Three special events

It's been a rather social week. My son and his girlfriend had us and his sister and cousin and their loves over for brunch on Sunday, and it was wonderful. His dad and I got there early to watch the World Cup Soccer final match with them, and the others came later. We all ate much too much of the baked french toast with salted frosted flakes topping and the hash with sausage gravy, eggs and bacon. My niece's fiancé had a birthday, so there was cake, too, as well as mimosas and lots of lounging about chatting and laughing and bemoaning the "itis" (inside joke). I love this photo of my husband walking by my son and instinctively cradling his head in a palm much as he used to do when our boy was a baby. Love habits never die.

The next night we turned out en masse for my daughter's fundraiser, a dinner series held at Cadillac House in SoHo, with three nights of five course meals by noted chefs and their mentors. My daughter is the special events coordinator for a non profit that aims to feed New York's hungry. To achieve that goal, they stage very fancy fundraisers with various celebrated chefs donating their talents throughout the year. The Cadillac dinner series is probably the only one we can actually afford. On Monday night we were treated to creations by Angie Mar of the Beatrice Inn and her mentor Pat LaFrieda, served family style at two long and elegantly appointed tables, with each course paired with a different, exquisite champagne. My favorite plates were the bing cherry tart with beef suet crust, braised veal shank, and for dessert Mar's now famous bone marrow creme brulee. There was also a signature cocktail that involved smoked whiskey, that my husband seemed to enjoy.

We ended up being seated next the night's sponsors, four VIPs whom my daughter's special events team wanted to ensure had a good time. Last year they apparently sat next to a couple who spent the night complaining about how much they hate gay people; the sponsors did not appreciate that one bit. This year, my daughter's boss decided her family would be a safe bet to seat next to the sponsors, and so there we were, schmoozing and clinking champagne glasses with them over every course. It was big fun, and our girl felt happy she could count on her crew to come through for her socially. She didn't sit with us this year. She was on her feet the whole night, making sure everything was happening according to plan. But she came by often, leaning over our shoulders to taste the dishes and sip the parade of champagnes.

My daughter's boyfriend, who's at the center of the photo above, captioned this picture "Fifth wheel: When you take 'when you're dating me you're dating my family' literally"—which made my husband and me chortle. Later in the evening, one of the executives of the nonprofit came up to us saying how much they love our daughter, and did we know she recently got a promotion. Maybe it was the champagne, but like a giddy mother I put a hand to my heart and gushed, "Oh, thank you!" and he rushed to say, "Oh no! She deserves it! She's wonderful!" My daughter laughed till tears came when I related my rather embarrassing response. This is her job after all, not kindergarten.

Then last night, my husband and I attended a play, He & She, written by our friend James Sappho. It's about a couple coming to terms with the past on the third anniversary of their daughter's accidental death. It was beautifully written and sensitively acted, and the sadness of the subject matter was ameliorated by the presence of a dancer on stage at all times, who portrayed the daughter, a spirit unseen by her parents but continually offering them comfort. It reminded me of the film classic, Wings of Desire, which I have always loved. I loved James's play too, and felt so privileged to be watching its premiere.

Afterward, eight of us went out to dinner with the playwright himself, who was feeling very vulnerable right then because a woman had just come up to him and critiqued his story, opining that the daughter shouldn't had died in a road accident but should have put a gun to her head, that would have been more dramatic. I was appalled. How dare this woman? Besides, she was completely wrong. The couple in the play would have been inconsolable, and the dancing joyful spirit that was there helping them find their way back to each other would not have rung true. We all tried to reassure him and let him know how moved we were by what he had written. That women clearly has no idea that when you write a play and put in on stage, you're putting your very soul out there for people to love or to trample. It's terrifying.

Speaking of the small terrors of writing, my editor likes the new first chapter I wrote so now I can finally forge ahead with the rest of the book, which is what I am doing today.