Rolling With the Punches

My husband and I opened our home for a fellowship dinner for our former life group at 6:30 Friday evening for twenty people. My menu was West African Groundnut Stew from the More-With-Less Mennonite cookbook, and each guest had signed up to bring condiments such as peanuts, diced apples, peppers, scallions, raisins, pineapple, bananas, etc, rolls and dessert.

I did my cleaning the day before, got my tables ready and made the iced tea to save time on the day of the dinner. I put bowls, snack plates and napkins for the hors-d'-oeuvres on my dining room buffet.

By Friday, I still hadn’t heard whether or not Margaret* was coming, and then I remembered she was allergic to beef. So I called her and told her I’d make a chicken Alfredo/broccoli casserole for her, and she was so glad. Margaret asked if she could bring anything, but I told her everything was covered. 

Off I went to the grocery store and bought five pounds of cubed beef and rice plus ingredients for the chicken dish. 

Once home, I checked my e-mail, and Nancy*, who had signed up to bring two pumpkin pies, had e-mailed me and said she was sick, would not be attending, but would keep her promise and deliver the two pies at 5:30. 

After lunch, I checked my e-mail again out of habit, and Nancy had sent another e-mail, saying that as she was putting the pies into the oven, one of them fell on the floor. She was quite distraught because she didn’t have money to buy more ingredients, felt so ill and was trying to do too much, and said how embarrassed she felt. When I called her, she had just finished cleaning up the pumpkin pie mess. I felt so bad for her, and urged her to go lie down, keep the other pie for herself, and put the fellowship dinner out of her mind. Much to Nancy’s relief, I assured her I’d just call Margaret back and ask her to bring some dessert.

After I made arrangements with Margaret for the dessert, I was dicing and slicing and chopping away when suddenly I thought, “How could I forget? Today is the 17^th!  It’s Doug’s birthday!” (Doug is our oldest son who lives in the lower level of our home, and co-owns our home.) I had not bought him a card or gift, and decided I need to at least get him a card. So I dropped what I was doing, got my coat and purse, jumped into the car and headed for the CVS several blocks from us. I got the card and a cute gift (because there was lots of Valentine’s Day merchandise available), came back home, found a gift bag and tissue paper. When Dave got home, I reminded him of our son’s birthday, so he sent Doug a birthday e-mail.

My Groundnut Stew was swelling exponentially by the time I was ready to add the liquid and tomato paste, and I saw it would never begin to fit in the pot I was using. So I drafted hubby to bring in my canner from the garage and he helped me transfer the hot mixture into it. By this time it was 4:00—just two and a half hours before our first guest was to arrive. I had ingredients everywhere, not enough counter space, plus I still had to make the chicken casserole and the rice. I felt hot and prickly all over. Could I pull this off?

With the heat finally reduced to a suitable simmer so it wouldn’t scorch in the lighter-weight, make-shift cooking vessel, I made the chicken casserole, put it in the oven at 250° for a slow bake, and then cleaned up the kitchen and took out the trash. 

Dave called to me from our office: “Hon, this is January, not February. Doug’s birthday is in February.” 

Oh for Pete’s sake—what was I thinking? Sheesh!

I was putting Cheddar Chex Mix, tortilla chips and Chi-Chi’s salsa into bowls on the buffet table when the first guests arrived at 6:20. It was Margaret and her husband with several desserts, and I placed a colorful tray of cheesecake slices on the counter with the desserts and coffee. Bless her heart. The person who signed up to bring the dinner rolls never did show.

Three unexpected guests showed up.

Sharon* told me Cora* was bringing a birthday cake as a surprise to celebrate Francine’s 50^th birthday. At dessert time, I asked Cora when they were going to serve the cake. She replied, “We didn’t bring cake; we brought these,” and pointed to neatly-arranged pudding parfaits in cups. Then she asked, “Who told you we were bringing cake?” I told her Sharon must have been mistaken, and just assumed there would be cake because we were signing a birthday card for Cora. It turned out that everyone was glad Margaret had brought that tall, fancy and fabulous chocolate cake. There was only a teeny slice left.  

Our burgeoning home was rockin’ with lots of noisy love and laughter from nineteen adults as four children shrieked with delight playing air hockey in our game room downstairs. 

Dave got a call on his cell phone from Doug, saying he was going out for Chinese, and, “Would the person who parked across the entrance to my driveway please move his car?”

At ten o’clock and after many hugs and well-wishes that warmed our hearts, the last guest left and we began the clean-up. Paper plates, plastic silverware, cups and napkins had been gathered by my guests and trash taken out before they left. I started the dishwasher but my sink was still full of dirty dishes that would wait until Saturday. Life is good.

And Doug’s birthday gift is perched on my dresser awaiting the arrival of February 17^th.    

*Names have been changed

Copyright © 2014 Elaine Beachy