The Lunch Bunch

Recently, I moved with my job to our new location.  We're expected to follow some of the rules of the establishment we're joining.  One of the rules there is that staff takes a half-hour for lunch.  If they'd said that we will have to pay them to work there, the uproar might have been less.

For years, I ate mostly at my desk.  I read books, wrote letters, played on the internet - and ate.  This suited me fine; after all, I'd spent the morning listening to others and some solitude was welcome.  Until George came.

I'd always gone into the lunch room to get my lunch from the fridge and possibly heat it in the microwave, and usually there was no one else there.  Slowly, however, the back table began to fill up with people who were chatting and laughing and I was intrigued.  So one day I sat with them.  Most of these people I had worked with for years but I barely knew them.  George, I didn't know at all, as he was new there.  Yet he went into the lunchroom every day, hoping for company.  He'd eaten alone for decades during his time in private practice, and now he wanted conversation.

At first, George basically held the floor.  He is charming, intelligent and tells wonderful jokes.  He was born in Romania and has traveled the world, so he has a never-ending supply of fascinating tales.  We listened, enrapt, and learned.  George also, over time, has a way of drawing people out, and we began to know each other.  Ruth is a listener.  She relished every moment there (she's since moved away), but was far happier as an audience member than taking center stage.  Nonetheless, she began to share details of her family life, her history, and dreams, and when I said one day, "I'm going to Europe next year - anyone want to join me?" she signed up and went!

Adam is known as "the quiet one".  (Or, as he prefers to put it, "A Man of Mystery".)  Turns out that quiet, Clark Kent-like exterior hides a brilliant wit, delightful sarcasm, and keen observation.  Another of the "quiet" ones was Marianne (who left for part-time work).  She'd happily talk about her decorating or vacations, but otherwise, she listened, coming most alive when the subject of food arose.  Her mantra?  "I don't eat that."  We finally had her list the foods she will eat!  Navneet, on the other hand, chatters happily on all sorts of topics but is best known for sharing her food.  She loves to see others eat things she enjoys and sometimes I think most of her lunch ends up in other's stomachs.

Then George retired.  It is not exaggerating to say we had a period of mourning and we all bound together at lunch to keep his spirit with us.   That's when we realized that we were no longer gathering just because of George, but because we'd become a sort of a family.  As families do, we lost people and added people.  Those we "lost" still gather with us for brunch or drinks or parties with some regularity; they are still family, after all.

The additions are also wonderful.  Deb, whose mantra is "That was before my time" (she's the youngest) delights in being "snarky" though she's truly a beautiful soul.  And then there is Frank.

Frank is a brilliant psychiatrist.  He is also unfailingly kind and thoughtful, and totally without filters.  We will be discussing European travel and Frank will interject with a question about flatulence.  In the midst of a conversation about documentaries, he'll note that getting married in a nudist colony would save the cost of wedding apparel - and then pass out clown noses.  Stream-of-consciousness is his favorite art form.  And we adore him.

Others join us from time to time.  We welcome newcomers, grieve when someone leaves, and are constantly grateful for the time we have together.

Oh, that rule about half-hour lunches?  The Powers-That-Be decided early on to abandon that one.  Who in their right mind would take on a family wearing clown noses?

What truly is important

I was recently reading a friend's Facebook note about what he would be willing to give up a year of his life for and it made me think.  A year of my life, or even something far less drastic - for what and for whom would I be willing to make real sacrifices?  And then it hit me - all of us DO give up weeks, months, even years of our lives, for those people, causes, etc., that are important to us.

No, the odds are that I'll never get the opportunity to die one year earlier in exchange for something that's important to me, but that doesn't mean I can't sacrifice for those things.  When one spends time listening, perhaps for the 40th time, to the same stories a favorite uncle tells ... and smiles and laughs on cue, one is giving up time from one's life.  When one adopts an animal and spends the next 10-20 years caring for it, feeding it and loving it, one is giving up huge chunks of time from one's life.  When we do volunteer work, spend hours on the phone with a brokenhearted friend - all of these are gifts of our time - gifts of time from our lives.

So I just want to say to all of the people for whom I make time in my crazy life - would I give up a week, a month, maybe a year of my life for you?  Yes.  And it's pretty obvious that you give up time from your life for me.  Thank you.