I love cooking for people.
Listening to very loud metal while I make salads or marinate all manner of delicious meaty things. People sit in the backyard, shifting chairs beneath the sun, the weather in that annoying stage of the sun being too hot but the shade being too cold.
People laugh, bubble-wine sparkles, and mini stories are told in small conversations between friends.
Autumn barbecues are the best ones of all.
After hours of hungover waiting, it all came together – the meat, the salads, the donated rice, that glorious centrepiece – Shan’s Terteh Behrk.
And then it happened. That warm, comfortable silence that descends upon a dinner table, declaring the meal a triumphant success. The delicate symphony of cutlery on plastic plates, of exultant sighs or declarations of pride at someone’s ability to eat their entire plate before anyone else (Maddie).
It was, she declared, her favourite day.
It even included Surprise, Chicken! from our neighbour-cousin. She was right. A favourite day indeed.
Who needs troubles when you have tummy-friends and heart-friends all in the one place, all at the one time?
It’s cold out there now. 24 hours after it all began.
Today is the day for a sunny-corner picnic, but I’ve already been into the leftovers.
Maybe I’ll just copy the cats and go and curl up next to the fence. Those weeds do actually look really soft.