A Visit

Last night, Michael and I went on a little adventure. My friend Sarena, who I met when we were both living in Ellensburg, who now lives in the Bellingham area, was in the Seattle area catching up with friends. We'd agreed to meet her (and her two kids, Amanda and Dillon) at the Everett Olive Garden for dinner. She's one of the best friends I've made as an adult (I just don't seem to pick up real friends--plenty of acquaintances, but real friends are few and far between), and it's always a joy to see her and the kids, even just for a short dinner party.

And before people start to roll their eyes about the Olive Garden, let's clarify the choice. Firstly, none of us knows our way around Everett, making it impossible to suggest a four-star restaurant for this meeting. Secondly, with a five year old and a ten year old (both well behaved but still active little kids), a large, family-friendly chain restaurant is always a good choice. They greeted the kids with crayons and coloring books (not just place mats, but actual little coloring books). Finally, Michael had never eaten at an Olive Garden before, and it seemed a good chance to let him have the experience, since there isn't one in Seattle anywhere near us anymore.

The kids greeted us when we got there with a small wicker pumpkin filled with fresh flowers, and were thrilled when we handed them the goody bags full of cute school supplies we'd gotten them as a back-to-school present (light-up Tigger pens and such). Since it's the only Olive Garden in the area, we had to wait for over half an hour for a table, which is a trial even for really well behaved children. When we finally got to the table, Sarena asked that the breadsticks be brought out immediately, so the kids could snack. After two breadsticks (and half the croutons from the top of the salad bowl), Dillon was getting tired of snacking and really wanted his chicken strips and French fries. Sarena suggested that he have another breadstick, to which he responded, sounding like a tiny adult instead of a five-year-old boy, "I want my FOOD!"

When the food did finally make it to the table, Dillon was happily distracted by the large dish of ketchup in the middle of his plate, promptly turning his French fried into a doomed army: "Die, French fry, die!"

Sarena and I used to get together once a week at a little restaurant in Ellensburg, for lunch and gossip. One of our traditions has always been that we order a dessert to share (we used to try a different one every week). Last night, deciding (with Amanda's avid encouragement) that we should continue the tradition, we tried a couple different kinds of cheesecake, one chocolate and one pumpkin. The chocolate one was soon claimed by Amanda, but the adults at the table were more impressed with the pumpkin one, which is something that I'm now going to need to learn to make for Thanksgiving (Michael is completely hooked).

It was a really fun evening. I wish they lived closer!