Mother Hen, Q Dinner Parties & Loneliness
Hey you,
Last night I hosted a party, centered around dinner and the intent to “engage in thoughtful dialogue surrounding our divided cultural moment.” I signed up for the dinner online with Q Dinners, and clicked through to find what the topic was - lo and behold it was Senator Ben Sasse speaking on loneliness.
Ha. That’s funny and completely coincidental I’m sure <looks heavenward with raised eyebrows>
It was difficult narrowing down the guest list because I wanted everybody, but in my community that’s just not possible. You simply have to woman up and invite 2% or less of the people you know for a sit down dinner. I enlisted the help of a friend, or more like drafted her, because I’m terrible at deciding guest lists. (No worries, she got her share of the mashed potatoes).
People invited, RSVPs in.
Now, on to the menu. I had certain memories of a baked chicken dish my sister-in-law makes where the meat falls off the bones and into one’s mouth, baked to a perfect degree of happiness. Why don’t I make this? I thought. I’m sure I could do it and it’s so delicious for a cold winter night.
Here’s the thing, I’m scared of cooking meat. I like to eat it, but if it were based solely on my ability to cook it I’d be a vegetarian tomorrow. Chicken pieces frighten me, pork chops mock me, and beef is akin to learning to ride a bike with one arm. When it comes to cooking whole poultry, the game is up and I’m just down right terrified. Why then did I decide to up my game on the night I’m cooking for 10 people instead of 1? It still baffles me.
The chickens were bought, rubbed with butter and oil, and generously seasoned with salt before popping them into the oven. I had so much confidence… confidence I lost precisely 20 minutes later when I started remembering how butter can burn at higher temps and what if I served burnt butter chicken and burnt garlic chicken and why is that dratted fire alarm going off?!
It was on my 20th trip to peer through the glass I realized what the term mother hen means. It does refer to actual live hens, pecking and clacking about chicks and eggs and such, but it also refers also to novice cooks hanging anxiously around cooking poultry, for two hours. I can never get those two hours back.
As anyone hosting a party can tell you, it’s difficult to reconcile roles of hostess and cook. The chicken will need to be basted the moment the first guests arrive, and while one wishes to be out collecting coats and hugs the potatoes will boil over. It’s a quandary. I solved it last night by yelling hello’s from the kitchen and beaming from afar by my vantage point over the stupid chickens that refused to cook properly.
To my immense gratitude these were not guests of the ilk to sit around and stare at their phones awkwardly. They began conversations, and by the time we all sat down to eat they had already covered things like exorcism, and goodness knows what. Dinner was no exception to the rule, and we talked about living in time, outside of time, the multiverse, dimensions and the effect of time on our memories. I do like to be around people smarter than me. It’s a comfort to know that if I can’t cook chicken well I can collect friends who will break my brain a little.
Despite my combustible state over the chickens they turned out ok, if a bit short of my high expectations. The mashed potatoes were the last word in mashed potatoes and the heirloom carrots I couldn’t resist from Trader Joe were tasty in their silky wrap of olive oil and flaky salt. My roommate had made a cheesecake to top all cheesecakes, plus washed up prep dishes. The spiced apple cider was warm and happy and a bit kicky, which is everything spiced apple cider should be. The brass candlesticks, not polished because I got back from a short trip the night before the party, flickered bravely and the Christmas tree twinkled in the distance.
It was actually the perfect place to talk about loneliness (plus more with this group, because tangents) and the evening ended on a warm note with friendships deepened. This morning I’m reflecting on how funny my concern over the chickens was, but then again, it’s a little like the rest of life too, isn’t it? We will have difficulties in life, chickens will refuse to cook properly, but our life is not found in the moments we attain to perfection, or our idea of it. We don’t have to eradicate loneliness to experience life, we have to reach out to the people around us despite it.
These days I look for the evidence of life in different places than I used to. Last night we didn’t always agree, sometimes we argued a bit, and there were occasional bits of tension. This is encouraging to me. You don’t go anywhere without tension. Getting in our cars and driving anywhere wouldn’t work without friction.
Neither will relationships. To me the evidence of a great dinner party, and life, is not found in the harmony of the people coming together but the unity of a group of people who love with grace and honesty. True growth in life will never be found in us being “mother hens” over the problems we face, to fix them and make our lives easy. That’s not what the discussion of loneliness should be about, and wouldn’t ever succeed anyway. We have to allow ourselves and other people the honest challenge of their lives, their path of growth. Parents who remove all obstacles, risks, and challenges for their kids lives end up with non-functioning adult kids.
It’s why I’m glad for last night. I’m encouraged to be in a group of friends who know that to get somewhere won’t always be smooth. To know that for grace to work there must be honesty, and for honesty to work there must be grace. To be, or not be scared, of a little momentary pain or mess for greater good.
Of course we strive for perfection (I will figure out how to cook poultry yet)! Our pains of today are not the future definition of our lives, because life is a funny tension of resting in the present imperfection while growing to future excellence. No one gets out of the messy bits; dishes will need to washed eventually, but having a party without a mess would be like a party without food or people. It takes away all meaning. By the same token, saying that a life without loneliness is… life, is a bit laughable to me. Heart connections to people without tension or loneliness or conflict is like trying to host a dinner without food and dishes.
If I can have the warmth and laughter and sauciness of friendships such as last night surrounding me in my mistakes, it will be worth it. I’ll get the chicken right next time.
Top Photo by Igor Miske on Unsplash, all others by me.
