Gossip hung thick over the patio table, like fog in a deep valley, as the women compared renditions of incidents, weddings, and upcoming attractions. Their heads strained towards the center, wrinkled foreheads drawn to each other, as if magnets connected them. Their mouths raced, each adding tidbits and corrections, while secret glances shot back and forth like electric currents. There was weight here, subtle undertones, knowing smiles, and shared histories ... body language expressing secret camaraderie, and compliments that voices were too reserved to speak.
The men, less mysterious, were gathered around their coolers, guarding their beers and telling the same rehearsed stories. No undercurrents here. They wore their colorful shirts and swam the evening away in safe, happy waters, filled with no surprises, entertaining each other with tales, more amusing than factual, of past fishing trips, cruises, and golf tournaments, made more interesting by time and distance. They had heard the misadventures before, but there was comfort in the repetition, like reciting a chant, or saying the Rosary. In the event of a new occurrence, foolish, funny, or foul, this fresh intrigue was interwoven into the recital, like an appendix, allowing their tales to grow protracted and rich with prolonged acquaintance.
A new arrival might have been reminded of a museum display, depicting ancient cave dwellers, squatting around a bonfire — contemporary man exchanging animal skins for plastic chairs, inventing coolers, and wielding a more developed vocabulary, but the behavior was endearingly similar. In appearance a segregated crew, but their linkage to the women became apparent as the evening progressed.
Frequently, a woman circled the men’s domain to set down a fresh bowl of dip, or an unrecognizable mixture of pretzels, cereal, and nuts. Another female broke the barrier, gathering empty beer cans, while secretly counting the number consumed. A curious few drifted, changing channels by pulling back their lawn chairs and picking up stories from both tables simultaneously, as if listening to duo stereos, broadcasting mixed signals.
No children were present; this group had completed that assignment, with their offspring safely installed in colleges, marriages, or distant apartments. Now they searched for something important to fill the void, hunting for salvation through each other.
Current events, terrorist attacks, threats of nuclear war, all the press releases ignored, pushed aside, like troublesome leaves from a too low branch. No one present wanted to discuss the constant rants of newscasters. This group had no immediate desire, nor the fortitude, to recite those frightful chants. Rather, they faced proven foes: cancer, diabetes, heart attacks, and old age; that was enough. World events were out of their control, and so were the dreaded illnesses. Coping was a simple word. Acceptance, tolerance, insight, and understanding were now the cornerstones of aging, assisted by experience, and friendships.
The impulsive might say, “there is nothing happening at their barbecue,” but wiser minds would understand it was more than a meal; the barbecue with its sizzling grill healing damaged spirits, comforting lonely souls, and filling another night. Cave dwellers understood the warmth of fire, the gathering of friends, the sharing of food and the offering of nourishment. Friends supporting one another, enhancing their strength, building tolerance and shaping character, mingling, and in doing so, becoming more human.
