Todd and I like
to look at decorating/gardening magazines in bed together. When I come across glossy articles about
“Entertaining” and the opposite page features a table set with all sorts of bits
of ribbon or copious fruits-turned centerpieces, I wonder what I’m missing
living in Montana. Is this how people dine
in the rest of the country? Is this a
wedding luncheon? Why are there so many
things on the table? Why are they in the
middle of a field? Why did they go to
all that work for six people?
I’m reeled in
though, not missing an inch of the carefully crafted table settings. I love the accompanying write-ups as well—it’s
all so unreal, so fascinating to me. But
it’s all kind of over-the-top for my lifestyle.
They really are just talking about having
friends over for dinner, I realize. I think, what kinds of friends are these, that
you have to go to this much work to impress them? That the menu (menu??) is planned and food is
prepped days ahead. I suppose it’s all
fine for the holidays; I get it that maybe you’d need to think ahead for
Thanksgiving (the turkey and all) or Christmas—you want things to look nice and
feel special. But honestly, for an
informal get-together with like 8 people? Still, I admit I soak it all up—I love it!
When I hear the
word "entertaining," my literal mind immediately conjures up images of a dancing
ensemble on stage, a vocal performance, a play of some kind. Makes me think of an audience watching a
recital. If any of you know me, that’s
pretty much the last thing I want any part of.
So when we’re talking about having friends over and people label that
“entertaining,” I cringe. But, they say,
you entertain all the time! They’re
crazy. I have never entertained anyone—except
my kids when we play the matching game or read stories or dance in our kitchen.
When we have
friends over, dinner’s anything but in a field (unless you’re here in the summer
because usually we have just mowed, so
there is likely to be as much grass in the house as out—with grass clippings
clinging to shoes and bare feet as kids run in and out the triangle of
exits. I guess that’s field-like). If we have 12 or fewer and it’s Sunday or a
special occasion I can usually find enough matching place mats. Mostly we just have a pile of white plates,
silverware in a planting pot, paper napkins, and canning jars for water
(always, always water—we never have anything in the house besides milk and
water anyway). It’s simple, carefree,
relaxed, oh-so-not fancy. The food is
equally not the star of the show. I make
simple fare I’m comfortable with and almost always include the other families
in providing it. Luncheons are almost
always potluck. I just don’t want to be
stressed, laid up in the kitchen with a headache and a pile of pots and pans as
they ring our broken door bell.
When I go to
someone’s house, I just want to spend time with the family, the other ladies,
I’m there just for the people. So I
guess I assume the reverse is true when we have people over here. Occasionally (especially the new people) will
comment about our decorations (the tractor seats on the wall are kind of weird
I suppose, a conversation piece), but hardly ever. We’re too busy shuffling kids around, draping
coats and diaper bags where they’ll fit, kicking shoes out of the way. It’s not a big house, so there’s not a huge
entry way. We just make do, bring out
boxes of baby toys, my kids’ old wooden train set, preschool puzzles, the cars
and the road mat. And we settle in.
Sometimes we’ll
play games—either with the moms and younger kids, all the adults and teens, the
dads and teen boys, whatever configuration seems to work. But I HATE being the one who would have to
stand up in front of everyone and announce we’re going to play a game, the
talking kind or the silly kind or any acting kind. I’ve done it
maybe twice—once as an assigned “hostess” for a dinner group, the other because
I thought I could get away with it. Ugh. I prefer it when we just hang out and visit--with or without the dads. They're usually anxious to start a game anyway.
In talking to
friends about having people over, they’re hesitant. One feels like she’s not a very good cook, so
that scares her. Have tacos, I told
her. She’d never thought of that. A couple pots of soup and bread (now that we’ve
had our lesson). Dessert. Ice cream sundaes. Another one doesn’t want to have to clean her
house. I told her the basement gets
thrashed anyway, and don’t bother mopping.
Send them all outside. Just wipe
down ONE bathroom, close doors, and tidy up the main area they’ll be. One friend called 15 people before she found
a family willing to come over. I know, I’ve
had that happen. It kind of feels
personal, like you’re back in college asking someone for a date and getting rejected. But don’t give up, I tell her. Eventually you will connect with the right
family or group for that night. My
biggest hesitation is the small talk. I
HATE being the center of attention or having to carry the conversation. But we’ve had some mighty quiet people over,
and it is taxing. By the end of the
night I’m exhausted. I can ask questions
like no other, but after several hours even I tire and start to run out of ideas. (I have found conversation question-type
games helpful in a pinch.) So if I’m
thinking of a quiet family, I try to invite another more talkative one as
well. It’s sort of match-making in a
way, sometimes there are a few variables to consider, but don’t make yourself
crazy about it.
Here’s my
point. It’s worth the effort to invite
people into your life, your home, to let them in on what your family’s like, to
connect, to enjoy new company as well as established friendships. If I based my expectations on what the
magazines say “entertaining” should entail, I’d never do it. It’s not about YOU, your cooking ability,
your fancy dishes or house, your “performance.”
It’s about the people you invite in.
Learn about them, get to know what makes them tick, just enjoy their
company, simple conversation, playing a game, letting the kids make different
friends, helping the new people in the area feel included and welcome, getting
to know the people you’ve always known but don’t really know. To me, as long as we don’t call it
entertaining, it’s nothing more than adding the table leaves, finding the mismatched
chairs and firing up the grill.
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