Tomorrow, 26 January, is the reception Rumpole and I, and numerous pals are preparing to allow Renaissance Man’s and Glasgow Girl’s Canadian friends celebrate the formal nuptuals which took place in Scotland last year. None of their Canadian friends attended the ‘do’ in Scotland, nor did I due to my inordinate fear of flying. Rumpole did go, dressed up in Scottish finery-Hunting Stewart tartan. For the re-enactment here of the wedding, both Rumpole and Renaissance Man will be wearing kilts, while Glasgow Girl will be resplendent in her wedding dress.
Initially, I offered to have a dinner reception for up to 30 people. That number was one with which I felt comfortable in handling the preparations and catering. However, since early planning days the number of guests has swelled to about 70 persons. During the last month hysteria and fear of failure has overtaken me. I have vacillated wildly between “I can do this” to “HELP ME!, please! Whatever possessed me to undertake this reception?” If it weren’t for Martha, Looking for Beauty, Barb and Lucky charging forth to the rescue, my death by defenestration, hara-kiri or jumping from a bridge beckoned as an attractive option instead of “organizing a reception – and cooking for it”.
Thank God for calm, capable and loving friends! It can’t be easy for them to deal with a ditherer who makes and loses various lists, changes her mind, whines incessantly and has the nerve to attempt to micro-manage experienced hostesses who have come to her rescue. It comes to mind that all of these women buddies are calm, good at problem solving and terrific go-getters. It also comes to mind that they are infinitely patient with someone as volatile as me.
On this past Monday I came down with the horrid flu doing the rounds here and have been generally out of commission since then. Sitting here this morning, after Martha came over and ate her breakfast before going off to pick up the wedding cake and the vegetables for salad, I am surrounded by mountains of serving dishes, recipe ingredients for my allotted food preparation, mixes for drinks and boxes of wine bottles and beer cans. Still in my pajamas and housecoat and snuffling into napkins, I have studied, repeatedly, the recipes for various salad dressings. One would think that after 40 years of making salad dressing I’d have some sort of idea of how to go about this. But it is the quantity required that I find hard to wrap my brains around. Plus, I have to do the chopping of garlic and mixing of oils, etc., wearing disposable gloves and dust mask, so I don’t infect the hordes.
Looking for Beauty has a saying she keeps bringing up in order to calm me down. “Just proceed slowly, put one foot in front of the other.” I think I’ll heed her advice. But first I have to disinfect the kitchen.