12 of 12, February 2012

Earlier this week I decided that I had “moved in” enough that I could face the true test of having moved back to Tasmania: hosting the family Sunday night dinner. For a number of years this event has alternated from week to week among the homes of my Hobart siblings and parents, and as an infrequent visitor I would be merely a guest on the rare occasions that I was down from Melbourne. One of the things I had been looking forward to, as a result of moving back to southern climes, was the opportunity to attend these informal gatherings every week.

I was also looking forward to taking my turn as host, figuring that it couldn’t be much more difficult than organising a meal at a Scout camp (although when the patrols are working well I can just let the Scouts get on with it, whereas family dinner was going to be pretty much all down to me (I could have used a patrol leader or two!)). In addition to dealing with food-type matters (and finding room for 17 people!), I also need to get some toys for my non-existent toy-box in order to entertain the younger nieces and nephews. At the end of the evening, I was not at all surprised (and in no way disappointed) to find that the youngsters’ good intentions of putting things away had been forgotten in the excitement of visiting a new place and being distracted by all sorts of different things.

So, having picked this week to take my place in the roster — whether I was ready or not — there was one coincidental consequence: the event was recorded with a dozen (or so) photographs, since the event landed on the 12th.

Here, then, is Sunday dinner at my house.