Pip doesn't understand that she can now choose to do whatever she wants. She barely ate for the first two weeks. She follows us around, tentatively sitting here, oh but wait, should I sit there? Is it nap time? Where should I be? She won't go outside by herself so Brett has been bundling up and walking to the end of the yard at 11:00pm to get her to go to the bathroom. A bright spot is that we can take her to the dog park now. We've always avoided the dog park, as well as other dogs, what with Grace's tendency to bite others. Pip loves other dogs and gets big wheezy whistles and zoomies at the park, sniffs butts, splashes into the pond, rolls in sand, and then comes home and sleeps for the rest of the day. 
So, we're getting there.

The bulk of this month, Brett and I have been in our offices. Occasionally shouting to the other about meeting in the kitchen to take a lunch break. He's been focused on a "marketing campaign" to get word out about his business and it's been very cool to watch it play out and result in exactly what he was hoping for. He's met some neat people doing neat projects and slowly the requests are trickling in. Meanwhile, I was kicking-butt building the website for my new business idea when I came to a multi-pronged fork in the road and instead of handling it like a seasoned entrepreneur, I crumpled, pouted, and spent three days rethinking my entire existence. Brett reminded me that hurdles are a normal part of starting something new, and even though I know he's right, it always feels different when it's you. Other peoples' problems are easy. Mine? Impossible. Can't be solved.

I'll get back to it on Monday.