Posters went up in advance of the Thanksgiving potluck dinner. It was the first big indoor gathering in months, and we almost didn't go.
By Larry Peirce
We’ve been on the road long enough to miss things we took for granted back in our old life, before we pulled up roots. Potluck dinners, for example.
The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, the staff at the resort here in Florida put together a potluck dinner. We didn’t get too excited. We’re out of the gathering habit.
By the time Covid-19 hit in March 2020 we had almost like we had 18 months of social distance training for a pandemic. We’ve lived and worked in campgrounds, much of the work outdoors, so we had plenty of space. We got most of our social interaction with guests and coworkers, so we weren’t starved for conversation.
We also found that most of our co-workers were like us. They were perfectly happy to go home after work, playing it safe.
The pandemic blew up and we heard others yearn to see friends and family, and it just didn’t seem to hit us that hard. In fact, our first couple months we enjoyed some solitude. Maybe it’s just our age. Even after getting our vaccinations last spring, we've played it pretty safe.
So the upcoming Thanksgiving feast at the resort - it’s really more like a retirement village – forced the issue: Did we want to break bread - indoors - with dozens of neighbors we don’t really know?
Everyone was invited, especially the new arrivals. Still, we almost forgot all about it.
Then I stopped at the office to get some mail and through the door to the hall, I smelled the overpowering aroma. Turkey in the oven. Paula, the office receptionist, was over by the sign-up sheet.
“You’re coming to the dinner tonight, aren’t you?” she said.
I replied that we hadn’t prepared anything and had let it slip. No problem, she said, assuring me that there was plenty of food, and we should come.
An hour before the dinner, Angie and I decided we needed a break in the routine of dining alone. We didn’t want to seem unsociable and hear about it later.
Arriving later than almost everyone, we met Diane, one of the dinner committee volunteers, at the entrance table. We received two free tickets for the door prize drawing and we bought a set of “50-50” tickets. The winner would walk out with half the cash.
The murmur of the crowd, the final kitchen clatter and the smell of coffee - all of it brought back memories of dozens of community gatherings we attended years before, often with a couple kids in tow.
Whether in a church basement, the Knights of Columbus Hall, a school cafeteria or the city auditorium, we could count on seeing familiar faces, friends and family sitting together.
Here we had to adjust to being the newcomers again, but the feeling didn’t last. I imagined that if we mingled, we would soon hear stories about kids and grandkids, good times and tough times, just like back home.
We found a table toward the back next to a couple from Texas, Roy and Becky. The Texans were new to the road, still giddy about their first month of adventure.
Paula was the emcee, and she introduced Scott, the resort’s new manager, who was young enough to be a grandson for most of the gray headed folks in the folding chairs. Next, a woman gave the blessing, her voice cracking as she said, “It’s been so long since we got together.”
A table at a time, the hungry horde headed for the buffet. Finally our turn came, and I was halfway through, heading for the turkey platter when I was suddenly face-to-face with a woman and her plate. Was she going against the flow, or was I? We both wondered as we laughed: Was there a plan? It has been a while, I thought.
Back home we would have teasingly put out an elbow, or joked “Get back in line.” That seems like so long ago.
The conversation died down as the crowd dug in. Paula rose and drew the ticket for the first door prize.
I watched our tickets as she read off one of our numbers. We won! I had a strong hunch we would, and the first prize too. We hadn’t even scanned the prize table. “You want to go up and choose it?” I asked Angie. I think she agreed because she didn’t trust me to get something useful.
So while she was up there in front of the room, feeling all those unfamiliar eyes watching her, I had to chuckle. I couldn’t believe how much fun I was having in a room full of strangers. I was listening more than talking, soaking in the atmosphere. I had to have another plate, as if this food was more than just tasty calories. It was memories and culture.
Angie returned with a red box. It looked impressive but contained a few ounces of Old Wisconsin brand cheese, crackers, and summer sausage, plus a jar of olives. It was a prize nonetheless, and it wouldn’t clutter up the camper.
Our door prize, cheese and crackers, but a prize nonetheless
I got out my phone and composed a family text, the photo had the door prize box in the foreground: “Scratched off the bucket list: Winning the cheese and crackers box at the Florida retirement village Thanksgiving party.” These words amused me and shocked me at the same time.
When did we get old enough to live even temporarily at a retirement village?
Paula announced that seconds were available, so I obliged. Angie went for dessert. The door prize drawings continued. Happy winners cried out: “Aha, I got it.”
A few guys, we assumed they were longtime residents, teased: “This is all rigged.” Another predictable part of the potluck door prize raffle.
I was really surprised at my mood. We only recognized a few people, but the celebration made us comfortable. Still, we tried to keep our distance because of Covid. The chairs across from us remained empty.
I really didn’t need the slice of apple pie, but I managed, whipped cream and all. We didn’t win the 50-50 drawing, but we saw the joy of the woman who took home 88 bucks.
And suddenly it was all over, and we headed for the door. Angie had noticed my happy mood. “What’s with you. You seem all hyped up?” she asked.
I couldn’t figure it out either. It was fun to see people at a party. It was comforting to see the server bring the fresh coffee around. You could tell she was so happy to be serving. Maybe, when we said we didn’t miss gatherings, we were just playing tough, fooling ourselves.
I couldn’t figure it out either. It was fun to see people at a party. It was comforting to see the server bring the fresh coffee around. You could tell she was so happy to be serving. It could be that when we said we didn’t miss gatherings, we were just playing tough, fooling ourselves.
We hope that as we keep adjusting to change, you’ll find the time to get back together with your friends and family this holiday season. Stay safe out there.
Larry and Angie Peirce are the Third Quarter Nomads, living that third quarter of life after age 50 while they explore America. You can reach them by email at larry@thirdquarternomads.com. Check out our past blog entries and photos in our gallery.
Comments