The end of a fun dinner, a memorable feast, is when the table is filled with dirty plates, smudged glasses and empty wine bottles, detritus surrounding the centerpiece flowers.
And, no one cares.
Last night, we were part of a Summer Friendsgiving potluck. Everyone brought over dishes, and everyone cleaned up after.
Meeting friends at restaurants is fun. Going to someone’s house is great, but the host does a ton of work. How about a dinner where everyone cooks and helps clean up? And, you over time rotate houses?
I signed up for the turkey and wine, Mrs. T. made the gravy, and others provided many dishes, desserts and a bottle of special port wine.
We talked about our children, our parents, and how turning 50 years-old is meaningful far beyond measure. You begin to accept more and are more grateful.
We talked about books and food and travel, and we lost track of time, the conversations starting, continuing and quiescing in parallel threads, all effortlessly.
No major world problems were solved. No bright political lines in the sand were drawn. We were just friends being friends, with all of the sublime goodness and meaning all that has to offer.
A wonderful evening….