Hosting

Meanwhile, I was getting ready to host the monthly meeting of the embassy book club. During the eight or nine months I’ve been attending this group, I’ve found most of the dozen or so regulars to be vocal, serious about finishing the books, and very generous with their hospitality. Finally it was my turn to put on the pre-discussion dinner and tidy up the apartment and find enough chairs and that sort of thing.

Keep in mind that with few exceptions, Jip and I don’t entertain. For about the past five years, it’s been overwhelming for Jip to be around lots of people at once. She can’t always tell who is speaking. She doesn’t pick up on the body language. If too many voices bounce around a room at the same time, she has been known to get a little freaked out.

So here in Bangkok we don’t own many plates, glasses, or spoons. Put it this way: if we let dishes pile up in the sink after breakfast, there aren’t enough clean ones left for lunch. Before this club meeting, I loaded up on plasticware from the local supermarket. Then I tried to prepare Jip for the event by talking about the guests (she knew nobody) and the menu (spaghetti). Pretty soon it was clear that I was more nervous about it than she was. A friend suggested that we both might relax if one or two folks from the group met Jip ahead of time, so at least some people would be familiar at the party.

That idea worked slick. Sam and Lesley, who hosted a few months back and live nearby, came over for ten minutes on a Sunday afternoon. A few days later, when the doorbell started to ring, Jip asked, “Is that Sam? Where’s Lesley?” She did her exercise routine as usual, on the rug in the middle of the living room, surrounded by people who paused, mid-appetizer, to admire her yoga abilities. When I asked her if the crowd was bugging her, she grinned and said, “Crowd? What crowd?”