A holiday doesn’t have to be what it once was. It can be what it is. That’s the attitude I hoped would get me through this Christmas season.
On the day itself, my sister and I cooked dinner for three bachelors—my stepson and two of his friends.
The day before, we shopped for roasting chickens and produce, picking up special treats like stuffed clams and prosciutto-wrapped cheese rolls. Having guests coming for dinner gave us a reason to make the extra effort, to treat the day in a celebratory way.
We told the guys to arrive hungry, which they did.
My stepson’s well-behaved little dog came with them, too. I let go of my anxiety about my sister’s concern for her immaculate home. She wasn’t worried about the dog—so I dropped the worry, too.
One of the things we widows miss after our husbands die is having someone to cook for. (Unless he was the cook, and then you are left without that comfort.)
It was a pleasure to have three hungry men to cook for. We enjoyed watching them eat the cheese rolls, hummus, chips and nuts we put out for appetizers.
When we shop and cook just for ourselves, we need so little. Sometimes it doesn’t feel as if it’s worth the effort.
In spite of finishing off the appetizers, our men dug into the meal with gusto. They all raved about the stuffed clams. My stepson said they brought back memories of eating them with his father years ago.
The men ate second and third helpings of chicken, potatoes, green-beans, and salad. We would not have so many dreaded leftovers after all.
Finally we served coffee and the rich chocolate cake they’d brought for dessert. My sister and I had tiny pieces of the cake.
And fortunately, we talked the men into taking the remainder with them when they left.
