The day the "girls" came for breakfast

The "girls" at an earlier breakfast

At six a. m. the alarm sounded—on a Saturday!! “No, no, no . . . I don’ wanna get up,” my retired—and tired—self whined.

“You gotta get up!” my logical, practical self answered. “Remember, you left cleaning the bathroom till this morning. Plus, sweeping the dining room and kitchen. GET UP!”

“Yes, Master Self. Move outta the way then.”

Nine o’clock was three hours away. Surely . . . Yes! By 8:30, I was sitting in the swing on the front porch reading the AD-G—all last-minute tasks accomplished.

Shirley brought a cheese-egg-artichoke casserole and a loaf of blueberry bread. Barbara brought monkey bread. Beverly and Shari brought a bowl of cut watermelon and cantaloupe. I provided the venue and the K-cup, Keurig coffees—decaf, regular, hazelnut and cappuccino. Six of us around the old pedestal table covered with a fall-leaf-motif, ivory cloth. At the table’s edge closest to the windows I’d placed a tall cut-glass vase with reddening (and green) sassafras leaves.

Seconds all around for the casserole and the fruit. I ate two slices of the blueberry bread, while others went for the monkey, pull-apart bread.

After a leisurely repast and visit, I suggested we move to the living room. Cleaning up the dishes meant leaving the plates and silver in a large bowl of soapy water. (Where they stayed till Sunday morning.)

Did I say leisurely? We six women friends and long-ago classmates sat away from the table (which we cannot do in a restaurant) in the “front” room until 11:30! Before breaking up, we were invited to Shirley’s in October and we called out our contributions to the meal.

I said to Barbara, who was the first to arrive, “Don’t let me do this again!” We laughed, but I’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant keeping the group together.

c 2017, PL dba lovepat press