As I sit writing this, I’m trying to figure out what to wear for the penultimate party of party season. Our Scottish friends have invited us to celebrate Burns’ Night with them again. It is always a fun time, but by the time Burns’ Night rolls around I’m ready to follow the groundhog back into its hole. You see, I am an introvert…
January began with back to back parties — one on New Year’s Eve and the second on New Year’s Day — both at neighbors’ homes, both delightful full of friendly and interesting people. One low-key and intimate and the other lively and crowded.
The following weekend we went to yet another neighbor’s house for a 12th Night celebration where we drank and feasted and watched 12th Night (the one with Helena Bonham Carter).
The weekend after that we spent in quiet solitude (Dean, Clare and me) in the mountains of Pennsylvania.
On Tuesday of the following week I attended the funeral of my longtime supervisor, Jeanette Fairfax. She and I met 12 years ago when I first started working at Caliber (now ICF). Not long after I began working part time at home she became my supervisor. She was 52 years old. She was a wonderful person. Fuck cancer, as they say. (although she would never say anything so vulgar)
We needed the rest because the following weekend was our turn. We held our second inaugural ball. (It would have been a wake if the wrong candidate had been elected.) We hosted 30 or so people for dinner (serve yourself — not a sit-down affair). It was fun, but it was also a lot of work. It took me half a week, at least, to recover.
Last weekend we rested. Well, I rested — Dean skied. (actually there was a party last weekend — a neighbor had a welcoming coffee for another neighbor.)
Today we go to Burns’ Night, tomorrow we have two invitations for the Super Bowl. In two weeks we have another funeral (actually memorial service) to go to. The same day that my boss died, a neighbor died from a fall down the stairs. He was 66 (but you’d never know it). I didn’t know him well — but saw him around the neighborhood. I know his wife a little better.
If I sound like I am complaining — really I am not. I’m just saying that I am glad party season is nearly over. I have fun at all the galas to which I am invited. It just takes me a while to recover.
*Yes, I know it is more than 3 parties and one funeral, but this sounded better than seven parties and two funerals…
Clutch Cargo Lips 
Balance: so good when it happens, so hard to achieve.
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I know I’m really late – I did read this ages ago, but my iPad and good blog commenting seem to be incompatible.
Sounds like you have an active social life, although I am sorry about the funerals. Which reminds me – years ago, we took my father shopping for a new suit to wear to my sister’s wedding. (As a farmer, he rarely had occasion to wear suits, and the woman in the store must have guessed that. She asked him if he wore suits very often, and my mother chirped up “oh, he goes to a lot of funerals!” The shop-lady shook her head and said “oh dear, sir, I do hope your social life picks up.” (The thing is, in a rural country district, funerals are in fact major social events.)
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