Before CoVid, the neighbors on our court got together for picnics on Memorial Day and Labor Day. On Monday, we had the first court picnic since then. It was great. Also, the flier that went around announcing the event beforehand was a big improvement over the old one.
The old flier instructed everyone to bring two dishes to pass, your own beverage, your own plates, glasses, and flatware, and your own table and chairs. Which always seemed a bit much. The new flier said to bring a dish to pass and left potential picnickers to figure out the logistics. More welcoming, less bossy.
Of course, that still leaves you lugging tables. Years ago, six of us decided to share a table at court picnics, a plan that has held up well. Alas, one of our number has died, so I showed up early to help carry the designated table. Only to learn that the table is no more, either. It took an unfortunate header off the deck and cracked. Furthermore, the surviving householder felt unready to face the day’s crowd and would thus not be joining us.
Accordingly, I went to Cory and Tanya’s to see if I could help carry their table. And learned that Herbie the cat had had unexpected surgery the day before and had proved so adept at removing his cone of shame that he now needed constant supervision. Cory had prepared brownies and brats for the picnic, but he and Tanya would be tag teaming their picnic attendance.
When I started for home, my sweetheart was carrying a table from our back yard. Was it the presentable glass one that we actually use? It was not. The glass one’s too heavy. He was toting the horrible one we only use to throw gardening supplies on when we’re working out back. The one that used to be green but is now mostly bare metal and rust. Argh! He suggested a tablecloth.
The weather was perfect, possibly the best weather we’ve had for a court picnic. We brought coleslaw and stuffed manicotti, in addition to the table, chairs, plates, glasses, and flatware. And tablecloth. We enjoyed the fare and the convivial company.
At one point, a toddler climbed up on one of the chairs at our table, a delightful occurrence. He was preverbal, but the others present carried the conversational ball engagingly enough that he stayed with us for a pleasant interlude.
Next up were two teenagers and their mom. That is correct. Two teenagers not only sat with us but conversed engagingly. It’s been a delight watching them grow up. She just graduated from college, and he graduates from high school next month. She went to art school. And is he still active in drama? Yes. This weekend, he said, the high school is presenting a piece that he wrote and directed.
We asked for deets, and the whole family provided them. The play sounds highly entertaining, and sister and mom assured us it was. It’s part of the school’s annual Finale performance, and they’d attended a rehearsal.
“I’m not just saying this because I’m your mom,” she told her son, “but yours was the best. It would have been my favorite even if I weren’t your mom.” The young man’s sister was just as enthusiastic. They’ve always been a lovely family.
The picnic also afforded everyone the opportunity to meet the cadre of dogs that moved to the court along with the three new families. One of the dogs looks to be a miniature border collie. Who knew they came in miniature? I googled it and learned that they’re entirely border collies that, for whatever reason, are smaller than usual.
The real showstopper was a small and fluffy zoomer who engaged with everyone, human, beast, or—best of all—toddler. When pup and toddler caught each other’s eye, they were drawn toward each other by sheer animal magnetism. Once near, the dog plunked itself down on its stomach in the grass, tail wagging hard. Off it ran again, circling wide before plunking down again. The dog never let the boy quite catch him, but the boy had a wonderful time trying.
When it was time to pack up, a neighbor for whom it was easy picked up our table to return it to our patio. At the driveway, he asked if I wanted to take the tablecloth inside.
“No,” I said. “Then you’d see how bad the table is.”
“Too late,” he answered, with a smile. “I saw it when it came out.”
Teasing aside, it was a fine picnic. We’ll do it again on Labor Day.
29 May 2026