Old friends coming over. We know each other since school, decades ago. We last met 7 years ago.
At my stage in life, this means wrinkles and all sorts of rather visible changes to our bodies. Not incapacity, necessarily, but an annoying dominance of wear and tear, all over.
Old friends meet, each absorbs the shock of seeing what is happening to the other, each recognises that their friend has the same experience.
Also: the joy of complete trust when meeting those old friends. Laughing together about subtle references to events 50 years back. The affirmation of having done a few things right in our lives. The easy recognition of past mistakes. All is good now. We have left those grudges and embarrassments behind us.
My braised ox cheek, slow-cooked in the chicken stock that I had made especially for the occasion in the week before: a success. Enjoying simple things together, based on a half century of shared experiences, good and bad.