Tonight was Farmer Fels’ annual Seafood Boil. Which brought to mind a post that’s been percolating for some time.
I can remember when my parents were my age. They had a 24 year old daughter, a 22 year old daughter, and two young sons. I suppose they had a few friends, but none who ever came over. The only people they entertained were my aunt and uncle and grandmothers. People did not come for dinner, we did not go to peoples’ houses for dinner or parties. I don’t know why this was, because I can remember doing those things as a young child.
This is a crying shame, I think. And nights like tonight bring that thought to the forefront. I am always grateful to have such a great and eclectic group of friends, but I am not sure they know how appreciated they are. So tonight, I tell them.
Farmer Fels and Mrs. Roos rank right up there, for comfort and ease and cocktails. The geeks for speaking The Geek’s language and bringing that light (or darkness, depending on your point of view), int0 his life.
My oldest friends are from college. Most of what we did together is a blur, though some things stand out. Perhaps it’s best if I don’t discuss the details here. Let’s just say that Safeway was not as profitable as it could have been in the late 80’s and we had some fine times at The Pink Door and The Vogue. And I am forever grateful that Dave had the good sense to marry Sue, and I could meet Bobby.
Some of my best friends now date from the college years but we didn’t know each other well then. Now we are bound by yarn and gin and Drinkie Cottage. Cheers to you, ladies. I look forward to smoking with you in the Airstream in 30 years.
Some of our oldest and dearest are Roanokers. You might leave, but you are forever in our hearts and family.
Old friends sometimes branch out and lead us to new roads. Our eastside family brings me warm and fuzzy thoughts of Disneyland and Turkey Day, camping and cocktails.
The Professors will come for cocktails and wade through the piles to pee, even though they are not dog people.
Yinnie can get my kids Pirate Booty any time, and even though Spike ripped out all my lettuce, he is my own. A call from the 415 is all it takes to get me on the next plane.
What makes these the precious ones? The ability to leave the dishes in the sink and the pajama bottoms on. The need to say nothing, but understand everything. The history and safety, the looking forward and back.
Don’t think for one second that I don’t know how lucky we are.