Sharing A Meal

Jazzy and I went over to Sharon and Jerry’s last night to settle in for a friendly game of Settlers of Catan.  It was my forth time playing it, and Jazzy’s 2nd time.  She won.  She batted her eyes, played ‘cute’ the whole time, sucked people out of their resource cards, and then came out of nowhere to win.  I am both astonished and impressed.

Bacia bought a one-way ticket to Vancouver a couple weeks ago.  She wanted to be with her son.  She’d been increasingly withdrawing from our dysfunctional little community for some time now.  She didn’t even bother to say ‘good-bye.’  Perhaps it would have been too emotional for her.  I’m going to miss her.  She was my ‘Toronto Mom’.

In the meantime, Frank decided to move into her place and put me in charge of finding my own roommate for our current space.  This will give me power over the place, meaning that if things don’t work out with the new person, I can send him/her packing.  The lease will be in my name.

It took me awhile to understand the implications of the deal.  Real estate ain’t my thing.  Frank sat me down and drew it up for me with crayons.  At first I was like, ‘You’re the landlord. Why am I finding a tenant to replace you?’  He used small words and spoke slowly, explaining that binding myself into a lease with a perfect stranger probably isn’t in my best interests.

Living apart will probably be good for the ‘ol friendship as well.  Seeing each other everyday and every night, whether we want to or not, tends to dull the bloom on a relationship.  It’s been awhile since Frank and I actually hung out.  We’re both looking forward to finding a little space from each other, so we can get back to feeling like we actually WANT to hang out.

It’s been almost nine months since I moved into this building.  The dynamic has changed completely.  We used to gather around Bacia’s table for meals.  Not only was it familyish, but it was necessary.  Frank and I didn’t have a stove.

Once Frank remedied that inconvenience, I think we only got together for a meal at Bacia’s on two other occasions.  Frank and I stopped eating meals together as well, since we tend to be on different schedules, and eat at different times.  We became islands, drifting apart.  Bacia’s gone, Frank’s moving out, and I’m courting a roommate.

I never realized how powerful sharing a meal together can be.

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