AUSTIN, Texas, June 4, 2005 — We go to lots of parties. Most are fund raisers like the one in our garden tonight. Some are holiday parties given by law firms with caterers trying to spend the money gleaned during the year from high profile lawsuits and divorces by serving innovative food and drink. Some are celebrations for friends. A number of them are given by non-profits to thank people for giving money. It isn't really an endowment until you've had the wine and cheese. Or the stuffed mushrooms.

Parties have a dynamic that is a mix of venue, weather, people, purpose, food and drink. And sometimes entertainment.

The venue is our yard. Our yard fluffed up as much as we, the yard men, the electrician, the handyman, the pond guy, the opera volunteers and our fluff specialist are able to fluff it by the appointed time. I will do some last minute things in the yard: pull weeds, grass and volunteer trees out of the path; sweep the patios and wipe the furniture off one last time. Volunteers are arriving a little after ten to do something. The fluff specialist is going to put out candles (even though the party is supposed to be over by eight) and put out other stuff to make things look good. FFP has already potted and planted and arranged and worried over the look of things. The yard was mowed a couple of days ago but he's worried that it's 'too long.' People are not supposed to come in the house unless they really, really need to use the toilet or something. Nevertheless, we and the maid have cleaned and tidied and I have the random stacks of magazines and newspapers piled in my office which will serve as the dog jail. I have put up signs identifying bathrooms, directions to them and the dog jail.

The weather? A small chance of rain. Hot. Blazingly hot.

The people will be opera fans who signed up for a good time at one or two or three of the week's garden party events to raise money for the Austin Lyric Opera. And a few people who are just curious about gardens. And a few people who signed up because it's our house. I think maybe a hundred people signed up, a couple of people showed up.

The purpose is to raise money for the opera. But that will be lost on some who feel the purpose is to entertain them, who feel the money they paid entitles them to the venue, food and drink. No thank you note required. We always send a thank you to people who open their homes because we know that they have spent money and entertained random guests who paid the money to the charity. I suspect we will get one or two for this event. But then people rarely write thank you notes for parties anyway. Or for gifts for that matter. We get three hostess gifts: a nice bottle of Pinot Noir, some neat sopa and gardener's lotion and a cool plant.

We understand that the food is light snacks and the drink is champagne. Or water Nothing too serious. I have put colas, waters and beers in my refrigerator just in case. But we aren't responsible for any of that.

The entertainment tonight, I understand, is a visual art lecture (along with some paintings on display) and maybe some music piped from our stereo to the yard. And the people themselves, of course.

I finish up my sweeping and stuff and a couple shows up. They are the organizers for this specific venue of the three venue event. They arrange the chairs (delivered yesterday) and put ice chests with ice out, icing down the water. A rental company shows up with a table for the bar, glasses and a table cloth that are left for the bartenders to set up. The woman has brought us a nice little gift: some soap and gardeners lotion. They wipe down all the rental chairs and leave. They say many other organizers for the party will show up starting at four. Fine by me. It's 11:30 and I have time for lunch, a shower, some writing and reading. I peeked at the French Open Women's Final while tidying up the house but maybe I'll replay my recording. Maybe I'll actually work on my other tasks: the family budget for May, reservations and plans for our trip later in the summer, updating my people data base. But more than likely four will roll around before I know it. And I'll wonder where the time went.

I eat some stuff. Just whatever I can scare up from the frig: strawberries, some bacon, leftover fish stew. I sit and read for a while. I'll be standing up for a long time. I never seem to sit down at my own parties. I don't really like talking to so many people but it's your house and you are supposed to do it.

FFP comes home from his retreat (a long board meeting). I get a shower and get dressed in casual clothes. We check over things. I try to rest a bit more. Fortunately the party is only scheduled for two hours. With the long-stayers and clean-up overrun and the two hour before arrival set-up, I'll only be standing up about six hours. At four, people arrive. A guy with six cases of champagne, the guy to ice it down (not enough ice chests...we get ours out), a gal who is setting up grids and easels to hang paintings on, then people to hang the paintings. Our helper shows up, does some things. Some ladies set up a check-in table. Some ladies show up and start arguing about something. I go inside. I don't need that. FFP comes and finds me.

"Do we have anything resembling a card table?" he asks. I tell him where it is. I go outside again. They are setting up food. Want to chill some strawberries and cream. I put it in another of my ice chests with some blue ice. FFP and I get out garbage cans and put liners in. Something else that wasn't part of taking care of everything. Should have thought of it. It's hot out. One of the helpers fogs the yard for mosquitos. Our helper lights candles, puts some throw pillows on the teak furniture, stuff like that. People start arriving. A lot of people. I didn't count but I'm betting sixty, seventy, more? Two bar tenders have set up the bar and are passing out glasses of champagne or cups of water. People look at the garden, our whimsical scuplture, ponds and plants and look at the garden-themed art hanging up. And talk and drink. They have a program. They ask FFP to talk about our garden then a PhD talks the painting: genre, era, artist, technique. Then people mill around a bit more. It's cooled off but still hot. I show someone our house as an excuse to go inside. I finally drink one glass of champagne. Eight rolls aroud, people leave, people linger. Tear down starts. The helpers we hired and the opera helpers make pretty short work of it but FFP and I find ourselves laboring, too. Finally, everyone is gone except a couple who says 'how about we take you to dinner.' The guy calls Cafe Caprice and we agree to meet there.

My feet hurt. In the car on the way to the restaurant, I take my shoes off.

We have a nice meal with a nice wait staff. The guy has brought wine and it's good. But he's getting a little toasted. He's having trouble finishing his stories and we are helpless to help him. He spills a little something on his shirt and fishes his napkin in my water glass for a clean up. Then he spills a lot of wine on his shirt. But he pays the bill. He seems to be a regular here. We give the gals a little extra tip and we hope his SO is driving home. She says she is. We comment on the way home that we are glad we don't drink to excess. We feel tired and glad the party is over.