But I was so glad Marylou and Richard had said, "Yes," and we had all arrived. From the start I was pleased by how well the folks from Native Foods had organized things. It took place in the shopping center's common patio area near the restaurant, and they had lots of umbrellas up to give us shade. The day was growing hot, but there was a good little breeze, and in the shade from the umbrellas it was perfect. Chef Tanya was delightful. She was a pleasure to listen to--charming, genuine, knowledgeable. Her father sat right behind us, and I knew he was proud of her, hoped she knew it, too. The servers brought us little tastes and beverages throughout, an almost constant stream, all of them kind, gracious, smiling. I think I would have felt good being there even if I'd arrived grumpy or depressed instead of eager in spite of my rushing. Looking back on it now I think it was because everyone seemed both present and cheerful. Combine that with shade, a sweet breeze, good food and good company, and how can you miss? It was a surprise to me how glad I was we went. I'd go again in a heartbeat.
The fact it was vegan food was an extra bonus, of course. Chef Tanya told us how they make their seitan, too, and explained what texturized soy protein was when I asked, told her I had always been leery of it. It has something to do with centrifugal force and separating the protein out of the fat. The "Beefy Bourguignon" was almost eery in the way it echoed that meaty broth, and "Tomorrow's Tamale Pie" had a fun mix of flavors and textures. It was pretty, too, all fresh colors. But the "Chocolate Mousse Divine" truly was, and though I never manage to follow recipes, this one I will make. The main ingredient was shocking: avocados. It was rich and creamy and sweetened with agave nectar. I had a moment in the middle of the event when I was relishing the breeze and sipping a sweet pink drink when my heart leapt and I was so glad, so grateful I was there. I'd had a similar upswelling of emotion the last time Marylou and Richard and I went out to eat in almost the exact spot. We'd gone to try the Kasbah Cafe, a new Moroccan restaurant next door to Native Foods. It was funny how many "perfect new things" cropped up in the last couple of weeks before I became 52. I had the urge to save them, to wait until I was 52. I had to laugh at myself, the hoarder of new things. But saving them seemed wrong, so against the spirit of the thing. It made sense the urge to do new things would come to the fore as soon as I'd made my intentions clear, even that the opportunities for them would multiply, the way things work in this mystical world of ours.
So, even though I was still 51 and I knew they wouldn't "count," I indulged in the new things instead of hoarding them: my first neighborhood meeting, my first meal at the nearest Thai place, my first time doing "day use" at the ACE hotel. And the new Morrocan restaurant where, only days before I turned 52, the three of us sat in Kasbah's patio not twenty feet from where we were today and we sampled their fare for the first time. Marylou was regaling me with the after-the-fact funny description of their big annual homeowner organization event, and for once I didn't interrupt when the feelings welled up in me, didn't barge into her story to tell them what I wanted to say. I was listening, noticing how Richard's additions to the story reflected his great pride in her, his fondness for her, and I felt so glad, so grateful to be there with them. I still marvel at the truth of it, to be almost neighbors again, both transplanted from Sebastopol all these many years later. But their presence and Auntie Christel's here has saved me, given me a grounding and companions, the almost impossible chance of having old friends, old connections, in a new place. That hot April Sunday at the cooking demonstration, I sat with Marylou and Richard under the umbrellas, and I felt it again, the pleasure and the gratitude. I glanced over at my friends, looked around at the other people gathered, listened to Chef Tanya touch on the idealogical side, the spiritual side of what she does, her way of changing the world one vegan dish at a time. "Eat peace," she said, and grinned, and I relished the hope of it, the goodness of her goal. The breeze cooled the back of my neck, bathed my arms, and I scooped the last of the pretend chocolate mousse from the little biodegradable "plastic" cup made out of corn. Mmm. I licked my lips. All this and chocolate, too? How lucky can one woman get?
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