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Dear Ricochet: Thank You For Saving My Life at T+12 (Years)
Well, it happened. The meetup at Chez She has been and gone. And I find myself, on the twelfth anniversary of the day that I signed up here, even more grateful and charmed than ever before by your grace, forbearance, and generosity.
A couple of months ago, I posted a wild idea: What about a Ricochet meetup here, where I really live? Would anyone be interested? (I know of a few members in the immediate–Pittsburgh, WV, OH–area, but I had no idea if anyone would actually be able or willing to make the muddy and weatherly-precipitous trip in this direction, to a house with newly-available accommodation, finally-finished bedrooms, and a couple of marvelous bathrooms.** In addition to three filthy dogs, nine dirty sheep, five not-always-civil cats, four rather cranky hens and a well-mannered rooster, and the proverbial partridge in a pear tree.)
But I need not have worried. You were up for the struggle! Not exactly in droves, but in numbers greater, and at much farther reach than I imagined possible.
This has always been my most cherished experience of Ricochet, that its members are willing to make the effort to travel and visit among and between ourselves, and to put ourselves at risk, that we might have IRL experiences of finding new friends, and that we might truly feel ourselves part of a “community” that is more than a drive-by social media exercise. It’s always a precarious business–and I’ve found myself over the years on both sides of than dynamic–but in the main, my participation here has been totally worthwhile, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
This particular meetup processed over about 48 hours. It began with the arrival of a much-loved member who assisted with preparations, worked its way through perpetual-grazing to the next day which, with a slightly different population, began with waffles (thanks, chickens, for the eggs) and locally-produced bacon and maple syrup, through the afternoon’s high tea with a toast to the “Real Queen,” and which then entered the evening hours (during which I consumed a regrettable quantity of gin), and some Ricochet storytelling out-of-school. (I expect that those of you–here and no longer so–might have recognized yourselves in the recounting.) A couple stayed the night, and today (Monday) we spent a few delightful hours together before they had to leave.
And so, please join me in recognizing @SomeCallMeTim and Mrs. Tim; @joelb and Mrs. Joel, @nohaaj and Mrs. Nohaaj, @davidfoster, @CRD and Mr. CRD, @caryn, and @stevenseward.
Along the way, we had a delightful cameo appearance by beloved stepdaughter and best-granddaughter-ever. She was on the precipice of a school project about federalism and the question of the supremacy of centralized government vis-a-vis the states. “You’ve got the right audience,” remarked someone here, before launching into a delightful Q&A session with her. What a girl! A 14-year-old is able to hold her own and converse coherently and charmingly among a crowd of strangers. She really is a “Peach.”
As you know, the saying here is that if there aren’t photos, it didn’t happen. And so–with brief commentary–a few. (Thanks so much to all of you who provided supplementary dishes and drink. Once again, I think you know who you are):
LOL. A participant explained to me that one of the measures of “success” among those who manage the New Orleans Mardi Gras is that which evaluates the tonnage of rubbish engendered versus the celebration in question. Not quite the same thing, but perhaps the number of dirty dishes produced is something similar. Yes, I know I could have used paper. But somehow–I think–that would have been cheating.
The hot-plate counter. Venison chili (the deer was walking the hills here less than a week ago) and a veggie-soup, together with puff pastries containing either goat cheese and roasted red pepper or brie and cranberry sauce; sausage rolls with mustard and (really) hot peppers stuffed with sausage meat, various breads, and a fabulously rustic ham and potato soup.
The tea and coffee bar!
The bar, proper!
Some photos of new, and old (but always dear) friends.
High tea!
I don’t kid, when I say that some of you have ‘saved my life’ over the past few, often very difficult, years. The winner in this immediate regard–perhaps because it references my dad–is the participant who said that he’d had the opportunity to shoot, in the recent PA deer-hunting season, a deer in exactly the same way that Dad shot the man-eating lion in Nigeria in the 1950s (we’d been examining Dad’s shotgun just before).
“I decided not to take the shot,” he said. “But I thought about the story of your dad right before I did.”
Bless. Also to those of you who said, “I wasn’t sure I was in the right place until I saw the dogs in the window” or “until I saw the chicken coop.”
And also to the participant who said, “I’m so glad the whole thing wasn’t about Trump.”
God. Me too!
One of the benefits of this format was the opportunity to sit–at length–with all of you and to really hear some of your stories. I’m fond of saying that “everyone has a story, and some of us have more than one.” Thank you all, for sharing yours with us.
On that note, if anyone’s been following the photos and has noticed that I’m missing, I’m so very grateful to a new friend for the following portrait and his generous permission to reproduce it here:
Thank you all, those who attended, and all those of you who wished us well.
Until next year!
Much love, and many thanks,
Ricochet She
**Speaking of the “marvelous bathrooms,” I have both the “fiesta bathroom” (awesome shower) and the “fairy princess bathroom,” (loverly tub). Watching the men and women of Ricochet drool (for different reasons) over both of them has been one of the proudest moments of my life.
Published in General
LOL. Poor Chinggis. He’s a total lovebug. Perhaps it’s my fault for giving him a name which–for almost a millennium–has been seen as epitomizing the apex of marauding masculinity and military success. Perhaps he feels he can’t quite live up to it, and I’ve given him a healthy case of low self-esteem as a result.
I don’t know what gets into them sometimes. Things go fairly well and uneventfully, sometimes for several months at a time. Then, one morning, I arrive to pick up the eggs and discover that they’ve pulled all his tail feathers out.
