Gathering Interest
... or, why I make guacamole at 5 a.m.
A few days ago I hosted a small family brunch for My Youngest Son’s birthday. He is turning 29 which seems inconceivable to me. All those clichés that older people trot out about “where did the time go” and (worse still) "but it just seems like yesterday” are suddenly not as irritating as they are chilling. I mean, part of me is indignant about slip-sliding into a particular age group and part of me is just shocked.
(Which, I believe sadly, is also a cliché).
Anyway, the side door opened and they (my dearest friend in the world, my two sons, their partners and 2 very enthusiastic dogs) spilled in, deep booming laughs at the ready and that special brand of happy, tribal reassurance that comes with gathering with people who will always love you no matter what.
I had risen well before dawn to get everything underway and we enjoyed a ramshackle kind of brunch that I knew everyone would like. There were eggs with sunset yolks baked in cups of Italian ham, hash brown potatoes, guacamole (because everyone enjoys), tiny tomatoes drizzled with Balsamic and cut into pointy little crowns like my mum used to and a vat of crispy, trustworthy sausages. There were also croissants and my lovely sister-in-law contributed a trio of jams including some orangey jewel-hued quince jelly that she’d made herself and which was very well received. (This reminded me of the days when the boys were teenagers still at home and I eventually had to resort to hiding any food stuffs that I wanted to have a taste of myself or that were intended for another meal. Example: I left a roasted tenderloin in the fridge and when I came to retrieve it for dinner, only a smear of jus remained on an empty plate. It was allegedly mistaken by ‘someone’ as suitable filler for an entire baguette …)
Uh-huh.
Frantic gift unwrapping followed with more laughter, rib-crushing hugs, Prosecco flutes and a myriad of different conversations which ebbed between three groups and then flowed naturally back into one again. I felt such overwhelming gratitude for this moment. No one here was making awkward weather-conversation or asking more than once about how work is going, in a stilted, desperate middle aged way.
There was so much else to talk about!
And, if I’m being honest, sometimes much for me to Google afterwards when I may not have fully understood a reference …
I sometimes sit back and drink all this in as an observer, as though I am watching a film and the camera is panning in an arc, resting briefly on fleeting expressions, the very slight lines starting to show as they laugh and the smooth, still beautiful face of my best friend with her pale blue eyes full of kindness.
I want to hold onto this feeling tightly, uncork it at a later time when I am feeling less certain of my place in the world and all its assorted treacheries.
My Youngest Son’s dogs - one of whom is still a pup, a spotted fellow called Percy - were on their very best behaviour and after engaging in some general rollicking about the house settled down with their blankets and respective bones (one of which may have belonged to a gazelle at some point) and were ideal citizens. (A few remaining sausages may have been distributed as well).
My own terrier, Stanley, who is frightened of other dogs and prone to vocal rudeness spent the time upstairs and seemed blissfully unaware of the visit. (He did receive a special biscuit or two as a bribe reward for this and yes, sausages too).
When they left (everyone received a care parcel of lemon bars since they had no room for dessert) and I closed the door against a swirl of snow, the house was eerily silent once more. I was also keenly aware that for now, I am off their radar once more as they lower themselves back into busy lives with deadlines, laundry and hopefully, a few Sunday afternoons spent in bed. Meanwhile, we cleared away the plates, washed greasy baking sheets and took down the ‘Happy Birthday’ banner from the wall. Stanley’s collar clinked as he inspected every corner of the room with snuffling interest.
It’s a very strange thing to actually be cognizant of the fact that I am making memories for my boys, to hope they will remember our gatherings and maybe try to recreate their own one day.
I understand it’s only brunch - but it feels like more than that.
Elegant, articulate writing, profoundly stated. I love your food descriptions: "A vat of crispy, trustworthy sausages." Wow!
What a wonderful post! I could almost hear the joyful clatter of silverware on the plates and laughter at shared stories! I am always amazed at what memories my children have of family events and what traditions they have carried into their families!