Fiesta

Going so soon? I wouldn’t hear of it. Why my little party’s just beginning.

Wicked Witch of the West

white poinD and I gave a party last night.  She made tapas and I made salad and dessert.  The guests seemed to enjoy themselves, made positive comments about the food and the party, and there was a lot of cleaning up to do, which I didn’t complete until this morning, just before D, the housekeeper, arrived.  Today is trash day, so I got the empty wine and beer bottles out to the curb early – and the trash is waiting for the sound of the truck for me to take that up to the corner.  There were 20 to 30 people at the party, including a Danish gentleman who heals people via tapping.  It was the most international party I’ve been involved with – in addition to the Dane, there were people whose homelands included Austria, France, Germany, Spain, the Netherlands, and the U.K besides the U.S.; oddly, there were no Mexicans.

We had billed the party as occurring from 5 to 8 p.m., but a number of people stayed until 10, at which time the Danish tapper, his Spanish girlfriend, and her friend, also from Spain arrived.  By 10:30 it was just the five of us, including D.   The Spanish girlfriend is giving a workshop on the 28th of this month and I never understood what the topic is; there were several issues with translation, as D, whose native tongue is Dutch and the Dane translated to the girlfriend, who translated to her friend, who spoke no English.  Somehow the conversation started with D talking about transgenics, which she didn’t mean, and the two Spanish women were totally confused as transgénico in Spanish is somewhat equivalent to the English phrase genetically modified, and they could not for the life of them figure out how that applied to me.

Around 1 a.m I walked D. out to Cinco de Mayo where she caught a cab.  Despite all the nice words, when I went to bed at 3 I had this feeling of emptiness, of spirits sinking, of needing to flee San Miguel.  Part of that came from the party, but part of it also came after D and I talked post-party. It wasn’t a serious chat, she just talked some about her youth and she kept mentioning that the cake I made was the talk of the party.  I often have that feeling of needing to flee after a party, but I’ve never experienced it in such depth.

It’s My Party

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