Special K and I just returned from another fantastic weekend out at our friends’ farm in
Virginia.
We love to go there and we can never seem to leave – fortunately K and D are good friends and great hosts and never seem to be in a hurry to kick us out.
Our usual routine goes something like this:
- Leave our house some time early Saturday afternoon, armed with food and beverages
- Arrive at their house, to much hugging and laughing, in addition to a very enthusiastic greeting from their dogs
- Begin eating and drinking
- Talk and catch up, often take goats and dogs for an evening watch
- Make and eat dinner, continue with the talking and drinking
- Retire at some point, being well-fed and well-hydrated
- Wake up, have delicious breakfast and lounge with friends and animals
- Consider leaving and going home, get involved in some kind of conversation or activity and lose track of time
- Leave eventually, not wanting to be those houseguests from hell who never leave, but also not wanting to leave the peace, quiet, and excellent company
We got up Saturday morning and took my car, Doris, to get an oil change. I’ve always tried to take care of her, since she’s been a good and largely reliable car for 11 years – I’d like to try for a few more. But with Whitey being out of commission right now, I’m even more paranoid/concerned about taking good care of her. We have one car, and it’s her. She may not always start the first time, but she does always eventually start – she’s never left me stranded anywhere.
We returned home and packed our bags, with the cats looking wistfully at us, as they always do whenever we’re packing. They try to hop in the bags, as if suggesting that we take them with us. This is because they forget that us taking them anywhere involves us taking them somewhere in the car. And they hate being in the car. They hyperventilate and drool when they’re in the car. This is why we do our best to keep them out of the car unless totally necessary. This is why they don’t get to come with us. But it’s also why I am embarrassingly affectionate when we get home. (But really, I’m only embarrassing myself – I don’t think they much care. Besides, if they don’t get embarrassed doing this
or this
,
I can’t see how a few smooches from their owner who refers to herself as “mommy” should be a big deal.)
We eventually set off, a little later than I’d hoped, but still with plenty of time ahead of us to enjoy the day. Doris doesn’t have functioning air conditioning (again…) and as much as I love that feature, it falls under the category of “things I don’t care to spend money on at present”. So we rocked the 4-60 air conditioning as we sped out to the farm, continuing our conversation on what to do about our car situation. The main thing is this – Whitey doesn’t seem like a good continued investment of our money, given how much we’ve already spent in the last year – there’s no guarantee that we won’t be looking at a similar repair bill in another couple of months. We aren’t considering replacing him with anything extravagant. I would like to not have the stress of wondering when, not if, something is going to go wrong with one of our cars, given their respective ages. And most importantly, despite the fact that I don’t like car payments and would prefer to be able to pay cash for a car, we are able to afford a modest car payment now. It will slow us down, that’s true – but it’s not going to stop us. So now we just need to get off our butts and do something with this decision. Sooner rather than later, because although Doris still averages a very respectable 32 mpg, she now makes a noise that sounds like metal-on-metal when I make right turns. She’s fine for around town, and given that repairs on her are few and far between, I wouldn’t rule out seeing what the problem is and getting it fixed, but I don’t think she’s meant to be our primary car for too long.
As we rolled into their driveway, it was quiet, which was odd. All returned to normal a minute later when Mac, their German Shepherd/Rottweiler mix, came barreling out the door toward us. I threw my arms open wide and gave him a big hug that left my white t-shirt covered in black and brown fur. I stood up, brushed myself off, and saw D walking toward us with a big smile on his face. K soon followed, and there was more hugging – as well as laughing at my pathological need to “contribute” to the inevitable feast. We always offer to bring something, and this time were told that just bringing some melon would suffice. Well, I tend to be an overachiever, and I brought…four different kinds. A small watermelon, cantaloupe, honeydew, and something I’d never had before, called a canary melon – presumably because if its bright yellow exterior. I also made blueberry muffins for breakfast the next day. D took to calling me Lady of Four Melons. I told him that sounded like a Star Trek character that Kirk would have hit on.
The sky looked vaguely ominous, but it was warm and pleasant, so we settled onto their covered porch. We actually got into a very interesting discussion that lasted most of the afternoon about God, faith, and religion. One of the things that we all remarked upon is that it was a really good and open conversation, even though we came from different perspectives. K and I both really value the great friendship that we have with them, and it’s one of the many examples of how lucky we are.
