Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

Last night I put away the china. It took hours because in my years I have accumulated a hefty haul of the good stuff. And I was happy to do this because I found myself a lovely new china cabinet, actually quite old, at an antique auction that, for the first time in my entire adulthood, actually holds every single dish and platter and bowl and egg cup. Every single piece, which is to say that this is one gigantic old cabinet, moved to its new home in the back of a truck (hired via an app recommended by a dear friend who did not, understandably, want to move said cabinet herself) marked in grease paint: For Sale, $600 OBO. I'll dance around the price difference of cabinet and truck and note that I was noticeably nervous during the entire six block journey home (but happy to report that driver and helper were in fact most helpful and that we all arrived home safely scratch free).  But that is another story; this is the story of the contents, and not the cabinet.

My great aunt Margaret's china, a delicate old ivory pattern, fills most of my shelves . I have full place settings for at least 14, plus assorted creamers and soup tureens and finger bowls. My cousin has an equal amount of the same pattern; pooling our resources we could host a formal dinner for an entire classroom of kindergartners. I doubt we will do that, but we could.

Additionally I have 15 place settings of an old English china that I bought years ago at, oh dear, another antique auction (I'm drawn) because I liked it, and it reminded me very much of my grandmothers pattern, Autumn by Lenox. She collected and added to the pieces given to her at her wedding so that when it was time to share she had enough to stock the cabinets of several granddaughters. Many happy family dinners were served, and spilled, on those beautiful old plates. I trust that the tradition continues. My inheritance on the grandmother dining front came in the form of utensil, not dish, and for that I am quite pleased. But the china, and the vast quantity of it, always intrigued me. It was there for Sunday dinner, and Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter, but when else was it dirtied? What would I do with all these dishes? I was barely beyond microwave popcorn for dinner when she explained, "my dear, you have china so that when your husband brings home business associates you can serve a proper meal for them". She was serious, I'm not kidding.

You're thinking about all those last minute phone calls when Darren called Sam to tell her that he and Larry were on their way with very important clients, right? And of course then Endora appeared with Uncle Arthur just as Sam pulled out a pork roast and Tabitha made a circus tent with baby elephants appear on the front lawn, and Mrs. Kravitz ran to tell her husband about all she saw just as Larry and Darren pulled up with their guests and... yes, I know, me too. But Jack has not once called late in the day to tell me that he was on the way with Sean and very important clients, and it turns out that Jack is not the only one with a job so there's that poop in the oatmeal.

Unwrapping years and years of bubble wrap and placing my precious pieces in their new home I made a decision. We will host a last minute but carefully planned dinner. There will be no very important clients (my clients tend to be, average, about 10 years old) nor baby elephants but there will be colleagues and conversation and wine and lovely dishes. Jack is none to certain about this mixing of bankers and teachers but I'm confident we can pull it off. Do you work with either one of us? Want to come to dinner? Mimi would be so pleased.

A Late Announcement

Allyson, a daughter of Sharon of Kansas City, and the now late William, was married ten years ago today to Jack, a son of Dave and Mary of Lincoln, Nebraska. Reverend Patrick Sean Liam Flannagan, a Roman Catholic priest with an over the top Irish name, performed the St. Patrick's day nuptials at St. Clement Catholic Church in Chicago. The bride, who is known as Ally, is also the stepdaughter of Jackie and the also late Jack. The bride does not have great luck with regard to keeping wonderful fathers living.

Allyson, who will stick with the name she has been using for too long to consider changing, was, until ten years ago, a trust officer with UMB Bank in Kansas City, responsible for taking care of truly lovely old people who entrusted their financial concerns to a woman who had difficulty passing Algebra 101. The groom, who was also, and still is, a banker, is far more skilled in mathematical logic and will, forever, be responsible for balancing the family checkbook.

The bride's father worked in the soft drink industry, specializing in packaging products, at a company bearing his family name. Years of store deliveries to the bride's childhood home required Ms. Ally to kick a very long standing addiction to Tab when the soda became difficult to find on store shelves. The groom is still happily attached to his daily Coca Cola but finds that he prefers the version produced in Mexico, available at Hispanic markets all over Chicago. The bride now abstains from all soft drinks, as do their children. The bride's mother has retired from a life of random volunteer work and car pooling, and now spends her days inside collecting Ironstone, newspapers and soy sauce.

The groom's father is a meat inspector with the USDA, supervising a pork production plant in Nebraska. That his son chose to marry a woman who does not eat meat has proved to be very difficult. Convinced that she has just not yet had a good steak he has offered repeatedly to sign up the bride for the Omaha Steaks Meat of the Month Club. The bride is horrified but has graciously declined this kind offer. The groom's mother is a nurse who is thankful she no longer has to beg for grandchildren.

