Bubbly

There's a first time for everything:  we won a raffle prize.  A raffle prize that we like.  A prize that actually makes me feel guilty. 

Let me explain.  Friday night the four of climbed into evening clothes, shut Josie in her crate, and boarded a train for Manhattan.  We were going to work at the Petroushka, a gorgeous society event at the Waldorf Astoria put together annually by volunteers to benefit the Russian Children's Welfare Society.  We've continued working there every year even as most friends and relatives have begun buying tickets for dinner or dancing.  I somehow doubt we'll ever go any other way.  The people watching is better when you're working.  It's good to be something of an insider.  And now we can bring our children, decked in Russian costume, to sell raffle tickets and add to the ambience. (Peter, in fact, had done this himself as a kid, with his sister and cousins.)  

Usually once we are finished as ticket-takers, we hover on the edges of the dining room to watch the entertainment and wait for the dancing to begin. This year Militsa, daughter of the priest who had baptised Peter 47 years ago, invited us to sit down in some of the empty space at her table, and gave us glasses of wine ...and her dinner.  She shared the dinner of her neighbor, an elderly pediatrician. Filet mignon, gratin of potatoes, asparagus all perfect in their way from the Waldorf kitchens.  We did not deserve it for the little bit of work that we did, two hours of saying hello to people and giving them their table numbers. Nor do we deserve the bucket of Champagne that we just won, but we will certainly quaff it with joy!