On Small Parties

End of day. We look forward to it as we make our way through work and studies and all the in-between things that occupy us.

Families reunite, gathering from the four winds, leaving personal spheres to rejoin the nucleus, the hub.

If there is a best and worst time of day, I think it is the hour just before dinner, that hour of exquisite irony wherein our needs to meet and restore one another often collide with the reality of fatigue and low blood sugar. Often the members of our little teams are coming in with their landing gear in flames.

In this condition, instead of appreciating the profundity of their reunion after a day in the wilds of modern society, instead of conveying their relief and gratitude for the warm hearth and dinner under way, these loved ones are distraught and narrow minded. They will argue and whine until your nerves are quivering.

They will incur clumsy accidents, nosebleeds, and debilitating headaches. They will distract the cooks with critical last minute highly pitched proposals which require immediate transportation and money.

At this point irritating solicitors will telephone wanting your attention and your cash for nut-brain plastic home-improvement products or oblique causes; clothing will rip away from the seams; dead broken birds with astonishing quantities of loose feathers will be delivered by the cats; television, if it is allowed, becomes grating and particularly inane; the dry, split firewood which has been stacked for easy access on the porch, has disappeared; and precious old dishes leap to the floor like lemmings headed home.

On a good day, the nutritious, borderline-gourmet meal is practically preparing itself, the children are enjoying a happy synchronicity -- getting ahead with their homework, playing music, or some non-acrobatic, low volume game that stimulates their rapidly developing intellects and, by their conscious choice, not aggressive competition.

The phone stands silent; the television is off; and, often pivotally, the cook has planned appetizers.

We need this hour. It is worthy of defending. No matter how it crumbles, there is no substitute for lengths of time spent in each other's company, in an uncharged everyday atmosphere. If we are to know each other, we see this bit of time as an opportunity not just to catch up and find out what someone is doing, but to see how they are doing, to observe their subtle tones, to read the signs in their faces., and to respond to them.

A little something tasty, attractively served, a few kisses here and there, a kind word, hot tea, some apple cider in all its fresh pressed glory, a modest glass of deep Merlot, can assist in ushering in a new mood.

Ten minutes stolen before dinner, an interesting surprise from the kitchen and the transgressions, the masks and silences, the tension of other lives falls away and the reward of sweet hearted melding begins to occur.

I suggest Artichoke Heart Dip. Dig out a festive heat-proof dish reserved for special occasions, try this delightful blend of ingredients and have a small party any ordinary day.

If you are not a big boisterous bunch, if you are two with no upstarts, or one, with pets and memories, I invite you to try it, too.

Preheat the oven to 350. Chop coarsely with knife or in a food processor:

8 oz. artichoke hearts

Add:

7 oz. can chopped mild green chilies

1 C. grated Parmesan cheese.

3/4 C. fresh or commercially prepared mayonnaise.

Combine all these ingredients, adding freshly roasted red peppers if you like, or upgrading to fresh Parmesan. Place in your ovenproof serving dish. Bake for 30 minutes.

If you have time, allow to rest for 10-15 minutes and it will become solid; it also just needs to cool.

Serve with crackers, fresh vegetables, tortillas.

Now. Tell stories, laugh to the high heavens, be glad. Toast everyone not with you. Don't forget dinner.