
Cousin Marie just flew in from San Fran. Post Spain excursion, prior to attending classed at Oxford, she skids into Chez Bay.
Also, occupying two other seats, we have Sir Hillary Fusspot to my right, then Marie's husband, Leonard, to my left, another Capital C type Conservative via William F. Buckley, quintessential, slightly strident, almost kind in retrospect to today's neocon.
Two men, so complacent, comfortable. Hillary with his Harvard, then his father's Harvard to re enforce his own. But some gentle Okie southern root, via boarding school to soothe Hillary's conservative corners, then moi, your resident pragmatic hedonistic anarchist seated directly across from uber idol Marie.
Had more blanc de blancs Ruinart, no small feat to locate on a Monday morn in the city of light...
Cousin Marie is most unique. She was appointed by Reagan, bypassing all reality, the 'TYPE AND TEACH' reality, the only one reality available for females circa 1952 San Fran. I have Muv, Marie, Betty, Mama. i have no excuse.
Back then, San Fran, a city still loving of deep formality, more than the most cities in the States, mid or other...always fresh food, long before others, fantastic cuisine that my city, her little sister, Seattle, benefited gratefully from..........
San Fran, a unique city with neighborhoods as deep and authentic as any found in New York, informing my muv and cuz marie...My grandfather Walter designed parts of Presidio...so nice to sit at my table, with hand painted tablecloth, designed for Muv, a product of said grandfather, lover of all little yellow birds.....the gal that painted the piece of linen, and she got color, hence a most specific treasure inspired by muv...
Marie got it, early on. Marie became the first female Superior court judge in her very large part of the world, Alameda specifically, in spite of it all.
Marie and I sit across from another, ignoring, or trying, but respectful of Capital C types, as we are part of the past, of an America that could argue towards the middle. We were just happy to be together, talk about Muv and her sister's health aside, we're in Paris, in spite of it all. Nothing else matters, today. Manners.
An hour later, after Sir Hillary Fusspot and Capital C have departed, long after Marie has left the building, Godot and I sit and think about our uber idol. Someone relayed their take on the competent quadrant notion to me on my last trip to London; 2% of all people do stuff. 8 % try and screw those that are doing the stuff (litigious disease,in part), and 90% do nothing at all.
Marie gets it, I think I do, sadly enough....
Godot, my little one, agrees........
Table, B, C n G await for NY crew to drop by Chez Bay on Wednesday......

Prior to the arrival of imminent and impressive guests , I tap into my creative skills to enable the table to impress as well. I know the conversation may be in danger of too much French for my beginner status, so possibly I am partially intent upon creating enough diversion to compensate for barely conversational French speaking skill along with the fact one of the very reasons I throw a dinner gig is to set a table well. It allows a creative process to complete itself, something my novel writing rarely provides. I can start a creative process, prepare a lovely meal, set a gorgeous table, enjoy old and new friends and as the last dish is placed back in the cabinet I have brought the entire process full circle.
Next.
But prior to absorbing my own sense of accomplishment I have to begin the process.
Many years ago, a friend, a rather talented artist painted a piece of linen for my mother, who happens to be an avid bird watcher and Audubon society enthusiast. As a kind gesture, Muv sent it to me last year as we both agreed it should live in Paris rather Seattle. She's beyond her dinner party days and I am not. So the daughter takes the torch, proudly and brings out the matching napkins, each with their own colored bird amidst green branch. I find some live flowers to compete with the table, some candles to create more aesthetically pleasing chaos and voila, dinner at Chez Bay is about to commence.
But before the conversation can start, the menu must be reviewed and the wine determined. I know I want to stay with white as red is too difficult for my tablecloth. White linen is always easy and can come clean, but not with this mini-masterpiece. It's best to avoid or anticipate the first inevitable spillage.
I'm serving my staple, eggplant bundles, a lovely concoction of eggplant, tomato, Parmesan, mozzarella, parsley, basil, garlic and have decided on tuna steaks for the second course so a bottle of Chateau Simone 2003 will see us through my gorgeous pastry presentation avec elegant and edible long chives tied adroitly into a lovely little bow.
At 8:30 the guests arrive, the Ruinart Champagne creates the mood, the candles almost everywhere and trio of orchards here and there assist our environs and the emotional climes just begin to move as they will. I love to entertain. I love to spread good karma, avoid the tedious particulars of our lives as my husband is down south with his parents near Nice, far enough away for me to enjoy the collision of diverse personality and let it happen as it will.
The dinner is intimate. Linda, la countess, or rather fellow Seattlelite that happened to marry into a prominent french family knows just about everyone and gives me the gift and shares her little black book every now and then. Actually, I prefer, and request it only now and then, it makes it more meaningful and fulfilling.
Two of the guests, Catherine and Florence are particularly interesting. Catherine, from a family that owns a bank in Switzerland, had a salon in Paris for years and continues to share her diverse passions with many and Florence owns many Flemish paintings and not just a few Brueghel's. her passion is more concise but similarly interesting. Florence is less than comfortable speaking English so French is the main mode of communication, therefore I must practice the art of listening and engage when I can.
Always a good exercise, even in one's mother tongue, n'est pas?
The dinner goes well, politics, art and all the usual suspects are covered.Marie Antoinette is prominent, American policy, fortunately enough, less so.
The bottles of Rully keep steady even as Bernard deviates and gives more than just a little respect to my bottle of Chivas at the bar. We finally wrap up and decide it's time to call it a day as it is has become another well past midnite.
I'm just grateful to imbibe. One may perceive such flights of fancy as too indulgent in these dark times. But hey, what say, what's wrong with a bit of hedonistic pleasure. Rien. For this is highbrow at its best.
And, it all goes by, like life, in a flash from a digital....
Who's next....