Post Paris Party
The Post Paris Party
I must be nuts. I’ve been wanting to have a party for about three years now. I’ve suspended all party planning (which I’m very good at by the way) for the last three years (I exaggerate, but it has been a loooooong long time!) because our cats have ruined our carpet. There is not a square inch without a vomit stain. It’s come to the point where I just let the cat puke dry and peel it up later because it’s easier. I know! Dis-gust-ing. I die a thousand deaths any time anyone comes up our stairs to meet with us. When I meet with clients, I schedule my meetings at Starbucks. I am beyond humiliation. Sometimes I even think fondly of those days before I owned such evil varmints.
But… I throw the best parties! There is nothing I find more fun than coming up with a theme, designing the invitations, planning out the music, the costumes, the entertainment, a signature cocktail… it’s all just so much fun! In fact I might actually enjoy planning a party than I do actually being at one.
Toby hates my parties, with a passion. He’d rather get his finger nails removed than host a party. The people, the noise, the loud talking, the man-handling of his precious antique cameras, the time he must spend away from his computer pretending to be sociable… it’s all just a nightmare for him. He even worries about our cats who must be shut up in some back bedroom far far away from any one who might have allergies.
So what I’m building up to is a dilemma.
Toby has permitted me to have a post Paris party. This is huge! This is almost as great as my Paris trip itself! I’ve been dreaming up ideas for it for months now. French music, fromage, vino, everyone can wear berets and we can take polaroids, I can show my pictures on a slideshow on the wall (ongoing during the party, no forcing anyone to sit while I narrate, or anything horrible like that!)… It could be so fun!
But there is one hitch. The carpet. “What are you gonna do?” asks Toby with a smirk, “throw sawdust on the floor?” Nope. I’m going to host a party by candle light. That could be French couldn’t it? Nobody will notice zee floors in zhee romantic light of zhee candles while we are drinking zhee wine? Right? Obviously, I’ll have to learn how to type with a French accent but I’ll figure that out in 8 days when I’m in Paris.
For now, I have to get the word out. The only weekend I have free to have this grand Post Paris Party is May 14th. It’s very very close to when I get back. Like less than a week. Like I must be nuts to think I can pull something like this off. Toby thinks it’s great because he thinks the less time I have to plan it, the less crazy it will be. He’s also thinking maybe nobody will show up. Well, he’s thinking wrong because most of the people I’d like to invite, read this blog! Who else could stand another word about Paris from me? I’ve been talking about it ad nauseam since January when I first dreamed up the idea.
So if you’re not a crazy foot fetish stocker, and you live near enough to know where I live and how to get here, consider yourself invited! Yes you! Or at least consider this an official “Save the Date” (cause you know I’m cooking up a real invite). If you don’t know how to get here and you’d like to be invited, email me and I’ll hook you up. Come on, the cat puke’s not that bad. It could be fun!
Just the Right Fit
Just the Right Fit
Today as I was running around madly trying to get a few print jobs off my desk and onto the printer’s so they can all wrap up neatly before I leave for Paris, I realized how blessed I am to be perfectly busy. I don’t want to jinx myself but I somehow have fallen into the perfect work load. Not too much, not too little. Just enough to get my adrenaline running and my creative juices perking at their highest octane level. Yet not enough to make me crazy and bad tempered, which does happen with me when I try to do too much.
Of course I could do a lot more. I have projects upon projects stacked up in my head, favors I’ve promised to friends and family and dreaded new software I should force myself to learn. There are classes I could take, letters I could write, linen closets that could use some re-folding and reorganizing. I have nieces who miss me who would love a mixed music cd or even a phone call. And of course I could always step up the old exercise routine. There is so much to do and yet… it’s okay not to do it all. As Bethany says, “take things off of my to-do list … without doing them!” What a concept.
This happy thought of security came to me today as I was watering my garden with my big iced tea pitcher. (I never have gotten around to buying a real watering can.) I love the feeling of drips of water falling on my toes. It reminds me of being a kid in summer and playing in the hose. It took me a full hour to water every single one of my potted plants. I don’t have the most efficient method. I have to fill up my watering pitcher from around the side of the house and carry it back and forth, back and forth to each and every pot. Each pot takes about a pitcher’s worth of water and I probably have 20 or 30 pots. And then of course I spend a lot of time pulling all the dead leaves off and doing green thumb things like that.
In my old life, when I was ms-corporate-career-woman, this would have frustrated me and sent me running to a gardening catalog for some long winding hose. But now in my new life, the longer it takes the more pleasant it is. I love being outside. I love the zen of the process. I love tinkering around in the area that is the back of our house. Sometimes my neighbors walk by and chat with me. When I’m back there, I’m not stressing about getting back to my desk and working.
How wonderful is that? When I came in from outside and looked at the clock and realized I had just spent an ENTIRE hour outside during the middle of the day on a WEEKDAY, I had to stop and tell myself it’s okay. It’s okay to spend an hour doing something that makes you happy. I ran over my mental list of work I need to get done and I was relieved that no catastrophes had happened. No deadline was missed, no conference call forgotten. Everything is still under control. Doing something fun didn’t spin me into some other twilight zone of stress like it used to.
So can you all do me a favor and knock on something wooden?