Beware Friends Bearing Dinner

I have been alone for several days on the island, and as I am a rather sociable entity, I sometimes find this isolation a little difficult to bear. So when the elderly parents of a childhood playmate from upstate New York, who have a cottage a mile or two down the lake from me called with an invitation to dinner I was pleased to accept their invitation.

Around 5pm yesterday, I jumped into my little runabout and sped off to enjoy catching up with them and take in a meal that was cooked by someone else for a change. We had a lovely afternoon feasting on shrimp and a platter of vegetables with a mysterious brown dip. Delicious, but hitherto unknown to me. Noni excused herself to tend to something in the oven and Harold asked me to come to the fire-pit and help him with the chicken. We wondered over to a small lean-to and had just begun to cook when Harold, suddenly appearing even older than his 75 years, leaned towards me and putting his hand on his shoulder said, "Mark, as Noni and I get older, its important for us to know that we have friends we can count on." I have known for years that their health was in decline and was expecting Harold to ask if they could call on me in times of need. I was right. And I happily assented, offering my unequivocal support and aid, should anything come to pass. It felt nice that someone would consider me to take on this important role. Harold thanked me, and it seemed as though a weight was lifted from his shoulders, which now seemed a little less stooped, his back a little straighter.

We carried our well barbecued chicken indoors to the screened porch and sat to enjoy fresh corn, salad and potatoes. Just before digging in they clasped hands and thanked god for the bounty he provided. Now, when people say grace before a meal they invariably thank some deity but never seem to mention the farmer who grew the food, nor the almost invariably underpaid and unappreciated migrant worker who picked the crops, nor even the corporation that provided the grocery store in which they purchased the meal. However, being a polite guest I went along with the farce, but did not chip in an "amen" at the end, opting instead for a polite smile. At that point, as if sensing the moment was not yet awkward enough for me, Noni chirped, "and Thank you heavenly mother and father for bringing Mark to our table." (No mention of Exxon for providing the necessary petrol, or me for driving the boat, but I digress...) Having been suitably mortified, I tucked into this divinely delivered meal. Jesus, it seems, left the corn in the microwave a bit too long I thought, but since grace was done, I had no appropriate way to bring it up consequently let it be.

The conversation was light and lively. We discussed our families, shared memories, and railed against the horrors of eight years of W in Washington. After a while, the light began to fail, and having no lights on my boat, I thanked them for the wonderful meal (again, I let the corn issue fall to the side, after all, the potatoes were sublime) and bade them farewell. Each taking hold of an arm, they told me how dear I was to them, and what a blessing it was to have me. Alarm bells were ringing like the air raid sirens during the London Blitz. After all, aside from a brief encounter a few weeks earlier, it had been perhaps 15 years since we had seen or spoken with each other. But then they let go - it seems the Jesus-Luftwaffe had been called back to base in the nick of time. I headed to the dock and sped away, left largely with positive feelings for the evening. After all, they had not tried to convert me, and had not even brought my religious beliefs up for discussion and they had proved good company and provided a tasty meal. When I got home I called my parents and a friend and told them about the lovely evening I had shared with two kind, elderly people. I went to sleep patting myself on the back, proud that I was able to brighten the lives of two lonely seniors. "I" I said to myself, "am a good person!"

Little did I know, they had smelled blood in the water...