Pot

For the last few years, I've been doing "years of."

38 was the year of cute shoes.

39 was the year of time management.

And 40 is the year of having people over.

Now, the year of having people over started months ago, and mostly, so far, I've been adhering to the letter, but not the spirit, of the year. I've had individuals over, mostly — one friend here, another friend there. Since the goals of the year of having people over are to:

• enjoy my house for the excellent entertainment space it is,
• socialize more, and
• have reasons to keep the house clean,

having one friend — generally, one trusted friend who I don't mind seeing the mess my house is — over at a time doesn't do the trick.

This weekend, I had a pot luck. It was initially supposed to be an LGBTQ evening (I called it "family" dinner — cute, right?), but the folks who actually showed up proved to be much more L and Q and much less GBT. And we had a blast. Lots of laughs, lots of good food, some bridges built; it was just a gay old time (I've got a million of 'em).

It reminded me why I love Sunday night pot lucks so much. Maybe I'll have one every week, with different themes — sometimes camp people, sometimes queer people, sometimes the neighbors, sometimes work people, sometimes potpourri! I used to do pot lucks (always potpourri) in D.C. monthly, and I have missed that particular form of community-building.

Belated Day 7 of my month of gratitude: I am thankful for the range of personalities and flavors that come into my life, old and new — for peanut noodles and chicken hominy chili and brie and glorified rice and ice cream and chicken adobo and cider — and for smushed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and orzo salad and fried cicadas.