Cocktails and Snacks

Los Angeles, California

Recently, I had some friends over for dinner. Well, kinda. Actually, they picked up dinner from a local healthy chicken outlet; white or dark meat chicken and two sides. They brought me the Chinese chicken salad I requested.

In anticipation of their arrival, I did some of the things I used to do when entertaining. I set the table, putting out plates, and cutlery wrapped into cloth napkins. I set out glasses for Pelligrino (nobody, I mean, nobody seems to drink any alcohol these days), and a dish of Japanese rice cracker mix. In days of yore, this would have been cheese and olives. And nuts. But as I kept wrapping those things up after guests left, I noticed that nobody, I mean, nobody was eating appetizers or cocktail snacks. The snacks thing makes sense, I guess. No cocktails; no snacks.

The dinner they brought was delicious, as was our lively conversation. No dessert, they refused the cake I had picked up at Trader Joe's (seriously, those little quarter-sheet cakes at Trader Joe's in a myriad of flavors? So tasty! Why bake?). Coffee, anyone? No. They left around 8:30, which is the time we used to invite guests to arrive. I get it. I'm not quite the night owl I used to be. Although when Lynnette is here, we have to force ourselves to stop playing dominos/Yahtsee/Ticket to Ride, around midnight, or so. But as a rule, I'm happy to part with friends around ten or eleven at night. After they left, I did what little dishes there were and watched the entire Dodgers game that I had missed but recorded. And, I ate cake.

And this all takes me back to the recent Mellencamp concert, where I was seated next to a 62 year-old Delta flight attendant whom I joined in drinking, dancing, and singing along with most of the audience. It was so joyful, and I remarked to Joel the following day that I think I need some younger friends.

Don't get me wrong. I love every one of my friends and enjoy the time we spend together. I have winnowed out the losers, and reunited with my ex-best friend, which has been beyond a blessing. But part of spending time with some of these friends is in the awareness that many seem to be eschewing culinary and other pleasures and some of that group are even tracking their personal numbers: Alcohol intake; steps; calories; carbs; glucose. Isn't just knowing these numbers, much less following them daily,  a little... self-absorbed? Like, a new rendition of '60s navel-gazing?

I recently had an incident where my blood pressure was elevated. My ex-best, Cin, suggested I track my BP, logging the numbers over a two-week period so I can report it to my doctor. I thought this was a good idea. I don't normally have high blood pressure, nor do I have either elevated cholesterol or glucose. I take no medication for any of these things. Do I know what my numbers are? No. I just know that my doctor tells me I'm in normal range, and that is fine with me. I want to sing and dance at rock concerts, not look at numbers on my phone. I don't have nor want an Apple watch nor Fitbit. I just don't understand this obsession with daily tracking of the functions of our bodies.

So, tracking my blood pressure, while glad that I did, reminded me of how much I don't want to track these things in my life. I want to dance a lot, drink alcohol when the occasion arises, attend concerts and other events. I want to eat, within reason, everything I want to eat. This might make me sound shallow. I'm not. I'm just retired! And, Cin, the ex-best-now-better friend, remarked to me that as much as she has enjoyed seeing Sarah McLachlan together twice last year, she also wants to attend a concert together where we stand and dance and sing. See, I'm not the only one.

Dolly Parton just died, and it is all anyone is talking about. And rightly so. She was beloved for all she did and was. And in no small part, isn't that about the exuberance and joie de vivre that she demonstrated throughout her life? It wasn't just her hair that was large, she surely lived large. So her death at 80 seems premature, but on the other hand, what a lot she packed into those years. She should be the spirit animal for all of us.

Going forward, I will continue to set out cocktail tidbits for my guests. I will continue to offer them cocktails, beer and wine (mine is a full-service operation). I will continue to pay exorbitant fees for concert tickets (because I want to sit close to the stage). And I will stay up late, because I can. Life is short. The remainder of our days have dates. Numbers. Those are the only numbers I want in my awareness while I continue to live, eat, drink, dance, and sing throughout all of the days ahead.

And Then, We Danced

Los Angeles, California

A year after my trifecta of death year, which was when I lost my closest, beloved friend, my mother, and my husband in one calendar year (even just typing that makes me sigh greatly...), Joel and I observed New Year's Eve with friends. When raising our glasses for a toast to the new year, I added on that I made it through the entire year without someone dying on me. I guess that landed as a bit of a shocking downer, but it was a good thing. Something worth celebrating, even though the grieving was continuing.

So, that's my preface to the blatant obviosity of writing that some years are tough! I could recount all of the years in my life that have been hard (1963, 1966, 1967-8, 1972, 1997-98, 2012-2014). These dates are, of course, meaningless without elaborating on what made them so challenging. I could recount this all in a memoir, but... yuck.

Anyway, 2026 has been wracked with injuries that actually occurred to both Joel and me in 2025. We've endured my sciatic flare-up, his work-related shoulder injury, then my shoulder bursitis followed by his shoulder surgery. There's been a lot of limping, sling-wearing, heat and ice applications, Advil-administering and moaning. What there hasn't been is a lot of dancing, which is at the top of the list of things that run both Joel's and my engines. From Cinco de Mayo 2025 to now, there hasn't been much. Weirdly, a DJ played some salsa at our local Greek Festival this past May and we were able to dance to half of a Marc Anthony song. Joel had surgery about six weeks later.

So now that summer is in full force, we decided to attend one of the Sizzling Summer Nights events at The Autry Museum here in LA. It can be a lovely experience, on the courtyard surrounded by the museum which shades us during the 2-hour, early-evening event. It is often a band we know, including my favorite LA band, Ricardo Lemvo and Makina Loca. Back in my early salsa days, I recall hanging out at a table with Ricardo and the owner of the club, while we waited for salsa class to end and social dancing to begin. It's not Joel's favorite band, but he agreed to go out, just to be amongst salseros we know, and to hear the music. Dancing was not an option...

...until, Joel held out his hands. Can you do this? I asked. And, yes he could, leading with his left hand. It was a little weird, and a little awkward, but we were dancing salsa. And we followed that up with a cha-cha. That was pushing it, so when the song ended, we quit. A couple was walking by and stopped to compliment us on our style of dancing. If they only knew, I said to Joel afterwards. We have gotten a lot of compliments over the years, but that was always for two-handed dancing!

Anyway, the beauty of it was that we danced. And, like the short dance at the Greek Festival, it will get us by for awhile. Joel has started PT just as I am finishing my PT. I suspect we will be dancing again, hopefully even more regularly, sometime this fall. We'll take it slow. I think, as in most things in life, slow is underrated. The important thing is, as The Kinks sang, Don't Forget to Dance. We definitely won't.