Kyle and our kids can attest to the fact that I can complicate the simplest of things. That includes entertaining. The stress of getting everything perfect — from the food to the table to the house — has left me being less than fun to be around on those occasions. And it’s silly, really. I’m pretty sure no one is coming over to my house wondering if they’ll find cobwebs in the corner. And if they are, that probably says more about them than me.
I don’t think it was always this way. When I was a kid, our country neighborhood was a real community. Life was shared in the everyday — chats alongside the road or in the vineyard, planned get-togethers and everything in between. But the story my mom tells that sticks with me most is the impromptu dinners. Every month or so, a group of them would gather completely unplanned. A late afternoon phone call, an invitation to come share whatever you were already cooking. Pancakes or spaghetti — or both. One night, dinner was nothing but dessert.
The meal didn’t matter. The people did, and do. The memories hold their place because of the time spent together, not because anything was perfect. Maybe that story stays with me because the whole concept feels so foreign now.
As I look at the week or two ahead, I’m wondering if I can reverse a little of the stress and overproduction. A simple meal. A potluck. Maybe just some good cheese and a shared bottle of wine — and the vulnerability to let someone see the house as it actually is. Let’s make it uncomplicated.
P.S. — Our Rosé and a plate of good cheese might be the easiest evening there is. We’re down to the last of it for summer, so grab one while it’s here.
