Summer entertaining is my love language in flip-flops. I string lights early. I set a long table outside with mismatched chairs that somehow look intentional. Menu is simple: grilled fish or chicken, big salad, bread from the bakery, berries for dessert because nobody needs cake when strawberries are perfect.
I invite a mix—old friends, new neighbors, the couple we met at a KOA in New Mexico who sent a postcard all winter. Name tags optional. Introductions mandatory.
We eat slow while the sky turns pink. Someone tells a story about a road trip or work or the year they failed a test and survived. I listen like a teacher, feed like a hostess, learn like a student.
Thank you for reading McMarlington. Pull up a chair next time. There is always room. The spreadsheet can wait until morning.