parfait, anyone?
Life is like a parfait.
Take last night, for example. It was a rather impromptu gathering. In the kitchen, there were eight sweet faces at the table. In the living room, there were six. These six dined at a lower level than the aforementioned, being seated "Moroccan-style" on cushions around our low-slung coffee table. We threw an exotic table cloth and a few brass candlesticks on it and voila. Moroccan dinner. Never mind that the fare was pasta and sauce, Italian bread and salad.
But the parfait part.
After the meal, Hubby and I lingered long at the kitchen table to swap tender words with Friends #88a and #88b. The living-room gang was raucous, as their youth dictated they should be. Some kind of game was invented which involved index cards, shouting, pointing, and side-splitting silliness. The two youngest darlings were in the back room with boxes of toys. Every now and then, a crazy whoop came through the wall which assured us that the boys were 1. being airplanes 2. being robots 3. being spiderman/superman/electro-magnetic stupendous man 4. a combination of all.
With the best background soundtrack parents could wish for, we sat leaning in toward each other, the candles giving a glow and a flickering shadow bringing a softness to what could be called wrinkles, if the lighting had been more direct. We are of the same ages and have been married longer than we ourselves can grasp.
We talked of our children and God's plans for them. We talked of seasons in our lives. We shook our heads in wonder at the things we don't yet understand. Our life-paths haven't always made complete sense to us, but here we were at a blessed intersection, sharing our children's best years, wiping up salad dressing with heels of bread and wondering together about the next curve in the road. --Because we are old enough and have had enough spins on the merry-go-round to know there are curves in the road.
We assured each other of continued prayers. A tear or two was shed, but it was rather dark and anyway, we are old friends. What's to worry about a tear or two?
No, we did not have parfaits for dessert. But the after-dinner offering did include sweet layers of varying texture and a little drizzle of bitter chocolate.
Proverbially, of course.
Take last night, for example. It was a rather impromptu gathering. In the kitchen, there were eight sweet faces at the table. In the living room, there were six. These six dined at a lower level than the aforementioned, being seated "Moroccan-style" on cushions around our low-slung coffee table. We threw an exotic table cloth and a few brass candlesticks on it and voila. Moroccan dinner. Never mind that the fare was pasta and sauce, Italian bread and salad.
But the parfait part.
After the meal, Hubby and I lingered long at the kitchen table to swap tender words with Friends #88a and #88b. The living-room gang was raucous, as their youth dictated they should be. Some kind of game was invented which involved index cards, shouting, pointing, and side-splitting silliness. The two youngest darlings were in the back room with boxes of toys. Every now and then, a crazy whoop came through the wall which assured us that the boys were 1. being airplanes 2. being robots 3. being spiderman/superman/electro-magnetic stupendous man 4. a combination of all.
With the best background soundtrack parents could wish for, we sat leaning in toward each other, the candles giving a glow and a flickering shadow bringing a softness to what could be called wrinkles, if the lighting had been more direct. We are of the same ages and have been married longer than we ourselves can grasp.
We talked of our children and God's plans for them. We talked of seasons in our lives. We shook our heads in wonder at the things we don't yet understand. Our life-paths haven't always made complete sense to us, but here we were at a blessed intersection, sharing our children's best years, wiping up salad dressing with heels of bread and wondering together about the next curve in the road. --Because we are old enough and have had enough spins on the merry-go-round to know there are curves in the road.
We assured each other of continued prayers. A tear or two was shed, but it was rather dark and anyway, we are old friends. What's to worry about a tear or two?
No, we did not have parfaits for dessert. But the after-dinner offering did include sweet layers of varying texture and a little drizzle of bitter chocolate.
Proverbially, of course.
posted by thisrequiresthought at 6:17 AM
1 Comments:
Anyone looking for a ghost writer should hire Nancy. That's my opinion.
You capture life SO beautifully, Nancy.
Ann
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