Into The Abyss

We have now reached The Point Of No Return.

Note to HUSBAND: DO NOT READ anything else ...

I am now totally obsessed with the upcoming event -- surprise-family-reunion-house-party. The plans have been finessed and refined until they are perfect. It will be sad to see their complete destruction over the next few weeks. Because no plan survives the actual battle.

I've been busy "war-gaming" each sub-event of the party. Imagine cooking a full traditional Thanksgiving Dinner for 30 people. Three times a day. For four days in a row. While surrounded by herds of in-laws. THAT is why I have charts and spreadsheets and notebooks and post-its.

Then, imagine that TheCrazyPeople will try to thwart you by suddenly bringing "extra" guests. And announcing their new fondness for vegetarianism except for when the entree is really good meat. And by the realization that if two people are in the same raft there will be bloodshed before the finish. And then the realization that there are TWO groups of two people that would kill each other.

Hence, the moment early Sunday morning when I grabbed my notebook off the nightstand and propped it up on a pillow-desk so I could "war-game" the seating arrangement for the rafts. Thats right, people. I made seating charts for the rafts. And made updates as to the number of towels I'd need, and notes about water-guns, and coolers, and life-jackets, and sharpee-markers for the bottled water, and ...

And while I was doing all this, my mind whirring along jumping from track to track, my husband throws an arm around me for snuggling. I keep writing. He starts snoring. A little while later he wakes up and asks if I'm ok. I give a non-committal answer and keep writing, finishing up the very last details. He looks at me a bit, and then says "Honey, I think you're a little pale" ... And so goes the life of a party-planner.

The planning stages are over. I've quit having nightmares. Mostly. (Although the one about me and my mother in a two person raft headed up-stream made my husband laugh until he cried and his side hurt) We have reached The Point Of No Return -- I have begun to buy soda.

After polling various and assorted guests, I have the following criteria: Caffiene is good, Diet is good (!?!), Pepsi is bad, Dr. Pepper is special. And I have my own criteria: the cans must look good togther in the coolers. For example, if you only have Coke and Dr. Pepper, then the two different reddish colors clash. Its needs to have Sprite for a good green/silver can, and orange-soda. Then you can get into the speciality cans. Like CreamSoda which is a nice ivory, and root-beer, and cherry-limade, and lemonade, and gingerale, and whatever other totally bizarre soda flavors are out there. I've even, heaven forbid, been known to buy a neon-blue-raspberry-soda if I'm using glass bottles, but due to regualtions about glass bottles on water-ways this is strictly a "can" event.

Today I'm assembling the Call-Sheet. I've vetted each vendor for both pricing, availibility, and service. I need to confirm: Rafting reservations, including the picnic pavillion. The babysitters for Thursday night, Friday night, Saturday morning, and Saturday afternoon. The graphic-printing company for the t-shirts. Subway for the giant sandwiches.

Tomorrow I need to polish the Recipe-Sheets. The final copy of each recipe I'm going to need and a shopping list of ingredients done by each day and then broken down by meal. Also includes which serving-dish is used for which foods.

By Friday, I should be down to one consolidated binder of materials. "Cheat-sheets" if you will. And, so, we plunge into the abyss.

Waves

Woman, you make my head spin!

Leni | 05/01/2007 - 01:52 PM
 
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