White napkins

Hagan’s Grill, Hampton, late on a Tuesday night

Daughter One had papered the dining room table with the work of her final Latin project, a map of the Underworld. Daughter Two, markers poised over poster board, asked how is the nervous system connected with the immune system? How is the muscular system connected with the digestive system?

John and I went to Hagan’s Grill for dinner with A and S – friends, and parents, also desperate to get out of the house. The dark wooden table was perfectly square and we sat man across from man, woman across from woman. The white cloth napkins were like white skirts on our knees.

In the room next to us, in the bar area, were a man and woman we know, divorced from their spouses and maybe dating each other – at least it seemed. Thunder rumbled. Rain fell intermittently, like someone turned a shower on and off. We drank a wine that tasted like cool spring water had washed over rocks while flowers were blooming in the next valley over.

We talked about infections you can get in the tropics, cooking, what we were eating, the fierceness of women in war, Paris (the city), the patterns of skull and femur stacking in catacombs, Irish citizenship, a baseball field, music and children, chocolate, the couple who had sex every day for 100 days, and dessert.

More grownup fun:

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Hagan's Grill
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Link from Terry: Video of Women in Art. Beauty.

The Supping Forecast, at pandemian: High spirits expected.