The Other Dance…

Tonight, we’re going to a social.

I love saying that because it sounds so gosh darn like a post war ‘50’s thing to do. We’re heading down the bluffs (by road, not jumping) to the Marina. It’s a community event with neighbours and parents of the students in our little school. To be specific: Parents and neighbours drinking and dancing.

These are the events where legends begin.

It’s something of a sporting event for the likes of me who prefers to people watch. This is one of the better stops on the semi-pro circuit.

The pre-social warm up took place ALL evening yesterday,

It started innocently.
I walked across the street to pick up the five year old from our neighbor/sitter’s. She offered me a glass (of her magnum) of wine. I hestitated, I had just worked out but I calculated that the residual carb burning effect after a cardio session would -in my math world- allow me to drink most of the magnum, alone, if necessary and) so said. ‘yes’. Another mom showed up shortly after and was offered her own portion of the magnum and we were verbally off to the races.

We were sitting in front of the house, the evening sun keeping us warm. Soon my neighbor/sitter was dressing her outdoor table a la Martha, a beautifully crafted selection of red and blue jello shooters here, an artfully arranged platter of Chinese dumplings, mini quiches, sushi and spinach dip there——wait!

Jello shooters?

Yes, this the most social of all the social neighbors and she had spent part of her afternoon making vodka and jello shooters in one ounce cups. Forty of them, just for fun. I personally don’t drink anything but wine or Corona so I declined but it instantly turned her front lawn into party central! Many of the surrounding neighbors joined in the fun. The children and dads continued to play road hockey while eating pizza and appetizers, there was excitment and fun in the air.

After sunset a chill set in so a wood fire was built in the portable out door fireplace and it was instantly summer. Cedar and dried eucalyptus were burned to add an extra aromatic touch and then, reluctantly at nine pm I took the five year old home. It felt like camping leaving the warm circle of friends and fire to climb into a cold sleeping bag, the smell of smoke still lingering in our hair and on our clothes.

It was another transition, a shift in the seasons, a re-connecting with some of the best neighbours one could imagine. During the cold winter months friendships can also hibernate, waiting until the true signs of spring abound, like the longer warmer days, the smell of an outdoor fireplace, the children playing ball hockey on the street or a call in the open air, “Who wants another shooter?”