Goggy enjoyed throwing a party (part of my inheritance). She enjoyed the planning, especially reading through recipes while constructing the menu. She loved going to the grocery store to shop for the ingredients. She was very organized in the kitchen as she began to prepare the food, stage the evening.
Her least favorite part of throwing a party was the party itself. I can understand why; Goggy wanted it to be perfect. Once the party was in full swing, she became overwhelmed or just plain tired. I, too, must remind myself to enjoy my own parties on occasion. Goggy preferred to hide out in the kitchen while guests noshed, and the volume coming from the living room rose as the evening progressed. When the last guest left, she might take a few bites from the leftovers while clearing the plates or allow for a cigarette break enjoying the cool night air.
Goggy loved to dissect a party, the day after. She could talk about the food for hours. It was almost as if she was tasting each dish for the first time. We would discuss if any of the recipes needed adjustments, take note of which dishes went first, and which were left over. If there had been any memorable antics or spectacular outfits then we might spend a few minutes on that, only to return to her favorite topic-the food.
When I began to attend events as a young adult, our daily phone calls required a detailed description of the food, how it was served, and whether or not it had been good. Sometimes I disappointed her, I hadn’t paid attention to the food or I was too busy to do a detailed recounting of an event’s menu. Sometimes, I would embellish a bit if I had time to kill.
Later in life Goggy moved into senior living; she lost her ability to grocery shop or entertain. She could be difficult to be around. In hindsight, it is easy to recognize her grief and depression. Our relationship was strained too because of confidences betrayed and her critical view of my choice to divorce the kids’ father. Talking about food remained a neutral ground where we continued to connect. Her mood would lift. She could forget about all the indignities endured and compromises made in order to provide her with a place to live and three, unimaginative meals. I could forgive the harsh words and forget the shame I felt from disappointing my family.
