Fete Impromptu

I grew up in the kind of house that people tended to turn up at around dinner time -- stray friends of my sisters or mine whose families didn't always eat dinner together, mostly -- and we often pulled up an extra chair or two before sitting down to have our moment of silence (when we were feeling Quakerly) or to sing "the song" (a tradition inherited from Emmett's mother's college sorority).

I also remember occasionally waking up to find cousins crashed out on the couch -- we had a whole slew of them who were about ten years older than me and in that phase of life where you can head out on a road trip from Boston and wind up a week later in LA at four in the morning knowing your uncle and aunt don't lock their doors. This may not have happened all that often, actually, and it's quite possible these cousins had called ahead to make their sleeping arrangements. But the impression I got was that people were prone to appear in our livingroom unannounced, with their crazy road stories, huge appetites, and incredible bedhead.

My dad's house was like this too, in its own way. When I was in that crazy road trip phase myself, I knew my friends and I could always count on a plate of cookies and a cheerful note to greet us when we finally straggled into the driveway at one o'clock on Thanksgiving morning. (Come to think of it, this was still true as recently as July!)

I never did have much of a clue about what I wanted to be when I grew up, but I knew I wanted to create that kind of easy-going welcoming spirit in my own house someday. After college I lived in a group house that definitely fit the bill. We hosted huge spaghetti dinners every Tuesday. People dropped by at 10 pm most nights to watch Star Trek and eat beer bread with us. On the weekends our couch was frequently occupied by a sweet guy who came over on the ferry from his submarine post in Bremerton. I felt like we had achieved some kind of milestone the day a bike messenger friend wandered in just after dinner and asked if we still had those clippers and would I mind shaving his head? Sure, Kelly, have a seat. Mark just made some brownies -- here, have one. It was that kind of house.

It's a whole different ballgame with kids in the picture (easier and harder in different ways) and definitely not as effortless as my parents made it look, but I do feel like we have managed to instill this kind of spirit in our family. It helps that so many of the neighbors share our vision.

Last night it was our turn to host the weekly Mead Street dinner, which has grown from two households to three and sometimes four. Life being what it is, we hadn't been able to find a completely free evening on the calendar this week, so I was going to have to slip out at ten of seven to go to a meeting over at the school. This minor inconvenience didn't stop the meal from becoming a hastily-arranged one-day-early birthday party, however.

At 4:30, as I was getting started on a huge pot of corn chowder, Amy called to see what we were up to. An hour later she and her girls were there with a salad, just as Andrew came in the door with a mysterious but very promising white bakery box. Then came Lily, who was also due at the school meeting at seven. The Streets arrived en masse, with an extra child in tow -- Okay, maybe we should make a quick batch of mac 'n' cheese and set up a kids table in the kitchen? Andrew leapt into action. Just as we were handing out glasses of wine, Linda arrived to complete the picture. Chowder, salad, bread & cheese for everyone -- we sang the song in semi-unison from our two tables, then dug right in. A quick lighting & blowing out of the candles on the marzipan birthday cake, and Lily and I sped out into the night, leaving everyone else to cope with a pack of jacked-up children and a mountain of dirty dishes.

Thanks to the many people who made this moment possible: to all the attendees for being such lovely human beings, and for adapting so readily to the 11th hour party planning; to parents and grandparents for teaching us how it's done; to Mimsey, for passing the song along to three generations of Keelers and many others; to Martha for bringing the most amazing cookie ever; to Lily for making my desperate departure from my own birthday party a little less lonely and pathetic; to Lauren, who picked out the marzipan cake, arrived after I had already left, and was still there chatting with Josie when I got back from the meeting; and to Andrew, for rising to the challenge & going with the flow.