We had invited an assortment of neighbors and friends to join us for a potluck get-together at our home last Sunday — Easter Sunday — and they all arrived promptly at the appointed time.
Darkening gray clouds had not dampened spirits in the slightest as our group of 12 assembled. However, dinner was destined to be delayed as the existing tornado watch was upgraded to multiple tornado warnings for our area, including the Hot Springs, Arkansas, area and the Village we call home.
At that time, Hot Springs Village was not included in the “take cover” area. But that changed before long.
With celebratory glasses of champagne or wine in hand, and a buffet well-stocked with hors d’oeuvres, we resolved to delay serving dinner until the severe threat had passed. Conversation was lively, and the appetizers alone could have served as our meal. We kept a watch on outdoor conditions and listened to the continuing weather updates, while sampling Argentine empanadas, deviled eggs, salmon-topped cucumber slices, toast points topped with savory olive tapenade, and an assortment of pickles, olives, and peppers.
We all knew there was more food to come, but somehow the worsening weather spiked our appetites.
The screen was ablaze with red and yellow blobs of color in our viewing area. Place names seemed eerily close and familiar, but the sky was still light, the air was calm, and no rain was falling. However, the weather forecaster repeatedly recommended that area residents take shelter.
The 12 adults gathered in my living room and screened porch looked questioningly at me and my husband as the wind picked up and raindrops began to fall. Together, we explained to our guests that getting to our “safe place,” a room we use strictly for storage, involved going outside and walking down an incline that becomes treacherous in the rain. It is definitely not a place of comfort. It has no television, and it has a large window.
We had no intention to gathering in our designated “safe room” with plates filled with game hens, wild rice, peas and carrots, and fresh-from-the-oven homemade rolls. Instead, we gathered loosely around the television, and continued to catch up on one another’s lives and activities since we had last been together.
The consensus was to remain where we were, closely watching the TV coverage, monitoring our phones for the latest information, and enjoying our holiday get-together. We agreed that, should a confirmed tornado veer in our direction, we would all gather in the single interior room in our home, the guest bathroom.
It’s adjacent to a concrete block fireplace wall and chimney, has no windows, is fortified by plumbing pipes and drain lines, and boasts at least two walls in every direction between the interior and the outdoors.
Once or twice, 12 cell phones served up a cacophony of high-pitched weather alerts along and the concerned faces of our local news station weather forecasters filled the television screen. Weather alerts continued to preempt the scheduled golf coverage on television.
As the minutes ticked by, we all remained comfortable, albeit watchful; some surveying the clouds and breathing in the fresh odor of falling rain. The assortment of appetizers continued to disappear, wine glasses were refilled, and interesting conversation flowed non-stop.
When the tornado threat was deemed to be beyond our geographic area, we drank another toast to friendship and fine food, moving to take our places at tables adorned with ceramic bunnies and white linen napkins, a casually elegant setting combined with a playful sense of humor.
We could, at last, give thanks for the holiday celebration — and for the friendships — that are anything but ordinary. This year has already brought our state, and the entire nation, repeated weather events that have been far from ordinary. We will hope that as spring moves into summer, weather patterns calm and we can enjoy the beauty of the seasons to come.
blankets on the lawn to watch fireworks explode over the water. It was a place for all seasons, and during the heat of summer we occasionally slept in hammocks and deck chairs. Occasionally the allure of the place meant we packed up our sweaters and boots, and brought lots of hot chocolate just so we could watch migrating ducks and angry skies. In the winter, we slept soundly under warm quilts, lulled by the sound of lapping waves.
It was almost a physical pain: My husband and I exchanged glances, without speaking. We, both of us, took slow steps onto the lot, walking with a hesitant, measured pace to where our house once stood.
It was once a regular late night gathering spot, and it has been open 24-7 since 1947. Onion soup and moules with frites are still good, but perhaps no better than at a local bistro. What is worthy of note is the 
We enjoyed a simple dinner and a sinfully rich dessert at a small neighborhood eatery, charmed by the friendliness of everyone there: Italian chef, attentive server and fellow patrons alike. A couple at a nearby table could not fathom why we chose to stay away from Paris for 50 years. In the warmth of the moment, we didn’t understand it either.
We visited the artists still painting caricatures and uniquely original art at Place du Tertre in Montmartre; the paintings we bought 50 years ago still hang in our home. We ducked out of the drizzle and into out-of-the-way brasseries for a warm cafe creme or a quick aperitif. The weather was damp, the skies were mostly grey. We were cold. And we loved every minute of the time we spent in the City of Light.
As usual, “simple” morphed into too much!
Even though Santa Fe is no longer home, there are elements of life there that are hard to leave behind. Biscochitos, a dusting of snow on pinon trees and adobe walls, green chili stew, bright sunlight glistening off snow-covered mountain peaks, antelope cavorting on the eastern plains, lone coyotes standing watch in unexpected places, and the wonder of lighted trees aglow on Santa Fe’s plaza.
Good Food and Faraway Places 