The couple met in June of 1996, at work, where Ms. Ally initially thought that Mr. Jack looked like a secret service agent who appeared to be far too stiff and boring to ever go for ice cream after work. That she does not actually like ice cream was not considered relevant. The groom immediately found the bride to be witting and charming, with dazzling blue eyes, cascading chestnut hair and a keen sense of style. They first had lunch together on the way to visit a mutual client. The groom ordered a very messy sandwich; his great concern about spilling on his suit did little to dispel the earlier notion that he was stuffy. When he appeared a few weeks later in the bride's next door office, long after the bank closed, to regale her with tales of a last minute post happy hour trip to New Orleans she realized that he might not be as dull as once she thought.

The couple, both avid baseball fans, went on their first outing, not called a date, to watch the Kansas City Royals host the Chicago Cubs. "I knew then that I wanted to marry someone just like Jack" Ms. Ally said, "but I had no idea that I would actually end up marrying him". The groom remembers that day as the hottest he has ever been in his entire life and spent several innings completely focused on the child directly in front of them, wondering if he was going to puke the chocolate malt he had just inhaled in the 95 degree heat. This was before the groom became painfully aware of his future wife's all compelling fear of vomit. "It was miserable, horribly hot, and she insisted on driving in her new Jeep. There was no top and no air conditioning, it was painful. I did enjoy the game though, Royals won", said Mr. Jack.

To the surprise of many the couple actually married and have stayed happily in that fashion for ten years. The groom, it turns out, does like ice cream and enjoys going out for a scoop or two of Chocolate Malt Supreme on any given day. The bride still does not like ice cream, but is always happy to go along.

What Are the Benefits?

Let's have a look at Jack's calendar this week, shall we? Let's see, Monday he was in the office but met a friend after work for a drink or two, outside on a lovely Chicago evening. Today he is in Wisconsin, golfing. Tomorrow he's out in the suburbs but will spend the afternoon at Wrigley. Thursday he will suffer through another grueling day behind the desk but thankfully Friday he's back on the course, taking in another 18 before taking off next week for a week with the family at the beach. Exhausting, really.

On my calendar this week? Tuesday, soccer in the morning, Friday, haircuts, and the rest of the week spent preparing us for a week at the beach. You can imagine, sunblock shopping and the like, it can wear a person out. From time to time I see that there are benefits to being the one working outside the home, specifically four hours chasing a small ball around a large grassy field, and driving that wonderful little cart, I could entertain myself for days with that cart alone. Not once in four hours would you have to decide who had the red crayon first, I imagine there would be little or no discussion as to the exact origin of the bloody nose, and certainly no one screams like mad when they don't get to use the potty first (I may be stretching here, I suppose that is possible but for argument's sake we'll assume not).

Of course there are benefits to my post as well, and sometimes I forget, say when I am at the grocery store and someone accidentally knocks down an entire stack of shampoo bottles, or when I wake up to Mary announcing that she forgot to put on her nighttime diaper, on those occasions I might forget then that there are days spent like this,

and while I would still take an hour or two on that cart, my days are blissfully full and the benefits well worth the effort.

Help Wanted?

As I ponder my return to the monetarily compensated workforce in September, I am reminded of the many characters with whom I have worked over the past twenty years:

• a woman with boobs so large she would place them on the break room table and rest her head,
  
• a boss who routinely cleaned his ears, and then inspected the loot, with the end of his glasses, in team meetings, client meetings, lunch meetings,
  
• an administrative assistant who refused to allow her picture to be taken, ever,
  
• a man who was convinced he was electronically charged and wore a grounding device, attached to his computer, and routinely forgot to remove it when he stood up,
• a saleswoman who said to the owner of the Chicago Bears, "I read you are a real ass, is that true?", (he bought something from her),
  
• a woman who bore a striking resemblance to the Golden Girls Rue McClanahan and said, when asked if she would breast feed, "ladies, these are for my husband",
• a woman who drove a 1972 Nova to work while wearing a full length fur coat,
• a waiter who attempted to guess the breast size of every, absolutely every, female customer,
• a woman whose husband liked to drink to excess and urinate on the furniture,
• a woman who, at every single holiday party, exposed some body part to those assembled,
• an attorney who flaunted taking the Victoria's Secret catalog to the restroom,
• a man who took a kitchen colander to the restroom with him to catch kidney stones,
• a woman who chased down and stalked crazy customers in her free time,
• a woman whose mother told her to bake pies to resolve conflicts with her "man", and she followed, and shared, that advice,
• a woman whose roommate hit a pedestrian with her car, and
• an assistant who microwaved potatoes in the break room for a dinner party she was having that night, at home.
  

In retrospect, life has been pretty dull, removed as I have been from the daily grind, and the daily escapades of my co-workers. And while I dread the thought of sending my charges off to kindergarten, this time soon over for us, I'm eager to be reunited with all the people who made my pre Mary and Kate days interesting. Although I could have lived without a few of them, every time I saw that colander walk across the bank lobby I felt a little less like pasta for dinner.