Elegant receptions are few in my senior years, not that I miss them. They are an opportunity to upgrade my social skills, a lifelong struggle. I do OK with the preliminaries, seeking out people I don't know or haven't seen in a while, and getting them to talk about their kids or the like. The bartender always has expertise to impart about firewater. The DJ or server always seems to be eager to disclose how the music is selected or what college courses the income from their serving job subsidizes. Some people have a past, some have a future. Most have interests, with guests selected from people with overlapping interests.
Once seated at a table, though, my interest in people largely ends. Sometimes I choose a table and others take the remaining chairs. Sometimes the host assigns tables. In either situation, I can expect my wife to sit next to me, unlike home where she sits across from me in my line of sight. Round tables for eight or ten have too large a diameter to speak across, leaving me conversation with the person next to me, unless I want to go table hopping.
And so I found myself recently. Good time mingling at the alcove which contained food and drinks where people gathered to exchange greetings. Not a great time after that. The host and hostess were lovely people, emerging friends from my synagogue who invited everyone who's anyone from the synagogue, assigning us to tables by some combination of algorithm and judgment. And I sat next to the person at my table who I would most choose to sit next to. And each synagogue table had at least one A-List and B-List couple, which is a lot better than clustering all the Influencers together. But once seated it was a themed event, with me as spectator.
This being a landmark anniversary celebration, the evening started with a biographical slide show. It's good to learn more about friends. I now know their ages, a little of their work history, their parents, the sequential arrival of their children, and the origins of their passion for Israeli dance expanded to other forms of dance. One of the great joys of seeing patients in the office and at the bedside was the need to get them to talk about themselves and the skill I acquired in getting them to do that. And the stories often intrigued me. This evening these engaging people selected what they wanted to disclose about themselves, more factual history than things they aspire to. I knew he had a brother who is a cardiologist. I did not know they were twins, and still don't know who is the older. I had known he made his living designing office space for medium to large enterprises. I did not know that he started in a family furniture business. I knew they had children but not that all three were boys. I still do not know where their kids live. And I knew he chose our town for retirement relocation in part because he had a close relative nearby, a man I knew very well who sat next to my wife at my table.
His wife's background seemed mostly new. Her entry to Israeli dance, her role as dance instructor predating her marriage, a little about her parents and younger sister. Her role in our synagogue is much more a background one.
The guests divided into synagogue people and dancers, with significant overlap, plus a few relatives. As much as I like listening to music, including what accompanies dance, I am not a dancer. I did find myself unexpectedly in awe of a few really expert ballroom dancers, none of whom I knew from the synagogue, but the circle dances of Jewish origin left me outside this time. At a Bar Mitzvah or a wedding, everyone can enter the circle and stomp in the direction of motion. With accomplished dancers, the steps were more programmed and the people dancing knew the choreography. I was an outsider for sure, yet also an outsider to conversation as the music and dance floor spectacle dominated.
That left me with food, a few words with the young man next to me, a few words with my wife next to me. Food was fine. Nobody from any of the other tables came over to me, nor did I seek out anyone from other tables, most of whom were closer friendships and more interesting people than anyone at my table. Quick shift from party to business obligation in my mind. I very much like observing people, though I much prefer engaging them. I saw who a recently divorced friend sought out on the dance floor. I learned later that they had been childhood acquaintances, each attending solo and each seated at separate tables. I looked at the others who had come solo, including the man next to me and a few others from synagogue at an adjacent table. Most of them stayed quietly at their tables until their turns for the buffet. My turn to the buffet came, one of silence. I surveyed what was Kosher enough and what was obviously fleishig unkosher, noticing who from my synagogue restricted or didn't. But however assessed, by the time the pretable wandering ended, I had shifted from participant to observer. And while observing what is around me has its element of satisfaction, it really ends the party for me.
So I ate first a full plate of what is acceptable from the buffet, then from the dessert table. I really wanted to go home long before I actually did, despite being amid very cordial people. Being amid is not the same as being immersed.
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