A tea

A book club

A church potluck

A quilting bee

A birthday celebration

A Superbowl party

These are events that a widow might attend, not because she likes tea or reads books or… knows the first thing about football, but because they promise people.  Breathing, moving, thinking, talking people.  It could be that old-timers beg her to bring her famous pot of chili, or she can whip quilt squares together and get that thing tied, or… she calls the penalties before the refs do.   She knows stuff.  She knows football.  But none of that really matters.  What matters are promised people.  Welcoming, understanding, be-there family and friends.

That is why, along with other events she adds to her calendar, and probably musters the pluck to attend, she’ll make her chip dip and take herself to the Superbowl party.  She knows the ladies will be in the kitchen, and the diehards will be in the living room.  They will wrap themselves around her.  Involve her.  They’ll catch up, get loud, and be oh so… people.

America thinks that, bets on, consumes pizza while, two best teams beat each other up for a Vince Lombardi trophy.   What the country doesn’t know is that the Superbowl has been on a widow’s calendar for awhile because it promises people.

Coming.