Depending on your current age, weight, your feelings on aging, and memories of childhood, you may like or dislike running into old friends. However, it seems that one of the benefits of living in the town where you grew up is that you occasionally run into old friends. You may see your elementary school teacher at the grocery store, your little league baseball coach at McDonalds, or your high school prom date eating with his family at the Olive Garden.
This never happens to me.
I live 2,400 miles from where I grew up.
However, sometime in the last year, I made a small connection. Through the somewhat unsettling, friend-finding
miracles of Facebook, I learned that my friend, Mrs. G., spent her teen years
not far from my hometown in Maryland.
She even attended a church youth group with the Ingersoll family, longtime
friends of my parents. For some strange
reason, having that common friend makes me like Mrs. G. even more. It’s like she has actual proof I existed
before I became a wife and mother.
On Sunday, June 3rd, we had the G. Family to
dinner. I served thyme lemon chicken
kabobs on bamboo skewers, Brazilian rice, feijoada, roasted sweet potatoes, pao
de queijo, and tortilla chips with three kinds of dip. Mrs. G. brought watermelon. I gave myself a cooking-from-scratch break on
dessert and bought mini apple blossoms from Trader Joes. They are pretty, delicious, and only require
a 15-minute warming in the oven before serving. They would have been ready in 15 minutes, if I
hadn’t placed them in a cold oven, set the timer, and walked away. No big deal.
I worried that the three, teenaged G. family children would
be bored at our little kid home.
However, I was happily surprised when all six kids were playing
hide-n-seek all over the house after dinner.
Ryan and Mr. G. talked at the table while Mrs. G. and I cleaned up the
kitchen. Mrs. G. washed the dishes and I
loaded the dishwasher.
I rarely tell my dinner guests that they are part of my 52
Friends for Dinner project. I don’t want
them to feel that the dinner invitation was insincere or part of a stunt. Mrs. G. is aware of my experimental Sunday dinner
tradition and was willing to come regardless.
That’s a friend you keep.
There’s not much I can do about running into old friends. It’s not an issue worth moving for. I’ve made the trek to a few high school
reunions and got my fix of old friends for a night.
The reality is, the longer I live, these “new” friends will become my old friends.
No comments:
Post a Comment