This last week has found me wondering what I would be doing with my time if I was retired already. I find myself watching the people on the bike path and on the sidewalks as I drive to and from work, and I marvel at the time they seem to have on their hands. May and June are mad scramble, and I am not keeping up, but for my own reasons. I told one mom at baseball that Elena really wanted chicken noodle soup for supper, but since I didn’t have it ready before she left for her game (she got oatmeal instead), she’d get it for bed-snack. The other mom snorted and said, “Let her open a can!” and all I could say was nothing, because…the only time we have bought tinned soup is for camping; all our soup is made from scratch, and by scratch I mean the chicken is boiled and I feel guilty if the noodles are from the store, and how do you tell that to someone? Our lemonade is made from squeezed lemons, and our sandwich meat is roast meat, leftover from the night before. (The oatmeal, I might add, was large flake, cooked on the stove with milk, brown sugar and a pinch of salt.)
Our friends think we are food snobs, but I like to think that it’s just real food. And then I started thinking about what it’s like when we have company for dinner. We go to extremes cooking decadent meals, and then hardly have anyone over, because it’s so much work. It never occurs to me that our everyday meals are what others would consider quite special. Or that really, the act of having the company is more important than the actual food.
Our kitchen, right now, is too small for more than a couple of guests, and that’s if we move the dog kennel upstairs. I have a picture in my head of the wonderful parties we’ll be hosting once we have a house that is more comfortable to entertain in. But I really should stick a couple dates up on the calendar for now, just to get into practice. Food, friends and festivities…sounds good to me!