It's not a party unless the police are called....

It's been a busy time around here. We're planning a party for Saturday, and it's a sort of big party...people are flying in from out of town, driving from far away, driving from across town...all for Hub and I. We decided back in December or January to have our marriage blessed by the church, but rather than just showing up and "having it done" we had to go through a lot of paperwork owing to my previous union and its dissolution. Getting hold of that paperwork took months, and as we waited, we thought we should maybe have a party.

A party that wasn't a wake, that is. We've had a few wakes in the last year.

In thinking that maybe we should have a party, we decided that we wouldn't just pull drunks off the street as witnesses, and maybe we should ask our friends to stand up for us. And maybe we should book a caterer. And maybe we should make several forays into the Niagara region to pick out wines. And maybe, when the priest looks at his book and says, "How about August 16?" when you're speaking to him in June, you think, "Oh, that is so much time to plan a party!"

Or it's lots of time to freak out about the party.

It wouldn't have been a big deal, but now it is. Hub's family is extensive, and they're littered throughout the city. My family, not so extensive, but littered throughout places that require flying to get here. Our friends are all over the place but many are here in town. The church is just up the street, which is handy.

Then it was what to wear, how formal to make it all, how to plan plan plan.

I am good at planning parties for other people. I can think of what they want, I can talk to them, I can organize people to do things that they don't want to do. I direct, I cajole, I maintain a calm order while all the time I'm thinking of 100 things at once. I get to do the same thing for this party, except that I'm also the centre of attention and the people I'm talking to? Are me. Or I am it.

I don't talk to myself very well. I'm not very cooperative. I don't do what I ask of myself and I would rather sit here and type or read a book about literary criticism (which I actually have been doing, and I love it) or knit or visit or just sit and stare into space than do what needs doing.

We've been busy almost every single weekend this summer, and I'm tired of it all. Next weekend we're busy again, and then it's Labour Day weekend and we'll be busy just doing stuff around here. Busy. The whole summer has been a relentless merry-go-round of busy. I want to get off. I don't want to hold this party this weekend.

Naturally we're also on a death watch; after all, no one has died in a week. Hub's cousin's wife had a stroke about a month ago, and she was doing okay in the hospital, waiting to move to rehab, when she had another stroke last week. She is now in ICU because she needs assistance with her breathing. She'll either get better or she won't. I hope she hangs on through Saturday, because otherwise nobody will want to have a happy party...it'll be another wake.