Reception Preparation

Electricity was out last night, from a deluge yesterday afternoon that must have dumped several inches of rain in an hour. I was exhausted from a day of cleaning, getting ready for the set-up of the wedding reception today. Spent most of the day in the kitchen because it hadn't been cleaned (and things put away) since the last event. Mopped enough to settle my mind. Today was a zoo, the wedding party, decorating; setting up tables, covering folding chairs with nice cloth covers that got tied into a bow behind; then they did their table arrangements and set up their candy bar. Candy? At a wedding? The event is being catered by a very good barbecue place, and I'm of mixed mind. I know the place will be trashed, with sauce and beer everywhere, but I'll get to eat someone else's cooking. The bride's mother and father asked when they could get in the building tomorrow (we're open one to five) and I asked them when did they want to get in the building. They said they were hoping for eight, and I told them that wasn't going to happen, but that I could be there by nine. When people rent the museum space, they think they own it; Mark and Charlotte see this, and that I'm drawn off-task for days, and the facility suffers. We won't be doing many more of these. A grape vine has climbed up the screen on my writing window, where I look out, straight ahead, and it obscures some detail., almost everything, in fact; so I go and cut a dozen or so leaves, soak them in a brine. Then rinse them well in rain water. I roll these around anything, but in this case a mushroom and pork forcemeat, steam them in chicken broth and white wine, sinfully good, served on a bed of basmati rice, with a sauce I reduce from butter, pan drippings, and brandy. Shane and Tami arrive with the drawing show for upstairs, and it is beautiful, soft and lovely. Tami is the real thing, someone who can really render a likeness. I knew there was a reason I worked at an art museum. The week was a blur. I met the decorators yesterday morning and worked straight through until eleven last night, had one drink and passed out on the floor in my office. It was a lively party. I had no idea there were so many beautiful people in Portsmouth. Lots of short frocks and ankles, lots of dancing, loud DJ music. The bar was upstairs, so lots of spilled drinks. Dozens of pieces of candy ground into the floor. I hate candy at events in which liquor is served. The museum is trashed, the bathrooms especially. When I woke up this morning I couldn't look at it, so I just locked up and left. Brought home some left-over food, so I wouldn't have to cook; alternately napped and read on the sofa. I'm appalled at the expense of most weddings, enough money for the down payment on a house; and the waste tips a large carbon footprint. Enough food left-over or thrown away to feed a couple of hogs for a month, and all those dresses that will only be worn once. Renting silly useless tuxedos, and spending a small fortune on decoration; the entire concept that something becomes special if you throw enough money at it rankles me. Take a lesson from the Amish, a pot-luck dinner in an open field, with live music, is a real celebration. Then there's that whole reunion thing going on. People you haven't seen or talked to for years, using the excuse of a wedding as a marker to note how everyone else is doing on the socio-economic scale. That's probably a little harsh, but I don't do reunions unless it involves several poets getting together for a night of serious drinking. Otherwise, I'm content keeping my own counsel. Enslin called me a jack-daw, and I think it's a positive thing, to stay interested in what's going on. Reading Lucretius, today, how often can you say that, I had the thought that mediation was not between me and God, but between me and nature. Whether you live or not in a hostile world, it all comes down to motivation. Would you give up your identity? Idiopathic malaise. No, I don't think so; the bride is dumber than a rock, and the groom; things splay the way you might imagine, a pattern emerges.