Put this one in the “seemed like a good
idea at the time” category. I obviously was delirious and not in my right
mind when the thought first occurred to me. My perceived prowess in the
kitchen overcame any rational thinking. The vision of “pass the platters
and fill the wine glass (again)” happy people laughing and enjoying a satisfying
culinary evening (complete with fun, frolic and camaraderie) clouded my
judgment. I had, as though a higher force was driving me, planned a dinner
party.
What began as two people, went to four, then to six and if you have that many,
to add another 2 doesn’t really matter, besides those particular two are the new
folks in town and you have been dying to know the story behind that couple
anyway. Reality sets in and envisioning the ten people at a table intended
for eight, add a few additional kids running about (Domino delivers, right?),
brings the total to 17 humanoids that for a brief bit of time on a (hopefully
beautiful evening that the deck can be utilized) Saturday night puts you in a
bit of a panic.
An understatement at its finest, panic doesn’t quite capture the essence of what
I have done. I was brought up in a house where my mom and dad entertained
frequently, and they always made it look so easy. Before the guests
arrived, my brother and I were fed TV dinners (I thought these were such a
special treat) and sent upstairs and out of the way. From our vantage
point (our life would have been shortened dramatically if we ventured
downstairs), we spied the beautiful people arriving dressed to the hilt, who
ate, drank, laughed and danced all evening long. Snap out of it!, back to
my current state of reality with the clock ticking and Saturday auspiciously in
the shadows.
To add to the bedlam, I realized that I had to clean the house - and not the
quick version. I never quite figured the rationale of power cleaning
before an event, such a thankless task. Anyone who has kids, pets or a
husband knows that a house could not possibly look like it does for those few
suspended moments before the visitors pull in. The freshly vacuumed
floors, the polished furniture, the candles burning brightly in the bathrooms,
the soft music and the absence of piles of junk on the kitchen counters are
vaguely reminiscent of a surreal existence.
Being somewhat of a control freak, I had insisted that no one bring anything.
What to feed a crowd and have it appear appetizing and edible reminds me of the
days I attended business seminar luncheon after luncheon that specialized in
rubber chicken and hockey puck rolls… ahhh, the memories, but I didn’t want to
replay that recollection. My menu had to be mouthwatering and presented in
the utmost desirable way. I could delay serving until much after the prescribed
mealtime, the guests would be starving and anything would taste good… but, they
might get suspicious. No, I have to do it the right way.
List made, grocery shopping completed, table set… check, check, check. Ice in
the bucket, wine being chilled, love muffin shaved and showered… check, check,
check. Aroma of delectable dinner infusing house, mood lighting set…
check, check. Me, exquisitely dressed, hair in place and makeup expertly applied
and relaxing, enjoying a glass of wine… not check. Somehow I forgot to
work into the schedule the time for me to get ready – I rush upstairs, throw on
anything clean and black, run a brush through my hair, spritz on a tidge of
perfume and make it down the stairs as the first guests walk through the door…
party time!
Cynthia A. McClelland, curious
observer of the obvious with interpretations of the oddities of daily life.
Mother, wife and lover of the furry, resides in the north Lake Tahoe area.
