“What are you bringing tonight?” Betsy asked me.
It was 7:30 a.m. I’d run an early errand and had decided to drop by my sister’s house for some coffee and company. I’m an empty nester who lives in an empty nest. She’s an empty nester who lives in a house with a never-ending stream of adult children cycling through her house.
“What am I bringing?” I looked at my sister. “To what?”
“To the Personal PAC fundraiser,” she said. “We’re co-hosts. We’re supposed to bring light snacks.”
Zacko, my millennial nephew, walked into the kitchen. “Hi Aunt Sally. What’s tonight’s cause?”
“Personal PAC,” I repeated. “Committed to keeping abortion safe and legal in Illinois.”
“And accessible,” Betsy added. “Safe, legal and accessible. It’s a great organization. What are you bringing?”
“Haven’t given it a thought. Also, it’s not tonight.”
My sister checked her calendar. “OK. What are you bringing tomorrow night?”
“I wasn’t going to bring anything. Nobody eats at these things.”
This is true. I’ve hosted my fair share of women gathering to change the world, and they don’t eat.
The first time I hosted a meeting, I put out a respectable spread: cheese and crackers, brownies and cookies, a bowl of popcorn, and some fresh fruit. Two hours and 20 women later, here’s what was eaten: a few grapes.
The second time I hosted a meeting, I served coffee cake cut into bite-sized pieces and put out a bowl of mixed nuts. I ran out of Diet Coke.
Before COVID-19 interrupted our lives, I’d culled my hostess spread to three things: a medium bowl of Skinny Pop, a small bowl of Twizzlers, and a case of LaCroix.
Betsy nodded. “Nobody eats, but we’ve still gotta bring something. I’m going to Trader Joe’s and getting tiny, individually wrapped packages of nuts. No carbs.”
“What’s wrong with carbs?” Zacko asked.
Oh, to be young and unafraid of food.
I stood up to leave. “I won’t show up empty-handed.”
I roamed the supermarket aisles. Mini muffins? They wouldn’t be touched. Chips and salsa? Germ spreaders for sure. Cut up fruit? Too much work to serve safely.
Then I saw it. Quaker Oats Rice Crisps. Individual 100-calorie servings. Low cholesterol. Gluten free. No high fructose corn syrup. Popped, never fried.
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It felt like I’d found the Holy Grail of charity-women’s food: portion-controlled cardboard. I bought 24 packages.
When Betsy and I showed up with our snacks, the outside air was just about the same temperature as the surface of the sun. More than 50 people gathered to talk about choice. To share a sense of outrage at our country’s increasing limits on women’s access to health care. To share the belief that mandatory parental notification endangers the lives of young women. To acknowledge that mandatory waiting periods are dangerous and discriminatory.
At the end of the evening, I left feeling empowered to be among like-minded activists, and dispirited, to realize the increased challenges.
I also left with 24 untouched Quaker Oats Rice Crisps.
Sally Schwartz is a freelance columnist.