Daily Blague

It has been our custom for some years to ask friends to have a picnic with us on Independence Day and then to take them upstairs to the roof, from which the fireworks can be seen more or less satisfactorily. The small crowd of people that usually shows up contributes a party atmosphere that does something to make up for the distance, the intervening buildings, and, this year, a greasy black cloud that hung between us and the spectacle for ten minutes. Can't think what it was. Smoke from the fireworks drifted steadily over midtown, where it gradually robed the Empire State Building completely.

This year, Kathleen did something that she has never done in our life together. She invited a few people without discussing the matter with me first. She is still apologizing for having done this, but I was never angry with her, although I did have moments of wishing that things were otherwise. I knew that I wasn't going to feel my best on the eve of an overdue Remicade infusion, but what I really didn't see was how on earth I was going to cook for a party that might be as large as twelve (in the event, we had four guests) and deal with the balcony, which because of questions of realty (currently resolved) we had stayed away from in recent weeks. First, the spring was too cold. Then it was too hot. The daylilies were coming up anemically, in bad need of fertilizer. Two large houseplants, taken outside for the summer, seemed to be doing all right, but the other pots on the florist's étagère held nothing but the straw of last year's very dead impatiens, geraniums, and other annuals. The winter had not deposited a lot of debris, compared to past seasons, but making the space pleasant was going to take more than just turning over the cushions. Oy.

And all I really wanted to do was to read and write.

I never gave ten seconds' thought to begging off. I wasn't feeling that bad. And I'm trying to be conscientious about not letting this site take over my life; having some friends over, something that had gotten to be a bit rare, would do me good. So, as I have learned to do, lately, I made a plan. On Saturday, Kathleen and I would tackle the balcony and see how far we got. On Sunday, I would shop for the party and tidy up the rooms (a weekly routine). On Monday, I would do the cooking. I would serve corn on the cob, potato salad, cole slaw, fried chicken, broiled chicken, and grilled sirloin. These are all easy, forgiving picnic foods. Everything but the steak and the fried chicken could be prepared well in advance.

And that's exactly what happened. What's more, the weather, which was still a little stuffy on Saturday morning, got better and better as the day went on, and held fair right through last night. Which is undoubtedly how I got through it. But everyone was sent packing at eleven-thirty, before the noise of everybody's good spirits reduced me to sobs. Kathleen helped to load the dishwasher, and then we sat for a while on the now quiet balcony in the now quiet city.

For dessert, I made an angel-food cake that came out really well, and served it with raspberry and blueberry coulis. Red, white, and blue. 

Thank you, my dear Kathleen. It was no problem after all.