Last Saturday, we got together with the four friends with whom we have periodic wine-and-cheese gatherings. Heretofore, Anne and Todd have hosted these gatherings. They’re great at it. We all know what to do when Anne and Todd put the word out about a wine and cheese. We think of what great things to bring to eat and drink. When we get to Anne and Todd’s, we divest ourselves of outerwear and shoes, take our goodies to the kitchen, share them, chat. Pretty straightforward. We’ve done this enough times that we have what amount to assigned seats in Anne and Todd’s living room. We could rearrange ourselves, but why would we? We’re cozy and comfortable. The parties are great. The system works.
Then came my pelvis-breaking fall, a week after which Anne and Todd announced they’d like to have a wine-and-cheese. No problem, they said: we’ll bring the party to you.
Yikes! I thought. Yikes! I no longer remember if I knew yet that my sister Carol was coming to help us out. I do remember that the morning she was due to arrive, I leaned a forearm on our kitchen counter and stuck. By the time Carol got here, I had finished cleaning the counters. But, with every step dependent on the walker, that had taken the whole morning.
Thank goodness for Carol. She cleaned. She cooked. She talked and laughed with us. She even said she was glad to do it. By the time Saturday night rolled around, the house was ready for guests. Carol had even made crème brulee as our contribution to the party. People came. We ate and talked and moved from chair to chair. The gathering wasn’t as cozy as it is at Anne and Todd’s, but it was warm and supportive. Our friends are wonderful.
My healing goes well—ahead of the curve, according to the various health professionals involved. I still use a walker, but today the physical therapist who comes to the house cleared me to use one with four wheels. The walker I’ve been using only has two; the other two feet wear itty-bitty skis. Prakash, the PT, says the four-wheeled walker will be easier outdoors. We even have a four-wheeled one in the house. It was my Dad’s. It’s red. It has a seat. It has handbrakes. It’s practically a racer. I’d consider outfitting it with handlebar streamers, but my hope is to graduate to a cane before long.
Tanya came over this afternoon to borrow some black olives. She said she was making seven-layer dip. “On a school night?” I asked. “Well, it’s Saint Patrick’s Day.” “And we celebrate with seven-layer dip? What’s Spanish for Patrick?” We spent some time thinking about that, but couldn’t come up with an equivalent. She did mention that Cory was bringing home some Irish bread beer.
Prakash came and went. Then it was time for seven-layer dip and libations on Cory and Tanya’s patio, with the same group of friends we’d seen Saturday night. The party didn’t have to be at our house this time. As long as I could go through Cory and Tanya’s house to get there, their patio was accessible to me. It was seventy degrees out today. Who ever heard of seventy degrees on Saint Patrick’s Day? Tanya greeted me with good news: she’d thought of the Spanish version of Patrick. Patricio. Good to know.
We sat outside chatting for quite a while. Given that we made the switch to Daylight Saving Time last weekend, we’re already begun the season of lingering evenings. We enjoyed the company and the comestibles until the temperature began to drop, then adjourned to our respective abodes.
We hadn’t been home long when the phone rang. It was our neighbor Elaine, who said she’d made some banana bread she’d like to bring over. She and Frank had been getting updates on my condition from my husband, and she wanted me to know they’d been thinking about me.
A few minutes later, both she and Frank walked up to our door, with banana – chocolate chip – blueberry bread and a card. We showed them the completed family room project. They told us their new grandchild is a girl, in a family that specializes in boys. The baby’s name is Ruth. Her parents and grandparents call her Ruthie, and her big brother calls her Ruthio. Which has a nice ring to it and sounds good with Patricio.
All in all, nothing momentous happened today. But it was a day of progress and of fellowship with people we hold dear. Best Saint Patricio’s Day ever.
18 March 2022