C: The Really Important Stuff

Keep your friends close.  I mean it!  Those who have been reading this blog for very long know that V and I are close.  We talk almost everyday.  We go way—waaaaay—back!  That picture on the right is my fourth birthday party.  That’s V on the left with me, the birthday girl, in the light-colored frock, both of us blowing party noise makers.  She and I can both describe my birthday cake to you—it was a circus “Big Top” cake, and we were so very impressed with it.

Because of our long history, V knows things about me I’d rather you didn’t—no matter, I know some things about her, too, so my secrets are safe!  And she is a loyal, wise friend; I never doubt that.

I don’t know what I’d do without V; she has been unbelievable support through the trials of my last couple of years.

And she’s non-judgmental, too!

Take  the other night.  On a whim and at last minute, I decided to have MIL and V and her husband, R, to dinner.  Must try out that new grill, you know!  Son and I began spiffing up the house and working some outside to prepare for guests, and everything went wrong.  I have a Kubota tractor and two riding lawn mowers.  MIL has a new fancy lawn mower.  N.o.t  o.n.e  s.i.n.g.l.e.  o.n.e.  of these pieces of machinery would  work!  I had banged up MIL’s mower blade by hitting a hidden log.  The other two won’t start, having yet to be fixed up after the winter. The tractor has a direly flat tire which won’t inflate.  Got to figure that one out, both budget-wise and getting the tire replaced or fixed.

Therefore, we were having guests with overgrown yard, front and back.  Oh, well.

I set about getting ready for dinner.  We had purchased a rotisserie for my new grill.  The plan was to poke that sucker through some Cornish hens and roast them, along with ears of corn.  So, I hosed the considerable pollen off the back porch, cleaned up the tables and chairs out there, and squirted the grill really well, too.  I had not purchased a cover yet, so it was “pollinated,” too.

I went to get the rotisserie and could not locate it.  I recall that it was in  the back of that Home Depot truck that was used to deliver the grill home.  I asked Son.  He helped me search…not on the front porch…not on the back porch…we looked everywhere.  Finally, I decided I had left it at the store.  No rotisserie chickens for us…never mind, I’d just grill them.

I went to light the grill with the auto-light feature.  No dice.  Over and over I tried.  I stooped to figure out the problem—not rocket science.  The guts were dripping with water.  I had apparently drowned the grill in my zeal to get it clean.

Okie-Dokie.

So, it was back to oven-roasted.  I got the chicks ready, the table set, and all went well.  The hens were coming done just as our guests arrived.  We visited a few minutes and pretty much went straight to the table.  It was as we were sitting down that I noticed that R had to squeeze between the table and the standing ironing board and iron which I had meant to put away and had not quite gotten to it…

And, you know, as we bowed our head to give our thanks for our food, I found myself saying to God (to my guests’ chuckles), “And thank You for friends and mothers-in-law who will come to dinner and not care one whit if the lawn is mowed or the ironing board is put up!”

We had a grand time!  The food was good, Son had someone to go shoot with him a few minutes outside, and the company and conversation was stellar.  Not a tense thing about it.

All because of good friends.

As I closed the front door, having bid my friends “Good Night,” I sighed with contentment as I turned on my heel to head to bed…and spied the rotisserie leaned up in the corner of the dining room.

Ah, well; maybe next time!  C