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Copyright © 2010 Andrea Langworthy
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Every December, our little twinhome community has a holiday potluck. Although my idea, I didn’t desire to play host. The first year, my neighbors on either side volunteered to share the duties — appetizers at one; desserts at another. It was fun; everyone agreed it should be an annual event. When new people moved into the circle a year or so later, they agreed to have the get-together and did for years. This fall, I surprised myself saying, “I’ll do it.” The day after Thanksgiving I wondered why. I don’t even own an ice bucket. A search of the cupboard resulted in 11 mismatched wine glasses and a mish-mash of 16 small plates. A mental head count of our complex figured there could be two (us) to 53 people in my not-so-big home. The Sunday after Turkey Day, with two weeks to go, my husband and I set the tree in place and brought up other decorations from the basement. I unpacked ornaments while my husband strung outdoor lights.
“You can’t have too many wine glasses,” I told him later, perusing the Internet for bargains on glassware and holiday plates. I had merchandise held at stores and he spent a day collecting everything. The following Wednesday, he hit the bargain wine shop. The party place for napkins and name tags. The grocery store for water and pop. I took a close look at my house — through guests’ eyes. Whenever I walked past the rugs inside the two entries, I was happy I’d bought them last spring. When it snowed 10 days before the party and their colors bled, we unknowingly tracked garnet streaks across the dining room carpet. I would have cried but the rug cleaner was already scheduled to remove the two black marks that had suddenly appeared in front of the fireplace the week before that. Meanwhile, my mate exchanged two boxes of wine goblets that didn’t match the others, another that was short a glass, and the evergreen-decorated plates I’d found online. (The rims looked unwashed because some designer thought it should resemble tree bark.)
The guest list crept to 17. We put extra leaves in the table and my better half went to the discount store for forks, red-rimmed plates, a card table and chair set. How we’d managed so long without one, I don’t know. Any more than I know why we waited so long to entertain. Because even with all the preparations and running around, we agree it was worth it. No one seemed to notice the resistant red stains lingering on the carpet. Listening to the cacophony of voices last Saturday night, I was happy the CD-player had gone on the fritz two days before. Without “Jingle Bells” muting conversations, I heard guests talk excitedly about the Vikings. And some who wondered how to help a sick neighbor. When the last people left, my husband closed the door and said, “It will be easy next year. We’ve got the dishes and glasses. Even a card table.” And a party must, I thought: good guests. Especially the one who lent us an ice bucket.