Knowing Neighbors

June Cleaver did it in pearls and heels. If not, she surely considered it. Supping with folks who live near by. Not exactly a progressive dinner concept where each house hosts one course of the meal. This summer night, we're not moving from place to place but rather are collectively assembling food and friends at the house across the street.

Co-mingling favorite dishes is fun for everyone. We're a congenial group of three children and nine adults. Women vastly outnumber the men, but they can hold their own with this crowd. Rick will be the master grilling guy. He'll supervise burgers and salmon, as well as an array of fresh vegetables. The ladies will create a display of salads, condiments, rolls, and desserts. The little girls will do their part by swimming in the pool and entertaining the rest of us with an original impromptu theatrical production.

My contributions are two salads and two desserts. One dessert is a cheater. I bought a dense dark chocolate cake at Fresh & Easy. I believe the calories are oozing out of the container and I dare not lift the lid to investigate. The homemade confection represents a bit of brazen bravery. I'm testing a new recipe on these unsuspecting folks. The photo looks amazing, the directions aren't too difficult. Working my way through the various steps encompassed nearly two hours. Not the smartest decision on a broiling hot day. Who needs to use an oven when the whole desert is already one? I did it anyway. I may not confess as to the provenance of the dish. At least it will be pretty. Sometimes that's all that matters with food.



Wilting temperatures fade behind our glorious mountains and a welcome breeze causes people to stir. We can sit outside without losing consciousness. Perhaps it's because the pool exudes just the appropriate ambience and we all feel cooler even if we actually aren't.



Joining our beloved next door family is the new trio from Olympia. They aren't one bit bothered by the heat and see it as a welcome talisman to an endless winter in the northwest. Shorts predominate along with sleeveless shirts. The Bushes brought with them another Washington based couple, dear friends who've never been exposed to stifling desert heat. They are smiling, nonplussed by triple digits. One additional guest is also a neighbor. Kathleen is someone we've never met although we've noticed her walking past our house with an elegant pair of Airedales.

With no dinner hour established, there's time for talking, sharing life stories, and watching the girls frolic in the water. Each is a sprite, supremely at home in the blue-tinged liquid.



Three guys grill. There's a moment when an errant hamburger patty, perfectly cooked, slips between the bars and is lost and briefly lamented. Salmon's smoking and emits a tantalizing aroma. Grilled veggies look so good they could almost entice those who usually demur.



It's after eight when the meal is served. We're all hungry despite delicious appetizers nibbled the last several hours. Food totally tastes better consumed outdoors on a starry night. Sunshine is a distant memory. Tonight we're feasting without that burning light.

On a brief visit home to place remnants of a salad in our frig, I find Alex. She's devoured her favorite unturkey sandwich and is reading Tolkien. I insist that she join us and she does. Munching on fresh watermelon slices and plump strawberries from the farmer's market, she knows she's made a good decision.

Alex is a longtime friend of Caitlin's, born the very next day. I claim her as my second daughter. The one who is left-handed. Worn weary from another year immersed in her PhD program, she's elated to have survived (not unexpected by us) her oral exams. Now she'll focus on the dissertation process, graduation and a college faculty appointment somewhere. Our house is a haven where she is surrounded by quiet, fussed over endlessly, and completely at home. She is family, too.

The adults watch politely as the young ladies parade around the pool, declaring themselves 'zombies.' They make somewhat scary noises and regroup every few minutes to add another 'act' to their repertoire. Endlessly cute and creative, they inject zest into to our gathering, quite cool in their summer jammies.



By 10 p.m., the night is finished for us. We're grateful that our house is just across the street. A very satisfying social occasion. The Strawberry meringue vanished with accolades. Whew! It can appear again at some future gathering, I suppose.

The next day there's a large load of laundry that needs attention. Alex has several heavy coats used for camping in Idaho recently. They smell of campfires. She's depleted from too much sun and considers a snooze before driving to Los Angeles. I attend to the laundry and make sure that items which should not be dried are hung on the patio where the wetness evaporates almost instantly. It takes me only a few minutes to sort and fold the clean-smelling clothes once the dryer cycle is finished.

Alex awakens refreshed and is happily surprised by the neat piles on the breakfast bar. She says, "There's nothing better than taking a nap and finding out that your laundry has been folded." I smile. I'm a mom. It's what we do. No questions asked. I have a laundry thing anyway.



After nearly a quarter century at this house, knowing our neighbors is bliss. So is hosting favorite people.