Everyone Loves a Party

We've been in Central Oregon over a year and haven't been to any parties. I don't think anyone in the neighborhood has thrown any parties. On the one hand, it's cool that we haven't been disturbed by any noisy parties. On the other hand, we haven't been invited to any noisy parties, either. Bummer.

Please note that I'm talking about "parties" with an R, not an N. I know it can be difficult to read text on a computer screen sometimes.

Anyway, our long party fast has been broken. Saturday night we brought some home-baked bread and some couscous to a potluck in Bend. We met a lot of friendly, interesting people and had a great time, which is good considering we didn't know anybody there.

The hosts were very warm and inviting. Ron told us to make ourselves at home, beer and drinks were on the deck, and to let them know if there was anything we needed. We introduced ourselves, and learned that he was a plumber and his lovely wife was an ER nurse. "How'd you hear about the party?" he asked.

"Uh, Joe invited us." He nodded.

Connie and I mingled. We like mingling. We chatted for a bit with another ER nurse who worked with the hostess. She remembered when the hospital, now amidst a sea of houses, was surrounded by empty land. She enjoyed her work, and had some ideas for what to do about patients who didn't know all the medications they were taking. Evidently this is a problem in the ER. Who knew? I'm always pleased when someone not only identifies a problem but has recommendations to alleviate the problem.

I asked her what brought the most patients to the ER and she said, "Abdominal pain." The hostess said she thought most patients were admitted for head pain or back pain. I guess that's better than overdoses, gun shots and motor vehicle accidents. We know an ER nurse in Oakland, and that's what she mostly gets. We talked about the health care system for a while. She was frustrated that most countries in Western civilization had a better health system than we did.

She asked if we knew the hosts. "Uh, Joe invited us." She nodded.

While Connie and I were sitting at the kitchen counter, a guy in his 20's (I'm guessing) came into the kitchen. He was a few inches shy of six feet, with a buzz cut, a baseball cap and a boxer's arms. He wore jeans and a short-sleeved shirt that revealed colorful tattoos on his bulging biceps. He was the kind of guy that nervous women would cross the street to avoid, and lonely women would cross the street to meet. The kind of guy that leaves geeks like me reminding ourselves that "looks aren't everything."

Pulling out a cutting board, he started husking and trimming cloves of garlic and whacking them with the flat of a butcher knife. To the garlic he added balsamic vinegar, olive oil, salt, pepper and red pepper flakes, to use as a dip. Okay, so he can cook, too. He had a beautiful Peruvian girlfriend, and when I asked if he'd been to the new Peruvian restaurant in town, she gave him one of those beaming "ooh, we gotta go!" looks. Cute couple. And they didn't ask who invited us.

The house, by the way, was gorgeous. The front yard was beautifully landscaped with lava rock borders creating terraces at different heights, a dry streambed of river rocks and lovely flowers in bloom. The interior was decorated with rustic furniture, folk art, antiques, a foosball game, ceramic vases and unframed paintings of ocean waves. There were two pairs of binoculars on the windowsill, and a bird feeder in the backyard. Santana was playing on the stereo.

The backyard was landscaped with tons of lava rock, terraces that rose up higher and higher the farther they got from the house, and a gravel path winding its way to the back area. Three frogs in the pond were competing to see who could croak the loudest. There were a few children at the party, and the hostess made sure the kids knew to avoid the cactus.

Huh?

I grew up in California, where cactus was as common as car chases. I forgot that not everybody would be familiar with the painful properties of cactus needles. It makes me wonder what vital facts I'm ignorant of for surviving in Central Oregon.

Of the two or three dozen people there, we probably talked with about a dozen of them. All were friendly and laid-back. We also met Joe, a world-wise guy who reminded me a bit of Willie Nelson. We introduced ourselves, and he told us some stories of Seattle and Portland. He asked if we knew the hosts. Nope.


Posted by Dave    Blog Tag: Chatter