He, currently (for his own protection), has been removed to a large crate in the garage. I’ve given the girls a cabbage piñata to play with. (Buy a large cabbage. Drill a 1/4″ hole through the stem, a couple of inches in. Hang from a string below their roost and let them bash the hell out of it. After about three or four days, there’s nothing left.)
Will attempt to get the band back together in another week or so. Until the next time.
This sounds like a wonderful experience. It makes me think I should overcome my shyness—and my fear I may have alienated a few Ricochetti—and hie to a meetup, if another one happens in reasonable travel distance.
Oh, please do! I don’t know where you are, but even if there isn’t a formal meetup, just putting out the word that you’re up for a meet-and-greet if anyone is passing though–say–northern Delaware, and you might find yourself having lunch or dinner with a new friend. That was about all I could do for the past few years due to my personal situation, and I met several members that way–driving to a meeting point and enjoying a meal. There’s a Ricochet meetup group which is the best place to keep an eye on things, or let folks know you’re interested: https://ricochet.com/groups/ricochet-meetup/
Yes indeedy!
Suspira, go for it, even if you have to travel. I can honestly say that every Ricochet Meetup I’ve ever been to
I am so jealous! And thrilled that everyone had a great time.
Sorry about that…
They wouldn’t let me talk about Trump. (@She kept waving a big roll of duct tape in my direction. Or that could have just happened only in my mind.) But I did get to meet a Marine. And someone who had known Leo Buscaglia. And met the biggest dog and pet the softest cat. So it was a very good day!
LOLOL!
I’m so glad you and your husband were able to make it. Next year, if you can make it, we’re going to put him on the hot seat and ask him what he thinks about Trump. (Kidding…..)
About what?
Oh, wait, Doc. Did you think my pointing out these bad directions had something to do with you?
I am so sorry for creating that impression!
Sorry to have missed it!
Don’t confuse debate and dislike. Meetups are fun • you won’t regret going
It’s just a touch over 5 hours driving time from your city to New Orleans. You should definitely come to the meetup in April!
As far as alienating a few Ricochetti, just being a moderator puts one on the enemies list of at least a dozen members. Yet that didn’t stop She (ex-moderator) from successfully hosting this meetup and it hasn’t stopped me from hosting numerous meetups. Come join the fun, Suspira.
Neener-neener, I bet more people hated me than hate you….
Quite possibly. We need to have a survey where people can answer anonymously who their most hated moderator is/was.
Now that I think about this some more, voting would have to be open to ex-members, too, whether they left in disgust or were banned. And maybe not just a simple choose the worst moderator from this list, but maybe a 1-to-5 ranking system for each moderator, ranging from 1=tolerable to 5=deserves corporal punishment. Then add up all the numbers for each moderator and see who scores highest.
Yes, and to make it even more exciting, let’s implement ranked voting as well!
I don’t even know who the mods are, and don’t care. Ricochet is better than twitter because of them.
This really sounds like it would be an excellent use of everyone’s time and effort.
Excellent point. I love NOLA.
I love making connections with people. Some months ago, I think I told the story here of how I found “John and Ron,” the world’s most friendly, competent, and adaptable remodelers, how we hit it off, and how they spent several months working here on my previously gutted and appallingly primitive downstairs. (Thanks, guys, for never squelching my “wild ideas,” for always being willing to try new things, and–above all–for the working bathrooms!)
A few weeks after they started, Ron announced his intention to take a week off in order to go to Florida to shoot wild boar with his three sons. Mindful of the fact that–since they’re in business for themselves–if John didn’t have a job to go to he’d not be making any money, I suggested that he simply come out here every day, I’d pay him half the daily rate I paid for the two of them, and I’d function as the other half of the team, as long as we weren’t doing drywall, or something beyond my capabilities. (Note: Not much in the remodeling arena is beyond my capabilities.) John quickly agreed. And so we spent a cheerful week together, working on stuff, and chatting.
The second or third day, we were chatting about my recently-deceased friend and her stellar talent with stained glass. That’s when John told me he’d worked with stained glass for decades before being laid off as an outcome of the Covid lockdowns. I asked him where he’d worked. He told me.
“Oh, yes,” I said. “I know exactly where that is. My family used to live in Bethel Park.”
“No!” he exclaimed. “Where?”
I told him.
And that’s when we learned that he was once the little boy living catty-cornered across the street from my family, who used to mow our lawn when Dad, Mum, my siblings and I, decamped to Prince Edward Island for the summers almost half-a-century ago.
Same-same with this meetup. Bring just a few random folks together, and the connections between them light up in what seem to be unbelievable ways. And so we discovered couples who were–unbeknownst to themselves, and at different times–“neighbors” on the same Pittsburgh street. And that someone–on a regular basis–travels to a location only about three miles away from me in order to pursue a much-loved hobby.
I suppose it’s some sort of factor of that thing which says that if you put just 23 people in a room, the chances that two of them will share the same birthday exceed fifty-percent.
Now I don’t know anything about statistics (channeling….oh, never mind….) but this just seems wrong to me.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
But, sometimes, I’m confronted with facts.
And I have to deal.
Just more proof, I think, that there’s so much more that brings us together and which unites us, than that which divides us.
Chances are even higher than that if one of them is @rushbabe49 and another one is me.
In my experience, meetups are neutral territory for all but the most implacably trashed conversations.
Would have to include other PTB, not just moderators to capture the full fury. That’s for sure.