Tuesday has little to set it apart.
It’s kind of like a Thursday, between other days that have garnered some form of personality based on where they land in a work week. And, then, being retired, most days have lost their cache for me. So, today, Tuesday began without fanfare.
First it was a search for yeast.
I have yeast, lots of it.
Do you remember how scare yeast was during the pandemic?
Well, others scrambled for toilet paper, I stocked up on yeast.
Needless to say, that yeast, still on my pantry shelves, is no longer useful.
We had a tentative plan, and now-a-days most of our plans are tentative based on what malady, ache, pain or unsteadiness is visiting on us … to bake bread. But those ancient packages held only departed fungi that no amount of warm water and sugar could resurrect.
So we shelved that plan, adding it to our tentative plans for some grocery shopping tomorrow. We needed live yeast.
We also had plans to go out to dinner. We kept those plans.
We live about two blocks from St. Johns which is on the corner of Orange and Maple Streets but our physical selves being what they are, we elected to drive only to find that the walk from the car to the dinner was about half as long as a walk from our house.
No matter, it was worth the effort.
We were greeted by a most charming gentlemen in shirt sleeves who sat outside the door and who engaged us in a chat about the unusually warm November weather.
It was the start of a special meal that satiated not only our bodies, but, if I may go further, perhaps our minds and hearts.
Election Day dinner is a tradition in many communities.
St. John’s congregation pulls out all the stops showcasing not only its cadre of cooks but also the willingness of a group of people to spend their time and talents in the effort.
The big room with the vaulted ceiling reverberated with the sounds of happy people enjoying baked ziti, sausages, meatballs, salad and chocolate brownies with assorted beverages including decaf for those of us who need to sleep.
Conversations were lively.
The spirit of the hours was festive … at least Tuesday festive.
There was this something, much more than the menu, the sense of one part of a community putting itself and its gifts out there and inviting others, individuals and groups, representatives of other communities to join in a celebration, in this case, the democratic process.
No matter what the results of the ballot, we were all in this together.
Which, if you think about it, is the basis of any good community’s reason to be.
Yes, the food was delicious, the church volunteers were the perfect hosts and the patriotic décor fit the bill. I don’t know how many could sense what was so special.
I thought of my intent to make bread and the need for packages of living yeast and it came to me that this church dinner in our little village represented the life of our nation, a representation of the living essence that is the American people, probably not so different than the people of other nations, but at this time and place, an example of what holds a nation together…the life of its people.
And after such a difficult election cycle it was refreshing to find on an early Tuesday evening on the corner of Orange and Maple Streets in St. John’s Episcopal Church a sense of “us.”
