Day 131
I’m frantically cleaning for
tonight’s neighborhood progressive dinner. The house looks (and smells) better than it has in a
while. Everything sparkles. Everything shines. A Glade plug-in fills the first floor with
a fresh, springtime scent. A manic
spray and swipe of Pledge across every surface adds a lemony hint to the field
of flowers.
For progressive dinner newbes,
here’s how it works: As a group,
we start at one house for cocktails and appetizers. From there, we split into groups of eight for salad and move
again to enjoy the entrée with a new group of eight. The neighborhood reconvenes for dessert.
“We’re hosting why?” Chaz
asks. He reminds me that we nearly
missed the deadline because we don’t receive the newsletter with regular
frequency. (We pay neighborhood
dues but don’t live in the subdivision.)
It might be easy for us to pass
on hosting duties since we don’t technically live in the neighborhood, but in
my heart, we do. For nearly six years,
we and our friends have cared for children, camped in state parks, hosted
Friday night happy hours, welcomed new babies, grieved the loss of
parents. One house length is
negligible when it comes to building community.
“Because they needed someone,” I
say of the last minute request to host.
“And you said yes.”
“And I said yes.”
I know he loves a clean house
and secretly thankful for any excuse to get me scrubbing. He admires my
handiwork and asks, “Did you clean the baseboards?”
“No.” I give him the stink eye.
“And it looks great,” he quickly
adds and hightails it out of the room.
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