DOWN TO THE WIRE

Up until now, my preparations for this weekend's shindig have been of the leisurely sort - catching up on overdue projects around the property, doing just a couple of things per week at first, then a couple

per day as it drew closer. I've got a freezer-full of Mexican brownies and enough soft drinks for a small army. I've filled in many deer-induced blank spots in my flower pots, had the big oak pruned up so it doesn't slap people in the face when they go up and down the stairs, and

even tried to neaten up my gardening supplies on the downstairs porch. Yeah, I know, still not great, but you shoulda seen it before! All in all, I'm thinking I should probably write my cousins a thank you note, for providing just the kick in the pants I needed, to get all this done. Unfortunately, this was still not enough motivation to make me finish painting that dang cinderblock wall, which got me to wondering, just what would do the trick? Perhaps frigid temperatures in the netherworld?

Now we're down to the wire, though, and it's time to step up the tempo. Today I've got to shop for the perishables, cook a huge pot of meat sauce for tomorrow's dinner, then clean my entire house from top to bottom. I've tried cleaning ahead of time before, and it never works. We always mess it up again, and it just has to be redone. Once I get the kitchen sparkly-clean, no one will be allowed to cook or eat anything!

The good news is that, at some point tomorrow morning, I will finally reach that magic point where I say "Chuck it! I'm not doing anymore. There is no point in trying to pretend that no one actually lives here!", and then, I'll start to enjoy myself. Also good is the fact that, since attendance ended up on the low side, parking won't be quite the nightmare we anticipated. Perhaps we can even make it through the weekend without having to call any tow trucks!

The sad news is that from this point on, things will probably go by in a mad rush, and Sunday will be here in the blink of an eye. Once that final brunch is over with, my guests won't be the only ones who must depart. Poor John must head back to the salt mines as well. Back to his depressing consulting job with BP. Back to his same grueling schedule. Back to having no idea when he will be able to return to Wimberley. I guess it's possible that he won't be back before Christmas, though I certainly hope not, and of course, I will continue going to see him in Houston each week. At least, however, there is one bit of tremendously good news to look forward to. When he comes home at Christmas, it will be for good!