Party On…

Last summer Peter and I attended a large family reunion at another family’s home. It was so much fun that we impulsively offered to host the “second annual” reunion at our place this year. I didn’t start worrying until about May.

In June things were coming together. We figured out general seating arrangements for either sun or rain. We planned a rough outline of a menu: punch for the kids and wine or beer for the adults, Costco pre-cooked chicken shish-ke-babs that could be heated in the oven, and an ice cream buffet for dessert; finishing off with coffee or tea. We hoped that our guests would contribute salads and appetizers. It all sounded like it would work out perfectly. We started to relax.

In early July, the LCBO announced their strike plans. Peter and I assessed our supplies and tried to figure out what drink would be most popular. Before the party, the negotiators were still bargaining, so we went to the grocery store where we were able to top up on beer and wine. A crisis was averted. Surely nothing else would go wrong.

The day of the party was gorgeous – sun and a light breeze. The clouds were wispy and the humidity was low. We worked all morning sweeping the patio and setting up all the chairs and tables. We arranged serving dishes, cutlery and plates. We filled the coffee maker and the sugar bowls. We checked on toilet paper. We even had time for a quick nap. We figured we had thought of everything.

The guests began to arrive and mingle. The appetizers and salads appeared. The young kids played together with the babysitter we had hired. The older kids played soccer. The adults shared a year’s worth of gossip. All was going well.

Then the power went off.

Peter and I had an emergency meeting where we chose one lucky son, who happened to be standing beside the BBQ. He fired it up to heat the chicken, which he did in batches while he warmed up the bread on a top rack at the same time. We lined the salads up on the kitchen counter under a window, so people could see well enough to serve themselves.

Meanwhile we kept the freezer door closed tightly so the ice cream wouldn’t melt too much. As for the coffee: people were going to have to make do with wine and beer instead. Then a guest mentioned that, at the first reunion, everybody ended the evening with shooters. We quickly produced a bottle of Limoncello and some shooter glasses. The coffee was mostly forgotten. Another crisis was averted.

But there was more to come.

As we sat talking and sipping, there was a sudden loud “rrriiippp” and we looked towards the swing – where a mom and her daughter had been sitting. Where were they now? They and the mattress had fallen through a hole in the canvas seat and were sitting on the concrete patio blocks below. Several guests rushed to pull them up. We didn’t think to take a picture at the time but we saw that the victims were laughing and there was no bood anywhere in sight. So we all went back to drinking our Limoncello.

But by this time Peter and I were feeling a bit nervous. What else was in store for us? We didn’t have to wait long to find out. As we sat down again to finish the bottle and our conversation, we were joined by buzzing and blood-sucking sounds. Some unwelcome guests had decided to join the party. We had not thought of everything after all – we had forgotten the bug spray.

Sue

The swing seat waiting for repairs.