Well, the countdown to the Open House has been reduced from days to hours. 31 hours, actually, at this writing, per my Dell desktop. But I’m okay. Really.

The food and cake* are on order. The carpets are clean. We got the balloons and the helium and the school spirited paper plates. And the memory book debaucle is merely a bad memory.

All that’s left is the last minute, final detail shopping. You know, stuff like, cheese. Cheddar. Shredded.

Yeah, that's my list. Cheese.

There should be more. I know it. But it seems that the stress of planning a Graduation Open Wound House has tapped my cognitive resources and I’ve lost my ability to make lists. I’m listless.

Yesterday at work, I started work on the final list. I began, of course, with cheese. Then the phone rang. Then a client came in. Then it’s lunch, followed by a two hour meeting. Then my day is done.

On the drive home, I am horrified to realize that I left my final, detailed list, of cheese, on my desk at work.

Once home, I sat with crayon in hand, (My husband has wisely removed all sharps from the immediate environment.) to commence with round two of the last list. Okay, first we had, uh, the cheese. Cheddar, I believe. Shredded.

And then….then….I gotta pee. Bad. Ly.

And then, The Cakers comes home from daycare.

And I give her a hug.

And then, my little sister calls, needing help with yet another crisis. (Crisis: Blockbuster isn’t going to carry Season 3 of Six Feet Under and do I wanna go halvesies on a purchase?)

And then I go for a walk.

And then it’s dinner.

And dishes.

And bathing a toddler.

And finally it’s quiet.

So I sit, with crayon in hand, and look at my list so far, complete with subcategories:

1. Cheese.
a. Cheddar.
b. Shredded.

And then, nothing.
Nada.
Jack.

Jack?

Revised list:

1.Cheese
a. Cheddar
b. Monterey Jack
c. Shredded.

List is done.

You think I’m kidding? I’m not. Well, I am exaggerating, but not kidding.

I think my brain has gone into survival mode and is allowing only consideration of the necessities, at this point. Upon further consideration, I think my brain is pretty smart. You see, I’m having a taco bar catered in. Tacos, with all the fixins'. And the woman who took order, warned me that people tend to put too much cheese on their tacos (as opposed to the restaurant being cheesy with the cheese?) and advised me to buy extra.

And ya know what? When it comes right down to it, the cheese does stand alone. It’s my last authentic party necessity.

While these items would be nice, I really don't need:

1) fresh cut flowers
2) light bulbs
3) new picture frames
4) streamers
5) decaf coffee
6) plastic wine glasses
7) Bacardi Vanilla
8) Diet Vernors

No siree, Bob. All I really need is…is...now what did I do with that list?

Gang, Gang, the Hail’s All Here!
Here in Michigan, we’ve been blessed with beautiful weather over the past few weeks. Memorial Day weekend, we were supposed to have rain, three days running. It was beautiful.

How great that the weatherman could be so perfectly wrong, at the so perfectly right time. What are the chances of it happening again, this weekend? Well, I'm praying for at least an 80% chance of meteorlogical error. (Feel free to bow your heads and join me).

Weather forecast for Sunday, June 5: Temperatures in the low to mid 80’s, scattered thundershowers throughout the day, some severe, with a possibility of hail. (And if I hear one more unfunny joke about mother nature providing ice for the party, I’m gonna hail chunks.)

I’m trying very hard to not think of my big brother’s graduation party, on a Sunday, in June, in 1967. A beautiful, sunny day, until the tornado sirens went off, as the sky suddenly churned an eerie green. And how we had to run, party en masse, to our neighbor's tiny, tiny basement, because ours was filled with the clutter we cleared from the main living area, for the party. And how my basement, at this time, is filled with half of my living room and all of The Cakers toys. And yarn. Of course.

Although, if we had to squeeze 300 people down my basement, they probably won't even notice.

But really, I’m okay.

In fact, if you're thinking that I'm thinking that I'd rather stuff red pepper flakes under my eyelids than prepare to entertain 300 strangers in my cluttered basement, while cows and oil tankers whirl overhead, you are soooo wrong.

Anyway, I’m sure all y’all’s gonna be real happy to get this party started, and done with, so you won’t have to hear about it. Anymore. But rest assured, if the sirens blow, the second thing I’m grabbing is the laptop. The third? Vernors.

*I think Rolf the Cakemeister has a little crush on me. Or maybe he thinks I have a crush on him. Or that I am a caker baker stalker. I must have returned to the caker baker counter three times, to triple check what I put on my order. “Hello Marcia…” he said, in an alluring, caker baker voice.

Labels: Passages