Tonight we neighbors (is there a feminine plural? neighboresses?) are hurrying down to Angelina’s for Netflix and pizza. The group hasn’t picked out the movie yet. I’d like one with a Gospel message of redemption and salvation. But that may not be the case, judging by the 2023 film trailers I watched last night with the sound off, finger poised to click the mouse button to the next selection. Yike. Depending on the title I may have to leave after our supper of fellowship (is there a feminine singular? galship?).

But no matter what, I’m bringing her a salad for her weekend dinner.

It has steamed kale with grated raw carrots, red onion, boiled firm tofu, boiled eggs, chopped roasted almonds, goat cheese, yogurt, dried cherries, apple cider vinegar, olive oil, paprika, and a sprinkle of tiny fennel fronds that sprang up from an old wintering stalk out in the garden. Angelina is a grand-slam cook and comes from a background of classy restaurants, so it was necessary to think up something marginally gentrified. Besides, she was a Godsend last Saturday taking the lion’s share of weight when we wrestled four 60-pound sacks of topsoil from her car hatch to the garden in the freezing rain. Hopefully she will like the salad.

I’ll bring something to wrap around my feet and legs too, after leaving shoes at the door. The Dog Pack have decided that I am delicious, and are forever looking for an opp to wander up the couch and start nibbling my toes. That’s caused by regular foot and ankle applications of coconut oil. Apparently coconut oil must be some form of olfactory dognip. It would be interesting to see how the dogs react to alternate lubricants week by week — lard, schmalz, marrow, sardine can oil, or birdfeeder suet. As it is now, their collective greetings are all bouncy glee. “It’s Mare! Look everybody, I’m totally sticking my head up her dress! You can too!” Now I could protect my feet by sticking them in one of the tubular cages of chicken wire that we use in summer for the tomatoes. But for a visitors’ parlor Emily Post might vote for my rolled yoga mat. The yoga mat turned out to be good protection. The dogs still found great entertainment value in vaulting up on to my lap for a bite of my food. Whenever they try that, I give them a soft hiss and a firm poke, and they frolic off and pick some more hospitable lap. But it’s interesting; they are still just as pleased to see me every time. And they’ve figured out that if they edge closer in calm submissive fashion and just snuggle up next to me for a nap they know I’ll pet them, so it’s all good.

Update, morning after: We watched the first 5 episodes of a program called “Ted Lasso.” It was a pleasant surprise with interesting character development. I’m re-reading The Brain That Changes Itself by Norman Doidge, so it was interesting to watch how Coach Ted’s brain worked. The character shows hyper-developed and hyper-attuned neuroplastic connectivity skills for matching people up with their best opportunities for personal growth. For example, during various scenes Ted keeps passing by an ignored street musician busking on the street, and always stops to give him pocket change and some word of encouragement. In the finale to episode 5, when a famous celebrity doesn’t show for a benefit concert, Ted steps outside and brings in the busker (“and now, live from… outside!”), and everyone jumps up and starts dancing and has a grand time.

Angelina not only served an ample selection and portions of yummy food, but made a very good and considerate entertainment choice that pleased all of her guests. She’d make a great soccer coach herself.