company dinners

I am having company in two days. I love company. I like that I can pull out the dishes, cook all afternoon, which then means I play music of my choosing very loud and sing as I cook, sometimes barefoot Sometimes with fewer clothes, if I can't live alone and decide about clothing why the hell not?

I will play cowboy music. I just came back from Montana and have been playing music about dying cowboys, broke cowboys, starving cowboys and love sick cowboys. Great. The cowboys should suffer, and I like the music with all its Gene Autrey twang, no jails, jilting or joking, just the range, the cows, and the horse. Get along.

I am getting along although as per usual I am slightly cranky, this is a result of trying to line up evenings and here I am here, alone. No music, no people to cook for and I don't like it. Hell, I have to entice my daughter and her handsome boyfriend to come eat. Having the dogs to cook for thanks to Chinese polluted wheat is a poor excuse I gladly gather to my bosom. I get to cook for someone not me.

So, the Turkish man and his wife arrive in two days. My best friends. Turkish man means black tea, bread, cheese and olives. Best girlfriend means lots of coffee, creamer and Riesling. And making grandma's spaghetti, a tradition.

Wat is it about company dinners that I cook better for someone here than by myself? I want to celebrate them, enjoy and think about what they would like best. No pork for the Muslim, no wheat for the intolerant, and less spice. But this is not a discrepancy, it is not an injustice to the recipe. It is for friends, it is for those I love and even in a bad comparison about cooking fresh for my dogs, it is because I love them.

September looms, and I may be living off my freezer, but I don't want my friends to know a thing. When they are here all is for them, and I want to do my best. Someday if they live in town they can have the leftovers, the unmade beds, and the over cooked coffee. Right now, it is a privilege to have them in my home and my tent is theirs.