Eight matching plates

Michael's pride in a job well done, laying the new mulch.

We've been busy getting the house ready for my ladies' luncheon tomorrow.  I guess you always clean with a more critical eye when you are expecting company. Michael is a good worker around the house.  However, as when I was a child, there are some foods in the fridge that are off limits to him right now. I did make his lunch for him, though, when he finished his work, of course.

I have eight matching plates and had invited eight ladies to the luncheon.  Perfect.  However, I had a nagging thought running through my head that I should include Louise, too.  Louise is a good person who juices all of her food, except her daily oatmeal. She looks great for her 75 years.  I would be happy if I aged that well. I've known her since we moved here nine years ago, but we really aren't buddies or anything like that. She's an across the street neighbor, I wave to mostly.

She has a husband who is gravely ill with heart problems so bad the doctors don't want to operate on him.  He could die on the operating table, the doctors say. He doesn't like Louise's food so he goes out for every meal, morning, noon and evening, religiously.  You can tell the time by his trips.

But, back to my nagging feeling.  I thought about it a lot.  I hate not having matching plates, but I hate more having that nagging feeling that I should do something I have put off. So I went over and invited Louise to join us. I hope she is happy about that and wants to come.  I thought it would be good for her to have something else on her mind besides her worries about Bob.  I don't know if she'll want to eat my quiches, but maybe she'll enjoy the company.  They are all her neighbors, anyway.

I'm glad I invited Louise.  I'll deal with the odd plate problem that doesn't seem such a big deal after all.