A Memorable Meal

It's funny, isn't it? How many hours, minutes, seconds of our lives we spend wishing we were somewhere else or doing something else or further along in life or a career...we cannot rightly put a number to them. I have had such lively meals whether at parties at my parents 'house back when we were all younger and healthier, and alive. The house smelled of Christmas, with the pine smell of our live tree, the fireplace smell that only a real fire can bring, and the smell of homemade food wafting through the air. The atmosphere was that of joy and openness, of a family whose members were truly happy to be surrounded by one another and their friends.

There are  also the meals that remain in my memory as bittersweet: the last meal where our grandmother could eat and swallow, before having a trach vent implanted; the anniversary party we threw for our parents on their 30th, not realizing how drastically our lives would change with our dad's heart diagnosis the next; the meal when we toasted with Matt's parents and mine (with fake wine) the baby whose ultrasound we had seen that would never be held in our arms.

There are celebratory meals, like wedding receptions and rehearsal dinners and engagements. There are dinners with friends through the years. There are the many date night dinners of new love before we were engaged or married. There were casual times of "having a cheese" or cooking club creations. Always, without fail, the wonder and blessing of the meals were as much in the company as in the food.

My family always saw meal time as a tool, lovingly carved and used creatively as a force for shaping opinions, morals, and the love of one another's presence. We debated politics and religion and shared stories of our days. Today, I am so grateful that my little boy feels that magic in everyday meal times ( he sure as heck barely eats, so at least he inherited the philosopher gene).

Out of all the many types of meals that have left forever footprints on my heart, the one that always makes me laugh, is when Rach (my sister) and I, both still single and in our late 20s/early 30s went out late one night after work. We owned a home together, two actually, and we shared dogs and friends as well. We loved the same tv, traveled together, and had many of the same opinions and senses of humor. We were at Fridays or some such late night dining option, and having ordered two cheesy, delicious, calorie laden appetizers, we started to talk. At the same time. Saying the same things. Again, we tried to take turns. Again we spoke the same words in ridiculous and flawless harmony. One final try, and we then said, of course simultaneously and through tears of laughter, "let's just not talk." We didn't for quite a while, almost the whole meal (which for anyone who has met us, you know that is a long time). We ate with the kind of ginormous stupid grins that only those wo have not had the shit kicked out of them by life yet could enjoy. Those were the smiles and laughs of two best friends and sisters who had the world at their feet and their dreams shined brightly like stars in the darkest and clearest of skies. So were the thoughts so shared, the bond so strong, and the beings so in sync, that never could an errant thought come betwixt the two or reduce the glee. So was youth and open, honest comradery. That laughter and bond remains a sustainer of my soul in darkest times and a cheerleader in times of triumph, but the innocence in that carefree evening lingers only in the memory of my heart, where it can still be felt and held and cherished, while never completely being within reach. It is there, just the same.