Breakfast of Champions

I have been trying all morning to think how to start this post. I know you are all dying to hear all the details from the superfantastic weekend with The Hat but I don't know where to begin.

"Start," said The Child, "with how I wanted money to go to the co-op to buy a chicken pot pie for lunch".

Well, that would be a beginning. But not what I was going for.

"But it's a good place to start because, remember? I just came home when she pulled up in Big Red and was honking and you were picking lavender for the ice cream (and really, mom, it's too strong) and how we waited for her to get out so we could hug her".

Well, that's a little better. Let's start with the hugs.

Miss Hat fiddled with things in her car as we waited. And waited. And I finally said, "Get over here!" and she got out and we hugged. A big, long, tight, hello-my-long-lost-friend hug. And then we both got all teary eyed. Because, if you haven't experienced it, there is nothing quite like finally holding in your arms someone with whom you have come to feel a kindred bond. Knowing them to be real and actually clasping them to your kvelling bosom are two very different things.

(The huggies photo, btw, Hat, are on your camera. Just saying).

After that, it was no big deal. Ha. Of course it was. But really, it wasn't. Miss Hat sat at my desk and watched me make applesauce cake and honey-lavender ice cream and we talked, the way I talk with friends who sit in the kitchen and talk to me while I cook. She met the family and The Dog and even The Cat deigned to show herself (something she typically does not do when other people are in the house).

We went over to The Neighbor's. There were more hugs. And I teared up again, watching my new old friend hug my best friend. Then we sat on the Deck of Delight and drank vermouth. (Well, I drank vermouth. They had Italian iced tea, which is red vermouth, lemon and ginger ale. Only The Neighbor uses diet ginger ale and I don't like diet anything. But The Hat loved it. I believe the words "my new favorite drink" were uttered).



We talked. And laughed. And The Hat was very giggly about "actual clinkies". We've raised dozens of virtual coffee cups and glasses to each other over the last nearly 2 years. This time we got to do it for real. It was pretty awesome.



See how delighted she is? Darling girl.

We spent so much time talking and laughing at The Neighbor's that The Child was forced to come over and beg for dinner:



"No job. Will do dishes for food".

So I made dinner and we ate dinner. We told stories and asked questions and laughed. Quite a lot of laughing, must say. And then The Hat and I sat in the back garden by lantern light, working on a bottle of wine and talking some more. Until about 2 a.m. or something, not that we were keeping track.

In the morning she joined me for applesauce cake and coffee, the breakfast of champions, before we had to go off to church and she had to try and beat Seafair traffic out of town.



Here's the thing. Being with The Hat was completely unfraught. I hadn't worried a bit that we wouldn't have anything to say to each other or that the reality would be a disappointment compared to our virtual illusions. We knew each other. The things we've revealed in our blogs and comments and emails and phone conversations created a context. That context allowed us to tell stories and ask questions and comment on things in a most delightful way. We both knew we would like each other, because we already did. Meeting wasn't about getting to know each other. But it was, for me anyway, an opportunity to make The Hat a part of my life, not just my blogging. (Although, you know, blogging is my life). She's a part of family memory now, someone we can all picture, someone who made our home that much nicer with her laughter and spirit.

There's so much more to tell but frankly, I'm still absorbing it all. It was that rich a time. A blessed time. I'm kinda basking in it, to be honest with you. But here's one little thing that sorta sums it all up for me.

We sat down to dinner and everyone was still talking. Then The Hat, sitting at the head of the table, held her hands out to The Spouse and The Child, initiating the gesture that we make every meal, holding hands for prayer. She doesn't share our faith but she was one with us, instinctively entering into a family ritual with ease and grace, being family. And The Spouse gave thanks for our food and for our family. Our family, that includes my sister-friend, The Hat.