Personal essays
On sharing memories around a table filled with food.
Some day
Some time last year Maggie and I talked about doing something to mark twenty years since Elena died and ten years since Kim died.
There’s something about round numbers.
We talked about having a small gathering for family and maybe a few people.
Last year this year was far enough away that it seemed like something we should do.
And then, as they say in books, time passed.
Autumn turned into winter. Winter turned into spring.
Maggie remembers everything. I mean, I have a good memory, but she remembers everything.
Before spring could turn into summer, Maggie brought it up again.
I looked at the state of my house and thought, “I don’t know. I can’t really have people come here.”
As if reading my mind, Maggie looked around and said, “we can do it. I’ll help.”
We went to Japan. She visited over Memorial Day.
“So,” you say, “spring turned into summer.”
Yes. Spring turned into summer. On the other hand, my house had not magically become presentable.
I hired a handy man to take care of a torn shutter and a dozen other items that came up. I hired a company to paint my house. I looked for landscapers to clean up the yard.
None of that got the house in shape for thirty or more people.
Little by little
In the past two weeks Maggie has pushed me towards getting everything in order a little bit at a time.
She knew I’ve been meaning to replace my lawn chairs and she happened to find some on sale on our way back from a visit to my mother.
She and a friend were out the next day and happened to pass two matching reclining chairs that someone had put out on the front lawn. Actually there were three but two were in new condition and just needed a wash.
We have a canopy in the backyard we bought for Maggie’s high school graduation party. It’s a metal frame with a tent covering.
Over two winters the tent got worn and torn and we’ve had a useless metal frame in the back yard for ten years.
But, Maggie remembers everything.
She reminded me that years ago I told her we ordered a replacement tent covering.
She sent me down to the basement to find it.
Miraculously, I was able to put my hands on the box, blow the dust off, and bring it upstairs.
It was addressed to Kimberli Diemert and shipped in June 2016. Kim died that August.
Ten years ago. One of those round numbers.
We took the tent out to the back yard and Maggie helped me pull it over the frame.
Just like that we have an outdoor area available.
And then
Inside Maggie has been pushing me little by little - the key is for me to not feel her hand on my back. By the way, that’s the key to pushing her as well.
I get up pretty early while Maggie goes to bed pretty late. In between we’ve been visiting friends, eating, going to games, and preparing for the party.
I’d come down in the morning and notice the living room is much cleaner with a few piles of my stuff left.
Maggie had straightened a lot but left the things I had to go through.
After a few days of this the downstairs was starting to look pretty good.
“You have to clean the kitchen,” she said.
I did. And all of a sudden I had some shelf space for items I’d left in the dining room.
The house hasn’t looked this orderly since Kim died.
Four days before the party I started cooking pancakes in eight different colors and more bacon and sausage than thirty people could possibly eat.
I first made colored pancakes for Elena twenty-five years ago and we hosted a breakfast on her birthday for the ten years after she died.
Then Kim died and people stopped coming over. Not all at once - but over time. And it may not have been them - it might have been me. And then we all locked ourselves away for COVID. And then -
And then.
Show time
The morning of the party I got up at seven to finish some items that I’d promised Maggie I would do.
I meant to the night before as she put together a slide show that would run on the TV with memories of Kim and Elena.
I ran out of steam and told her I’d finish in the morning.
I cleaned off the buffet and moved chairs into the living room. I prepared an urn of coffee that I would plug in just before guests arrived. I mixed six quarts (roughly liters) of pink Country Time lemonade and put the full dispenser in the refrigerator.
Maggie came down around nine, ran the vacuum one more time, and helped me arrange the table.
We placed a cutting board for the bagels, plates for the butter and cream cheese, the syrup, a huge plate for the pancakes, and two bowls for the meat on the table.
Everything was coming together.
I plugged in the coffee, put out the lemonade, and plugged in the coffee.
I preheated the oven. When my phone buzzed to tell me the oven was ready - because sometimes the oven needs to reach me to tell me things - I put a third of the bacon, a third of the sausage, and one of the eight bags of pancakes in the oven.
And then it was eleven and people started to arrive.
A half hour later the house was full of love - just like it used to be.
We shared our favorite memories and made some new ones.
Essay from Dim Sum Thinking Newsletter 328. Read the rest of the Newsletter or subscribe