Our dear friends - who never missed ONE single Wednesday (or Tuesday, or Thursday) Spaghetti at our house - moved to Connecticut. They totally got it. They fully understood the whole Wednesday Spaghetti thing: the showing up whenever they could get here, the bring something if it wasn't a stressful notion, the sit down and eat where space allowed, the kids running and playing and eating at their own paces, the casual and communal feel of it all. The husband staked out emptying the trash and recycling as his regular job; I could always count on finding him in the kitchen at some point in the evening taking care of that. He probably took our recycling out more times than I ever have. In the few Wednesday Spaghetti dinners we've had since they moved, there's a definite space at our table.
I don't know how I can adequately capture in words how...happy? proud? joyful? nope...those don't quite do it I felt when I got the evite last month from them. Their first Wednesday Spaghetti in their new neighborhood. They didn't know many of their neighbors yet, and they did it anyway. They weren't sure people quite got the concept, but they were sticking to it. And this month, they did it again.
One month, I'm just going to show up for one of their Wednesday Spaghettis. Bottle of wine or loaf of bread in hand.
I can't wait.
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