T-Bone’s parents are in town.
I assume that at some point we will all reach an age where visiting parents will cease to be synonymous with heavenly meals. I mean, we are all (practically) adults at this point. We manage to feed ourselves 99% of the time. But I am 26 and a parent in town still pretty much garuntees a good meal, and I don’t see that trend dying anytime soon. Hell, my dad lives in Snohomish—less than an hour away—but pretty much every time we see each other we go out for some kind of meal. AND THAT IS AWESOME.
But do you know what is awesomer? I will tell you. An Italian meal made by someone’s Parents. They made sauce, and meatballs and eggplant parmesan and pasta ALL FROM SCRATCH. Like, at one point there was a pile of vegetables and some meat, and then suddenly (well—maybe suddenly isn’t the right word for it—clearly there was a lot of work involved, but Mom’s have a way of just sort of throwing things in very casually, as if anyone could do it when we all know that there must have been some sort of Mom Class taught in the late 70s because otherwise where did they all learn that whole spit on the thumb trick let alone how to cook for 8 hungry twenty-somethings without totally loosing their shit?) there was a MEAL.
It was a really good meal.
I was sitting there, surrounded by a group of people who have become my life here in Seattle, people that I didn’t know five years ago and now can’t imagine NOT knowing, and I couldn’t stop thinking about that, and then I was having one of those moments. One of those blissful moments when everything make sense in a very quiet sort of way. In the background you could hear the sounds of Norah Jones and people playing Mario Cart and a vehement assertion that Jameson is the whiskey of the oppressor, and the light was just fading outside and I was suddenly able to put a name to the emotion that was overtaking me. It was pride. Because I am not perfect and sometimes I am even a bit of a boob but in spite of that I have created a life that involves people like these and so I must be doing something right, because no one could credit all of this to simple luck.