A few weeks ago, a new neighbor moved into the apartment next door. I've tried to wave and smile, but I'm also trying to wear a mask and keep six feet of distance between me and other people. It's hardly the most auspicious time to forge any new social bonds.
My neighbor seems to have no such qualms. He had a lot of family or friends over to help him move in, and he's had visitors since. I don't mean there are people visiting every day, but most of us have been pretty isolated these days, while he and his girlfriend have not. I've seen none of his guests wearing masks.
OK, fine, whatever. After a while the world will go back to normal and we won't have to worry about it, right? And in the meantime I can just hole up and not think about it. Right?
You'd think so. And then last weekend my neighbor set up his portable barbecue in the middle of the parking lot, and started barbecuing beef and chicken. Back up in his apartment his girlfriend was cooking up rice and refried beans, and warming corn tortillas. He had a bunch of friends over, kicking back, relaxing, and talking.
And as I walked past them on my way somewhere he waved and called out, "Hey! How ya doing? Want some food when it's ready?"
It's not that I'm a glutton. (OK, sure, I'm a glutton. What I mean is that it's not just because of that.) But the offer of sharing food calls into question all my interior defenses. Six years ago I wrote about "the spirituality of the dinner table." (At the time I claimed I'd written about it even earlier than that, but it's late and I'm partway drunk and I don't feel like hunting for it just now.) That's why I volunteered at a place where I could serve food [same link] up until the COVID-10 pandemic made them cancel all their volunteer help. Offering to share food with me is just a little bit like offering to share water with Valentine Michael Smith, except I don't think it has ever led to sex afterwards. (Damn shame, I guess. We can discuss whether this dinner or this lunch are counterexamples, but in either case there were months between the table and the bed.)
So of course I said Yes.
I thought maybe I'd go hang out with all of their friends (none of whom I knew, of course!) when the food was ready, but by that time they all seemed to have wandered into different places. I was in my apartment with the door open, when my new neighbor popped in for half a second to deliver a paper plate full of food and then popped out again. It was really tasty, but even nicer would have been the people to go with it and there were none of them.
So I ate. As I say, it was really tasty.
I had offered them a bottle of wine to open and share, but they had said, "We're not wine-drinkers." (There was beer but I didn't have any to contribute.) So the next day I went next door and gave them some homemade jam to thank them for the barbecue. One jar came from a nearby persimmon tree (I've written about this jam before) and another was marmalade from a neighbor's tree. At least it was something.
I wasn't wearing a mask when I delivered the jam, so a small corner of my mind continued to worry. But neither of us coughed on the other, so in reality I'm sure it's fine. They had more guests over this weekend for another barbecue, but didn't offer me another plate (which is fine). But at least we have said Hello.
Why was this story worth telling you? I guess it's all about the food.
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