Holiday gatherings bring panic
Holidays for my family always begin with the determination of the “descendees” – that is, who will host the gathering and be descended upon by the rest of the family?
Speaking for myself, that is the best job. I like to entertain guests. I like to cook, I like to plan meals and instead of standing around hoping my children are not smashing up my sister’s house, I can be busy looking “hosty.”
Of course once we get the hosting job, the big push to get ready begins. It starts for me with putting off any thought of the coming gathering. I can usually hold off any preparation anxiety until at least two or three days prior. That way, I can go to full turbo-panic on the day before.
The morning before the party, I step out of my bedroom, vacuum nozzle in one hand and sponge in the other. There is no quarter given the day before a holiday party. The kids can tell right away; I have a bottle of Clorox tucked in my belt and a garbage bag over my shoulder.
As my cleaning hurricane moves from one end of the house to the other, my sons like to help out by deciding it’s time to eat every 20 minutes. Luckily, I use my ShopVac on those days of determination. The big hose can nab a PB&J right out of someone’s hands, especially when they are eating it where they’re not supposed to be.
“OK, lunch is over.” Shuuuup, glugity, glug, glug goes the vacuum and presto. Sandwich, drink, napkin (if they had one) and all other traces of the meal are gone.
If I am really lucky, they will get mad and stomp off to their room as well. This leaves me a clear space to make some real progress.
As hard as I work, sooner or later, I always have to go to “plan B.” This is when I have run out of time for real cleaning and we have to switch to “stealth mode.”
Large quantities of unfiled papers, books and toys that are just too expensive to toss get put on my bed, or under my bed – or sometimes in my bed, if we are in “double stealth mode.”
Now that the house is clean, or at least looks clean, it is time to remember that we only have four forks. We used to have only three, forcing me to become proficient in using a shrimp fork for all my meals. But magically, one more fork came back home to stay for a while, and now I can eat just like a big boy.
It’s not really a disaster; there are other forks in the house. There is a whole set of real silver, and fancy plates and glasses that are held prisoner in the Citadel of the Unused, or as we sometimes call it, the dining room. We do not use these things often; my wife used to frown upon anyone using “the good things,” no matter when it was suggested.
Consequently, I believe last Easter was the sixth time they had seen the light of day in 25 years. At this rate, when the sun burns out, they will still be as good as new.
Finally, the moment comes, usually an hour earlier than expected, and the family begins to arrive. There are polite comments about how beautiful the house looks (no one has seen my bedroom) and holiday spirit fills the air. Surprisingly, no matter how clean and tidy the rest of the house is, everyone still stands around in the kitchen, “helping.”
Sooner or later the last group leaves, and we are left in the aftermath. The good china, glasses and silver are washed and left on the dining room table to spend a few last hours in open air before they are sent back to their hiding places in dark cabinets. The leftover feastings are wrapped until I get bored, and then somehow they just jump right in the garbage.
At the end of the day, I push the piles on my bed over enough to get in and close my eyes. Instead of counting sheep, I think about all of the old bills and checkbooks lying there next to me, and drift peacefully away.