Twelfth Night planning

So our annual Twelfth Night party is tomorrow night. We decided when we moved into the house that it would be our annual holiday party in January, non-competitive with office and other parties in December. It’s much easier, decor-wise, since we went to an artificial tree (cut trees would already be long-gone, and live trees can only stay inside a couple of days before they start deciding it’s spring and send out new shoots — which immediately get zorched when the tree’s put back outside), and we always leave our Christmas paraphernalia up until after the party. (It is not unknown for it to actually go up immediately before the party, and for it to stay up long after …)

Anyway, it’s one one big social event here at the Consortium. The division of labor is simple — Margie does the food, I clean. The funny thing is how we each behave leading up to H-Hour. Margie gets very stressed and anxious a few weeks before over all that still needs to be done, menu planned, etc. I kind of shrug it off. But as we get closer to the day, and during the Day Of, in fact, Margie becomes the Zen Goddess of Hospitality, while I turn into Buzzy the Hummingbird, flitting around like I’ve ODed on Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs, frantically cleaning, picking up, polishing, dusting, vacuuming, sorting, stuffing, stressing, angsting, worrying, dashing hither and thither, etc.

Then the party hits, and we both go into Host and Hostess mode, and all is well … until the majority of the guests leave, just a few friends are left, and I can physically and emotionally crash (usually coupled with my sitting down, which I don’t do during the party).

So …

The house is really in pretty good shape, all things considered, but there will be plenty to clean up (and some stuff that never did get tidied that ought to have been before. That’ll be pretty much a full day affair, coupled with the items on the Master Party Checklist I’ve developed over the years (the only thing that keeps me from worrying that I’ve Forgotten Something Important). 

We went shopping tonight for food, so Margie has that under control. I know come 2 p.m. or so tomorrow she’ll be telling me I should sit down while she takes a break, and I’ll nod and say sure and keep on dashing about like a Martha Stewart on crack.

But it’s always a good time, and as much as I find myself more and more dreading it as the final day approaches, I always find myself going to bed that night (or the following morning) deeply happy that I did, and marveling at the team we make.

Unlike some years when a mid-January party has been wrapped in white-out conditions, this year is supposed to get into the mid-50s during the day, and cold but not bitter as the evening progress (maybe dipping to freezing by midnight). All of which affects the proportion of coffee and glögg vs. beers and sodas, as well as the likely body count. 

All I know is I think I can relax in a bit over 24 hours …