August 10, 2013. The day I turned 38.

Two months ago I wrote a letter to my nieces describing their birthday because I left my camera at home.

Yesterday was my birthday.  I had my camera.  My party was at my home.  I took pictures of my nieces when they were the only guests at the party… and then I completely forgot about the i thing for the rest of the night.  Well, there was a point when we were sitting on the screen porch in the perfect cool, but deliciously comfortable evening, when I thought I should go grab it and take a picture… but I didn’t want to leave the moment and change its sweetness.

So I’m writing a letter to myself. Or something I can look back and read when I’m bored or staring at my computer wrestling with how to get myself out of a creative block.

August 10, 2013.  The day I turned 38.

I have this supper club.  And I love it.  I can’t tell you how much.  Whether my guest list is bursting at the seams and requires a second table… or if there are few enough of us to sit without a leaf in the table.  It is well beyond what I hoped it would become in 2010.

But… that said… I’ve fallen into a routine each singular Saturday of the month when the designated day arrives.  I get up much earlier than I would on a Saturday.   Ready to clean and cook and clean and cook some more.  But this one was supper club on steroids.  First off, I invited outside of supper club.  I invited my family.  More than that.  I invited my parents.  Which isn’t weird.  Except it is… because I live in a house where once upon a time they hosted parties and cooked and cleaned and got things ready.  So… a mixed bag of pressure and assistance.

Of course, the unexpected assistance is the fact my mother is nearing the one year anniversary of her retirement.  Summer vacation has alleviated her babysitting requirements… and so… she has a sudden fury to tackle her pack rat accumulation.  It was somewhat serendipitous because the theme of this party was the 1970’s.  So… whenever she came across a dress (that I can’t fit into) or a harvest themed Corning coffee percolator or a punch bowl… it was gifted to me as props for my décor.  Of course the consequence of this is I have to deal with finding a place for this stuff when the 70’s isn’t a theme any longer… but it was… surprisingly sweet.  Especially when unpacking the glasses for the punchbowl, I found a colorform.  (Talk about the surprising memory of objects – I forgot I had a Little House on the Prairie colorform set once upon a time. That reminded me.)

Anyway… back to the party.  Or even pre party.  I like playing host.  I think that’s more than half the reason I stay in this house.  It is so perfect for entertaining.  And I like how the day has definites of vacuuming, cleaning the bathroom, eliminating cobwebs, chlorinating my unusable pool, and interspersing some vague logic of cooking, chopping, and washing dishes in between.

Yesterday I was coming off a very long week… and an impulsive decision to go have cocktails with good, good old friends singing historic dirty songs the night before.  So… I started the day exhausted.  But maybe that fed my determination.  I just cleaned and cooked and cleaned and cooked.  I chopped up vegetables for the fondue.  I baked the Watergate cake (that we didn’t even end up eating).  I wrapped bacon around pineapple.  I defrosted shrimp.  I made cocktail sauce for said shrimp (depleting my homemade ketchup, so I must make some more).  

I lost a couple hours of my normal prep because I wanted my nieces to be there.  It was nice to have a stolen half hour with them and my sister – in the house where we grew up.  I don’t have kids… so I don’t have toys.  But, I have measuring cups and Tupperware.  And now I have a piano.  One of the most precious moments of the afternoon was when they both saw the piano and decided that was the object on which to play – with Momma.  Very poetic because that is where Momma learned to play.

But then that quick stolen beauty got swept up in the whirl of guests arriving.  The double edged sword of having a large party is that I am so delighted to see people come into my house, drink sangria, eat food, and fill the house with noise and happy energy.  But then, there are so many of you, I can’t have that lingering conversation.

So there were a couple hours of refilling the sangria with wine, pulling olives out of the oven, getting crackers… and okay, the best distraction… following Lily as she crawled about while her mom packed up their things.  That won’t happen next year.  Maybe not even the next time I see her.  Eye of the storm.

But then back to food and wine and hello, you’re here!  How are you?  Yes, I painted the window sill ladybug red.  What do you think?  I’m still thinking on it.  The fondue is just dry white wine and cheese.  Would you like a drink?  Do you need a bowl for those chips you brought?  Damn, this sangria is good.  Oh, you brought me a bag of cucumbers from your garden – and what?  Garlic?  Cool.  Oh, hey, hi!  So glad you are here.  Yes, let me get you a drink.  Ooh, where’s that sangria?  Ack.  The bacon wrapped things are in the oven.  No, the olives are too hot to eat… well, anyway.  That sangria is good.  How’s life?  Yeah, if I had a million dollars, I’d move the bathroom to that side of the kitchen… that’s my bearing wall?  Cool.  Oh – hey – before you all go too far, give to Gary’s band.  Bye.  No, stay a little longer.  Let’s sit on the porch with candles and the fairy lights and the crickets.  I had a cricket charmer at the party!  Oh, wait, hey Pandora, that’s not 1970’s!  Let’s sit and talk.  Maybe I should get my camera.  No, tell me about your wedding.  Oh – wait did you mention that political thing?  Oops… need to not go there.  Went there.  Sigh.  This porch is awesome.  Mosquitoes are okay – except… sorry, Angela.  I need to eat something.  Kara’s chocolate oatmeal things are really good and healthy… so I can ask Kristina to get me more sangria.  More politics.  Oh… goodbye?  Okay.  Let’s go inside now.  Living room.  My birthday – so I’m claiming big chair.  Yeah, I’m pulling that card once.  Talking.  Laughing.  Someone threw a blanket.  Uh oh.  Someone mentions race.  Theater.  I go on a tirade.  I love my friends.  I love that we talk about this.  Clarence nods off.  There is so much sugar on the coffee table.  More goodbye.  I’ll go wash dishes.  Too many dishes.  One last goodbye.  I’ll leave (!?!?) some dishes for tomorrow.  Go check Facebook birthday messages.  Finish glass of wine.  Day ends.  Happy.

It was a total blur.  But I’d do it all over again.

Life may not be a party.  But it deserves having one on your birthday.

But before I end, dear readers… I did ask my party guests and any other people who think of birthdays as a chance to give, to consider a $5 donation to my brother-in-law’s (Hannah and Lily’s dad) high school band.  You can do that for the next week by clicking on this link.  Do it.  I’m happy now, but that will stretch my smile beyond my ears.