Yet more firsts are happening in this house, and I couldn't be happier. Today's firsts were Sunday dinner with my daughter and her boyfriend, and the dogs' first trip to the nearby dog park. (At the apartment, all the dog parks were several miles away, but this one is a quick hop to get to. I foresee lots of trips there in the future.) And three of five cats had their first trip into the green part of the new Park West. (One has already been out several times, and one couldn't be bothered to leave her basement sink hangout.)
Maybe it's an Oklahoma thing, but Sunday dinner was always a big deal in my family. While my grandmother was still alive, believe it or not, the thing to do was drive out to the college after church, and eat at the cafeteria there. It wasn't like dorm food was by the time I made it to university. This was actually pretty good, especially considering where we were. (Just thinking about it makes me remember fondly the fried chicken and roast beef, and the salads with French dressing. I'm not even hungry, but it makes me wish I were.) This wasn't the only place we frequented, just a very popular one with the small-town, post-church crowd. But some days my grandmother cooked, and those were my very favorite times. I think of her each and every time I make a pot roast with vegetables and gravy, and I bless her for teaching me to love that meal above most others. There is an essence of family in the anticipation of that roast, of the communal experience of waiting and sharing a slow-cooked meal. Think about the best times with your family, and count how many of those bests happened around a holiday dinner or some other agonizingly slow wait for good food. You'll run out of fingers and toes counting, I bet.
I have decided that I want Sunday dinners to be a thing again. My daughter usually doesn't work on Sundays, and am running with that excuse to cook for her on a regular basis. It might not end up being every week, but we have decided that it will be at least once a month. I can't wait to see how the meals evolve, as my garden ripens, as the weather turns, as our seasonal cravings scroll through the calendar. Today we pulled out the grill and while I cooked Mr S-P reassembled our patio furniture. He set us up under the shade of the choke-cherry tree, and we had a pleasant breeze to cool us off for our dinner. We grilled chicken, eggplant, and a giant zucchini, marinated heirloom tomatoes, and made a (grain-free) peach cobbler from Palisade peaches (a Western Slope orchard community). As a first communal meal in the new place, it was divine. For good measure, we added in a Smith family tradition (as in one from my mother-in-law), when my daughter brought out a huge jug of mint lemonade.
I had real doubts about this house after the tragic inspection. My love was tested, and my faith was shaken. But slowly, as we crept toward closing, I started seeing the good things again, all the things that made me fall in love with this house to begin with. Today, with us all relaxing over a peaceful Sunday dinner, al fresco in our new Park West, I knew again that it was the right call to proceed with buying this house. All the pieces are falling into place. The difficult road to get here has been forgotten, and it all feels easy and right.
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