Take, for example, our house just previous, which came equipped with a large above-ground swimming pool. We had barely moved in twenty-two years ago--with children ages 11 and 15--when we became the "party house" for their friends. Before I knew it, I was hosting a group of my own friends on many a wonderful, lazy summer afternoon. Then came family reunions, grandkids, and so on and so forth until it seemed unusual if anyone at all showed up at our door without a swimsuit under his or her street clothes.
In retrospect, I can see that I should have predicted that. It is logical that the people with the pool find themselves entertaining friends all summer long, and I don't regret one single splash. But, over time, it becomes just a little bit harder to maintain your enthusiasm for daily pool upkeep, yearly maintenance, and perpetual expense. That was just one factor--but an important one--that led to our decision to move to a subdivision where someone else takes care of the pool and a huge, beautiful lake just beyond a row of trees offers even bigger and better recreational options.
Our new house provides a much better lay-out for sleeping and feeding six grandkids and their parents, whom they often bring along. Its center of activity is the typical greatroom combining living room, dining room, and kitchen. In the middle of this area is a huge island where all six kids can sit comfortably for meals. And so, when they are here, I often find myself on the kitchen side of this island dishing up pancakes or adding milk to cereal.
And pouring coffee.
Yes, as though they need to even be in the same room with an extra jolt of caffeine, the fine art of coffee-drinking is enthusiastically embraced by Sooby, Pooh, Bootsie, and Zoomie. The last two times they have spent the weekend with us, my kitchen counter has morphed into a "diner," and, somehow, I have become "Rosie."
On the particular day you see pictured here, Bootsie, Zoomie, and Pooh are "Lucy," "Tom," and "Dave." If you can't tell by looking, they are detectives (except for instances when Lucy and Dave decide that a "police dog" is needed and then, in an amazing portrayal of dual roles, Tom goes canine). Wondering where Sooby is? Dave and Lucy have cast her as a "suspicious figure," and she is either somewhere "lurking" or off doing her own thing.
As it turns out, "Rosie's Diner" has evolved into the perfect make-believe game for all of us to play together when the necessity of feeding four children three meals a day forces me to put in a lot of kitchen time. While these kids are experts at role-playing, I have to rack my brain a bit for spontaneous answers when interrogated by Lucy and Dave. It goes something like this:
Dave: So, has anything suspicious happened around here, Rosie?
Rosie: Well, my husband disappeared two years ago and has never been found.
Lucy: When did you last see your husband?
Rosie: He was sailing off in a boat with two shifty-looking characters.
Dave: Can you identify them?
Rosie: No, it was dark--but one was tall and one was short.
Lucy: Did you overhear anything?
Rosie: I heard some angry whispers.
Dave: Did your husband leave a note?
Rosie: Why, yes, he did.
Lucy: What did it say?
Rosie: It said "not dead."
Dave: "Not dead," huh. That must mean he is still alive. They are probably holding him hostage . . . .
And so, just like that, the two detectives put their police dog on guard and set out in search of suspicious characters. Undoubtedly, the dialogue will resume during the next coffee break or lunch, whichever comes first.
Rosie wipes the counter after them and loads their cups into her industrial-size dishwasher. She checks the menu and sees that spaghetti with meat sauce will be today's special.
I turn the heat on under a pot of water and break some hamburger in the skillet to brown. I kind of like being Rosie.
But I hope those detectives find my husband. Come lunchtime, he will probably be hungry too.
