Sunday night, Eric and I stumbled across a party in our neighborhood. Well, the truth is that the reason we ended up there was because we were complaining about the music. We had been trying to relax and had pulled out some lounge chairs in our backyard. The weather was perfect; warm, but not humid. The dog was sleeping next to us, exhausted after a jam-packed weekend.
“I’m going to take Maki for a walk and see where that’s coming from.”
“Yeah, I just want to see and maybe tell them to turn it down a bit.”
I laughed, knowing how ridiculous it was that the youngest homeowners on the street (and quite possibly in the three blocks surrounding us), the ones who were supposed it be hip and cool, were actually two crotchety guys who moan about the kids blasting their music too loudly.
Ten minutes later, Eric returned. It turned out the music was actually a live band (a band, I should add, that specializes in covering the songs of Jimmy Buffet, though they make it clear in their marketing materials that they do other genres) and that the woman whose party it was was very nice and had them turn down the volume. Oh, and if we wanted we were welcome to come over and join them. Not being ones to turn down an invitation to a party, we headed off.
“This is so random.” I said as we approached their driveway. We knew no one and the only interaction we’d had with them was Eric’s brief confrontation.
The next thing we knew, three hours had gone by. A couple glasses of wine consumed. New friends made. We got to hear lots of gossip (and who isn’t a sucker for that) and felt even more connected to the neighborhood that we just moved into four months ago.
Of course, none of this has to do with ceviche. I’m not even going to try to bridge these two. All I can tell you is that it wasn’t as scary as I thought it’d be to make. In fact, it was really simple and so refreshing on these brutal summer days we’ve been having. There may have been some margaritas consumed as well… or gin and tonics. Definitely one of those.