When I
walked into the Cincinnati RG hotel Friday evening, I was running late.
I was supposed to work a shift in Registration starting at 7:00, and it
was already 6:57. Even feeling the anxiety of not being on time, I was
exhilarated — there was energy in the air that I felt as soon as
I walked into the lobby.
The registration room was up the stairs and the first room on the left. I must have collected a dozen hugs before I got that far — along with the heart-leap that comes with seeing a friend. My mood was up — way up.
Fortunately, I knew one of the people working at the registration desk. Giving Rick a hug, I asked if he'd mind staying another 15 minutes or so while I took my suitcase to my room. I didn't want to take advantage of Rick's willingness to do me a favor, so I tried to move quickly back to the "10 minutes parking" where I'd left my car. But it's hard to move quickly when you're passing by friends. I wanted to stop and talk to these people; I didn't want to race by them. "Gotta work my registration shift," I said as I grabbed "quick hugs," with promises of real ones later.
I felt tugged in all directions — someone within the Hospitality Suite called my name. I glanced over the railing to the lobby and saw a friend walking in. My roommate was already in our room — I wanted to sit and talk.
But it didn't matter —because all of those directions would be there all weekend long. I made my way back to Registration and took Rick's place. I could see on the list who had already signed in. Many of those people poked their heads into the room. "Beth! When did you get here?!"
Remember the Cheers song? "Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name, where they're always glad you came …" And the best part about an RG is, closing time is two days away.
During those two days, just as we'd be doing at a neighborhood bar, we'd be sharing snacks and meals. In fact, we'd be eating all weekend long. Unlike at a corner tavern, though, we'd be filling up the snack dishes ourselves, eating food we'd cooked ourselves, fetching our own drinks, and cleaning up our own messes.
I still
carry some of the philosophy toward food that the women in my family taught
me. They told me never to go anywhere empty-handed. I don't think I was
ever told it was rude not to eat, but I certainly got that message.
Eating the food that someone else has prepared for you is a compliment
— and an act of family and love. Cooking for a sick neighbor or a
family with a new baby is a generous gift of self — and those lessons
have carried over into how I feel today about food and gatherings.
I might have complained about being busy as I got ready for the Queen's Croquet, an annual RG-like party, but I was also excited. Objectively speaking, the idea of making dinner for 75 people is a bit daunting. Sandy helped, of course, but even divided by two, it's a big job. But I knew I'd be serving my friends — and that is a heady feeling.
"Many hands make light work," my aunt used to tell me. That's why there were three or four people sitting around a banquet-style table, chopping up fruits and vegetables. I don't think they were aware of their hands at all. They were chatting and laughing — just as they would have done in my own kitchen.
At serving time, people made their tacos individually, choosing their own toppings. People came back for seconds, waited while we heated up more, and filled up their plates. We thought we'd made enough to have leftovers. We were wrong.
I passed along to Debbie that people kept asking me, "Mmmmm! Who made the guacamole?" Her face beamed at the compliments. Von asked me for the butter cookie recipe — it's my mother's recipe (and hers are better than mine). Nancy asked what was in the Mexican pasta salad and if I'd make it again for an upcoming event. The sharing of food is a family event — but this time, it was my Mensa family.
I can think of example after example of how eating in Hospitality is like the kitchen when the whole family is together. The first one up starts the coffee. We let Jamie eat first so she could rush off to the O.P.E.R.A performance. Dishes kept getting dirty — and getting washed. Nancy took the dinner leftovers and threw together a breakfast casserole. Mikey took care of filling up the snacks. Kim brought a late-night snack of crackers and cheese ball down to those playing "Bohnanza." Sandy stayed up all night playing cards, so she helped put breakfast together before she went to bed. It sounds an awful lot like getting a group of grown siblings (and grandchildren) together, doesn't it? It feels like it, at any rate.
"Mensa" means table. I view sharing a table of food as the center of friendship and family life. The kitchen is the center of the home — and by bringing our kitchens with us, we make Mensa gatherings into part of our home.