February 11, 2007
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I just got back from a spaghetti feed at my church. Of course, they don’t call it that. I knew it would be a bunch of families — It was a fundraiser for the middle school kids — and, since I hang out with the old ladies, I didn’t expect to know anyone. I saw one familiar face but he didn’t recognize me.
I found a table with someone near my age who was sitting alone. She said all the seats were taken but one, so I asked which one, leaving her the option of sticking me at the other end. She pointed to the chair across from her. Shortly the rest of her friends and family joined us, and the kid with the mic introduced our panel of judges. It was the annual sauce-off.
Playing waitress were 13- and 14-year-olds, shy and gangly in designer evening wear. Our waitress was the daughter of the couple I sat next to. These people were tall, thin, and gorgeous. But nice. Everyone at church is unusually nice. The woman I sat across from was a judge who had just put someone away “for a very long time.” The couple had read about it the paper and were asking questions. The judge was squirming, explaining the scary walks to her parking lot and the sort of people she now had as enemies.
An accordion player was circling the perimeter, and when he came up behind the judge I smiled. He didn’t remember me but I asked,
“Aren’t you going to sing?”
“Oh,” he perked up, “You’ve heard me.” He smiled, coming closer.
“I would be glad to.”
“He won’t even need the mic,” I told the judge, remembering how his voice carries.
“They won’t know; I’m singing for you.”
“Oh,” I blushed, glancing back at the rest of our table.
He’d crossed over to stand in front of me — Our table was on the far side of the room, closest to the judges and up against the wall — and when he hit his high note he held it long and loud enough to get the attention of everyone in the room, I’m sure. My back was to them but judging by the clapping, nobody missed it.
The blonde and beautiful yoga mom asked me,
“Does he sing with the opera?”
I paused long enough to decide I wouldn’t bring up bellydance.
“Probably,” I said, diving into sauce number three.
In dressing for the dinner I wondered why I put myself through these things. I wouldn’t know anyone, and it would be a bunch of people I wouldn’t have anything in common with. Just like I thought, it was me at some table of big shots who all knew each other. The one familiar face was the hired help, who before our interaction was skulking around the room, acting like he wished he were invisible. The five women who compete each year for the best sauce got the second serenade and from then on things picked up. That one familiar face made all the difference.
Comments (17)
just checking in exhausted, but, of course. We all share. We all learn from each other. here are moments in Joyce, dos Passos, Heaney, Deane, Fitzgerald, Hoeg, Least-Heat Moon, and many, many others famous and unknown, all of which I hold, in memory or because the books never stray far from my desktop, because they have just accomplished something with words that thrill me, that make me wonder, “how did they do that?” So, I’m honored.
What a nice dinner! I wish that I’d been there! Yeah! I know that there were faces that you didn’t know, but there WAS that face that you DID know!! And you spoke to people! That makes all of the difference in the world!!
Singing to you! How cool?!
Ah, but YOU made all the difference! You asked him to sing. Now if you had just gotten up and did a belly dance imagine how that party might have ended! If you had and I had been there, I would have danced too and it would have been an even better blast. Imagine if you had and the soccer moms had joined you in attempting to belly dance.
you brought back to me how much i hate these things too, and how if i know just one person it seems better…not much, but bearable. love the accordian player…the whole scene was very Lady and the Tramp….
Always the adventurer, you never disappoint me with the content. Keep blogging, you make me smile just at the chance to read you…marilyn
No-one paints a picture like you do, Pru. You bring the scenes and the people alive. How do you manage to take us into the interior and show us not only what you’re seeing, but enable us to understand what you’re feeling? Another perfect sketch… love them. xo
the oranges look like that because they aren’t sprayed…has no beaing on the taste. it’s the same with apples that are organic as opposed to the ones you see in the grocery store. these oranges are beyond delicious…so good.
So why DO you go? I hate those things and would never go alone. I’ll just write a check out if I want to support them. Lovely writing, though, as always.
That turned in to yummy fun.I love your description and how you handled the yoga mom. Not that she didn’t qualify for belly dance information, but the interaction was visible in my mind.
Those moments of song like that are wonderful. it’s weird but twice I have been sung to from a hired player. Yours here is so much better because everyone was able to hear his gift. With mine the gifts were…uhm, dubious, but they tried!
ryc: She doesn’t come around much so I can say it safely here. That girl is going through a phase of healing that I didn’t go through. She can be prone to fads sometimes, but she usually comes out of it for the better. I do not want to burst whatever hot air bubble she’s riding at the moment, but I do want to be with her when it pops. And then we will laugh and move on. She is a weird one these days! Thank you for mentioning it.
There’s enjoyment on many levels. Eating a lot of good spaghetti sauce is one!
this is one of my least favorite things to do… almost any fund raiser is! at least you found charm and joy! ryc: the doubt just happens. it’s not necessarily rooted in reality- but it remains a presence. i just need a bit of success right now i think. i’m not ready to write memoirs. there’s too much i can’t tell yet.
I hate social gatherings in general ,but especially when I don’t know anyone.RYC Usually when it scrolls wide like that it has to do with a picture that is too wide ,or very long words ,or words not spaced…i can fix it.I try to catch it but sometimes I miss it.Thanks for the heads up.
I’m glad you went. Social gatherings terrify me. I usually need one or two people there that I know. I’m working on it, though, and it’s always a blessed experience in one way or another
this left me with a big smile. If you hadn’t said the opening line- that one face might not have made the difference. — neat idea having the kids serve!
and it usually does..I find myself withdrawing more and more from public functions…
but I miss them, miss being out amongst people..good for you for getting out there
Now I’m trying to decide if everybody creates these scenes in my head, I mean once again there I was at the old spaghetti church dinner, sitting with the old ladies and looking for that face, knowing it probably wasn’t there. I don’t realize when I’m reading the brain functions happening, yet almost immediately after I realize, I was there, I saw it all. I know I’ve said it before but I am going to try to concentrate on if it’s just you and your writing, or something that occurs everywhere. I think it’s you!