Last night we made curries and had our first official couple hosted dinner party.
My ex husband and (I hope) BFF Phteven even joined us and I brought a plate over to mother in law next door.
My partner and husband (ex in October as our official and long overdue separation will be two years old that month) could not be more different in most ways. In very important, the most important ways they are similar or the same though. They are both excellent, kind, intelligent human beings who make me laugh and are (mostly) incredibly honest with me and themselves. Love them and love the ease with which they share space.
So the evening was, in no small part, engineered to show off our lime chutney to four of my partner’s friends. Unbeknownst to him, every one of our guests already knew each other. Rather well apparently as there were work and family connections and the two high school science (physics and biology) teachers had known each other since one had done her practicum teaching gig. Just saying, New Zealand is small. Really small. Really small and really wonderful and I Love this country so much it moves me to tears daily.
Back to our sassy lime pickle…
So I am seriously impressed with our combined skills in the kitchen, it has some bite and we adjusted the recipe with what I believe are STUNNING results. We made it from limes out of the orchard that was planted when our 6-year-old son was born. It is all fenced in now and we have a flock of chickens who are much loved. My curmudgeon of a mother in law, and absolutely one of the best friends I have ever or will ever have is the main caretaker of these girls. And she is the keeper and distributor of the eggs while I am just the cleaner of the coop and mite treatment giver. In the several years of having these feathered ladies share our leafy acre of land, we have lost two baby chicks one teenager and two beloved mature bantams. Loving and loss hurts. A lot.
Last night was so great. Less than an hour in I loudly (I do most things loudly) announced how terrified of people I have been for a long while now, and how nice it was to welcome kind, interesting, honest and powerful people into our home and then not have to work too hard and just be the loud, sweary, caring mess that I am. This was the second session of entertaining anyone who is not family since lockdown ended and we are going to be hosting these dinners every month with only between 2 and 4 guests, so we can easily and comfortably engage with everyone sharing our roof and our table. The first went equally well, but Damon was at his board meeting and didn’t arrive home until late. So this was our first time hosting as a couple. I said that? Yes I did. It’s a milestone though and I promised I would write at least 500 words a day every single fucking day, so this is the brain vomit of the moment, and I am going to post it raw and unedited because there will be a time and a place for slick, clean, well-crafted words.
This is just spit balling to see if I still got it. The ability to write that is…
Back to the breakdown of our dinner party:
Everyone arrived very near 5pm and were gone before 9. Laughter volumes were high and awkwardness was very low. Our teenage son Daniel sat at the “grown up table” and articulately held his own with humour, insight and humility.
How he came out of my body remains one of life’s great mysteries. All our kids are incredible and watching them in action as they teeter on the precipice of adulthood is a strange and wonderful thing.
There’s a lot in the heavens and on this earth that I don’t understand, but sure as shit appreciate with a sense of gratitude and wonder.
I certainly don’t know why there are so many fascist leaders and terrified angry people in the world right now. And I don’t know what makes some people so brave in times like these, or at any time. Brave enough to stand up and say: “This shit is NOT acceptable” when they see suffering and injustice. Brave enough to listen, to learn, and to not need to be right or better, but to be gracious and curious instead.
And I have no idea why I have to cope with so many fucking idiots. Particularly scared, cowardly, arrogant middle aged white idots parading around being annoying sealions. I learned the term from someone who is brave and most certainly NOT an idiot last night, sealion is an internet term for someone who thinks everyone thinks they are really smart, but in reality, they are insecure bullies who have no desire to be good people, they just want everyone to think they’re right. Manipulative muppets who embarrass themselves and always have the fate of a getting hoisted by their own petard.
I don’t even celebrate the poetic justice of it anymore. I just sit with gratitude in my own head and heart and feel blessed to have the life and tribe I do. Any yes, I do feel sad for them. Not sad or moved enough to welcome them into my home or engage with them on any level, ever. Seriously, who has time for second chances or wasting time with people who have clearly and abundantly demonstrated they are dipshits, while the world is changing at a pace never before comprehended, let alone witnessed.
Our guests were the farthest thing from idiots or dipshits. My partner said during our morning sway and snuggle time in the kitchen by the coffee machine, that there were going to be three Wahine toa (warrior women) at the table that night. He was right. These goddesses, along with all the others I know and Love are indeed brave warriors. We aren’t violent and we do not brandish swords or shields. Many of us use patience, charm, grace, wit, humour and intelligence as our are arsenal. But we are engaged in battle, most days.
I will leave it there at the crest of a wave of observation that really is worth delving deeper into.
I will leave it there because this is my domain. A blank page filled with my thoughts and not requiring validation or a call to action. Just happy to be writing. It is the single most selfish and selfless thing I do and it is something I will do every day now, because I want to and I can.