Some of my people (and I) went up to Westchester this weekend, nominally because one of us was cat-sitting, truly because we are all whores for swimming and grilling and other weekend-as-verb activities. Jen explained it like being a kid, but with access to alcohol and fire. Very true.
Friday night was for the girls, and we made ourselves a delicious dinner and then we went swimming in the dark, because we couldn’t figure out how to turn on any pool lights. That’s okay, we lit a bunch of candles and it was super romantic. Too bad we’re all straight/married/taken, right? I slept peacefully in the woodsy basement of our friends’ converted barn, with the smell of grass coming in through the window and chlorine in my hair.
In the morning, Lavina and I were the early birds and we chucked Jen and Mim out of their nests, and into showers, so we could go to IHOP. Long gone are the days when those pancakes were the most amazing pancakes I’ve ever had. We talked at breakfast about first-day-of-school outfits, and who wore Keds, and how rebellious we were as daughters on a scale of stolen kisses to hair flipping.
Then the dudes joined us and the pool party began in earnest. We spent most of the day in the pool, or making lunch or dinner, or lounging in the living room playing with toy guns. Dinner was a variety of grilled meats, and vegetables, and salads, and everyone contributed, and we agreed that cooking dinner for eight is best managed by six. Our friends’ house, where we were squatting (gracefully! neatly!) lacked for nothing, NOTHING, in the kitchen.
“Where would the ______ be?”
“That drawer, probably.”
“So it is.”
Then we went night-swimming again, where I realized that executing a perfect dive is a lot scarier into a dark pool. In the morning, we were happily surprised by continued sunshine, and we threw together a breakfast fit for kings, with pancakes and amazing bacon and fruit salad. It was better than IHOP. Is there anything more grown up than making breakfast better than IHOP?
I think it’s bloody marvelous of me to have such incredible friends, don’t you? People you can spend 48 hours with without wanting to stab are not easy to come by. One of the things I’ve realized lately is that my friends are good people, decent and intelligent and engaged and caring. My closest friends are the ones who are constantly in touch, constantly spending time together and renewing the strong bonds. Kinship is another one of those values – like love, and trust, and fidelity – that can come at a whimsy but requires work to keep buoyant. I always said that there were friends I would keep regardless of how close we remained. It’s true, but it’s also not paying dividends. I will spend more time this year doing my part.
Aside from all these thinky-thinks brought on by excellent #1 good time with friends, there were riper-than-ripe cherry tomatoes from the garden. I can’t stop thinking about them. I guess we’re just going to have to move to the ‘burbs and grow tomatoes. Only Stuart will call them tomahtoes.