The rain clouds were apparently just there to fake us out, as they retreated and the sky was once again clear with a few white, fluffy clouds punctuating the blue. We took care of a few chores and K introduced me to their new chickens. One of them broke her leg and D insists on calling her Eileen – but she’s moving around pretty well. They will occasionally all go tearing from the barn to a corner of the field, as if their little chicken lives depend on it. It’s pretty funny to watch, although their haste may be due to the eagles and other birds of prey that lazily circle overhead.
It felt like time to start dinner, and D went to throw the pork loin that he’d been marinating all day onto the grill. It had some kind of sesame-soy-ginger-garlic yumminess going on, and it smelled delicious as it cooked away on the grill. He’d also made summer sauce that morning, a fantastic combination of tomatoes with herbs, spices, and olive oil. You don’t cook it, but just let it sit and have all the flavors meld together. Before serving, you throw chunks of parmesan cheese into it, and serve it with some kind of filled pasta, like tortellini or ravioli. And then you try to leave some for everyone else, because it tastes and smells so good that you could eat all of it and lick the bowl. We also served up some of the four types of melon that Special K and I brought – and I have to say, I really enjoyed the canary melon; it’s kind of a hybrid of a cantaloupe and honeydew, in term of taste. Dinner was, as always, delicious. And accompanied by, perhaps, an ill-advised amount of wine – funny how that seems to happen when we’re there. Special K had developed a nasty headache, so he actually called it quits on the wine fairly early, and K doesn’t drink much to begin with, so there was some balance. We sat out on their stone patio, listening to music, enjoying the night air, and just enjoying each other’s company. I will admit – K and I did a little dancing when the mood and music suited us, since D and K have a kick-ass music collection.
As Special K’s headache got the better of him, he headed off to bed, and I soon fell asleep under the night sky, to the sounds of considerably mellower music. After being gently woken up, I made my way to bed and recommenced dreaming almost instantly.
My eyes slowly opened around 8 am the next morning, and I saw the large, furry form of Mac staring at me, with his tail wagging. Upon seeing my eyes open, he gave a gentle “woof”, and I scooched over to let him jump up on the bed with me. It has become habit that, whenever we stay over, their terribly ferocious dog will snuggle with me in the mornings, because he is, in reality, a total mush bag. This morning was no exception. Special K opened one eye, saw me snuggled up with Mac, and drifted back to sleep.
One by one, we all woke up, eyes squinting in the bright sunshine. Woody, their orange cat, was meowing vociferously, presumably to be fed. I didn’t know where his food was kept, and there’s little you can do to distract a hungry cat from their mission, so he wandered off in search of a human who knew how to use their opposable thumbs to his benefit.
The morning hours flew by, as we cooked a leisurely breakfast and ate out on the patio. I was grateful to have brought sunblock, as I would have been well on my way to another classic burn. In college, I was constantly forgetting to use any kind of sun protection, and the burns that I would get, I would refer to as “a little pink”, and my friends would refer to as “holy crap, when are you going to remember to use sunblock, you moron??” Fortunately, those days are mostly behind me, but I do still forget from time to time.
After lunch, the afternoon saw K and I lazily playing bocce ball, where she completely kicked my butt, and tried to make me feel better about it. Fortunately, I’ve long ago made peace with my lack of athletic ability, much as I’d like to be gifted in some way. The loss was, therefore, not traumatic. Special K and D had gotten sucked into a Travel Channel series on China, and we all settled down to watch. Special K and I later noticed that it was almost 7 pm, and we realized that, once again, we’d stayed far past when we’d intended to, and reluctantly gathered our things to allow K and D to have their evening to themselves. They’re always such gracious hosts, and it’s always so hard to leave – but again, we don’t want to be those awful guests that never seem to just go away.
Driving away, we both talked about how lucky we are to have the friends that we do – people that we wouldn’t want to imagine our lives without. As the night fell, we grew quiet, listening to music on the radio, each lost in our own thoughts. We rolled up in front of our house, and were greeted enthusiastically by Milo and Xena as we walked in the door. It was good to be home, but the time away had been restorative, as it always is.
