There's that expression about how if you didn't laugh, you'd cry, and maybe it's a tribute to my dark sense of humor that I can appreciate the bizarreness of the phone call we got tonight. A family friend, Maureen, who is charged with selling my Mom's house, left us a message. Her son, who is a well-regarded chef in Charleston, will be paying a rare visit home this September. She and he offered to host an open house for all the local real estate brokers, wherein Greg (Maureen's son) cooks and they all eat and take a stroll around the house, familiarizing themselves with the property. It's Southern hospitality and from a purely unemotional standpoint, it's not a bad idea. From my perspective, it is surreal.
My Mom was a great entertainer, and a fantastic cook. All my life, our house was filled with people from around the world, always gathered to eat platters upon platters of food that she made herself that rivaled the finest restaurant fare. She was so open and giving and generous. She loved Maureen's family, as do I, and there is no doubt in my mind that she would think this was not only a clever idea, but that she would welcome Greg into her kitchen and have a fun time with all the realtors. That is how she was. And therein, as they say, lies the rub. I'll definitely give the okay for this "party" to be held, but I don't know if I'll have the heart to attend. If I do, in honor of her, I will be gracious and not glum. Life is so strange, and I'm trying not to cry. I'm sure Greg will dish up some good chow, and I could probably talk Grandma Betty into showing up, and maybe even Maureen's lovely daughter Meagan, both of whom I adore. I would love to set up Meagan with my brother-in-law. Last time I saw Betty, with her showgirl-red hair, was at my Mom's wake, where she said something comforting to me in her New York accent, and slipped me an Ambien, bless her.
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