Dinner and Conversation

On Friday night my husband and I attended a dinner party. It was not a typical dinner with friends. Dinner was prepared by our former parish priest. The priest, Fr. J., is a gourmet chef who frequently auctions his dinners at charity events. In addition to being a great chef, Fr. J. is a charismatic young priest in great demand. After leaving our parish he was assigned to a predominantly African American parish in the city. These days his preferred charities are his underfunded parish and school.

Location for dinner was the country home of our friends, an orthopedic surgeon and his wife, an executive in medical sales. Their permanent home is in a subdivision close to ours. They attend our church and our sons ride to school together. While we have known them several years, we are not close. We were honored that they invited us to their dinner.

Part of the reason we were invited was so that they could show us what they called “Heaven on Earth.” Years ago my husband had suggested they look at this particular property when he learned they were in the market for some acreage. At the time the couple had four children under the age of three. They looked at the property and bought it without looking further.

The house was impressive. They rehabbed the existing 100-year-old structure and added roughly two times more space in an addition. The end result was a country feel in the front rooms with large, open rooms in the addition. The new rooms contained the modern conveniences yet complemented the old rooms in décor and feel. Twelve foot ceilings, large expanses of hardwood with some stone inlay, granite countertops and a wood burning fireplace all contributed to the comfortable setting. The wrap-around porch featured more rocking chairs than a Cracker Barrel. If it had been a different season, those chairs might have looked inviting.

Of the six couples invited for dinner, we were the only ones who had not been there before. Like the others, we fell in love with the place. It wasn’t just the crackling fire, the warm color palette, or the sound of Dan Fogelberg coming from the CD player. There was also a reverence that permeated the gathering space. Our hosts had designed the home as a retreat center and generously opened it up to many groups—high school youth groups, priests, nuns, battered women—just about anyone who asked. Even our two oldest children had been there during a planning retreat while in high school.

The home was not just outside the city limits. It was tucked a mile off a gravel road. As we approached the house it felt as though we were driving over ruts from the wagon train. We had to shoo away the neighbor’s grazing cows to get there. Each window in the house provided a glimpse of woods and ponds and the wonders of nature. The windows were wonderfully devoid of any coverings as no one would be on the outside looking in. Not a single television or computer could be found in the entire place. This house was built to encourage people to talk to one another.

And talk we did. Even though we were just meeting four of the couples for the first time, the conversation never lagged. The common thread that linked the others was their kids. They all had kids in school together. Some lived near each other. The most fascinating discovery was that I met the couple who moved into our neighborhood last June. Exactly two houses sit between our houses, yet I had never seen this couple. Their children are younger than ours, so our universes circle around one another but only overlap on the outside edges. We attend the same church, but it’s a large church and our paths hadn’t crossed.

I ended up talking to Kelly, our new neighbor, most of the evening. Kelly was diagnosed with breast cancer in August. As a seven-year breast cancer survivor, I turned out to be a good listener. I understood much of what she was going through even though her cancer was more advanced than mine and her children are younger. I can’t help but think that we were destined to meet.

The ironies of the evening were not lost on me. The meal was superb, but the company was even better. I had to travel seventy five minutes away to meet my neighbor who lives a short walk down the street. While the evening is over, I hope that a relationship has just begun.