Our cookout Saturday night was a success.
The food was good, the lawn was beautiful, turnout was exceptional, the weather cooperated, and everyone had a wonderful time.
My parents have a large and beautiful back yard, filled with trees and shrubs, and we had the caterer set up three groups of serving tables around the back yard. It was a lovely setting for an informal Saturday night affair, and the tables with their white linens arrayed amongst the greenery of the grass and trees and bushes created a very attractive sight.
We did the grilling up on the deck, which is elevated one story above the lawn, so that any smoke would not waft among the guests.
Despite the expense, I am glad we hired a caterer for much of the work. This saved us a great deal of trouble. We would have had to take three days off from work had we done everything ourselves, and it was simpler to farm out most of the project. We did not even have to worry about cleanup after all the guests had departed—within one hour after everyone had gone home, the catering crew had removed all evidence of a major gathering from the back yard. The catering firm was exceedingly professional and exceedingly efficient.
Today we did not do much. After church, we did not even have lunch because no one was hungry. Instead, all afternoon my brother and Josh and I delivered fresh salmon and fresh steak—excess from last night’s cookout—to friends of my mother, many of whom are from our church. There was no point in allowing such good food to go to waste, and my mother’s friends were pleased to see us and pleased to be presented with some fresh Alaska salmon and some fresh Omaha prime steak.
Tonight we did not do much, either. We had more salmon for dinner—except for the dog, who had chicken—and we discussed how to celebrate my father’s birthday, which is a week from today. My brother and Josh and I also tried to figure out whether we will be able to make it to a Twins game before the month is out. Given everything on our schedule, and given the Twins’ home schedule, it may not be possible.
There is too much going on, and I am simply overwhelmed.
Between wrapping things up at work, attending farewell functions, preparing for our trip and preparing for Boston, there will not be a single minute for rest and reflection over coming weeks.
We are all sort of in an uproar, and the dog can sense it, which puts him in an uproar, too.
He knows something’s afoot.