Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

It’s Wednesday morning. The last two guests from the weekend birthday bash left about an hour ago, and the house seems eerily quiet. In a few minutes, I’ll start stripping beds and washing towels, picking up things that have moved from their usual places, and slowly resume my normal routine. By tomorrow, one would never guess we have been partying for the past four days.

I’m not particularly a party person. Rather I prefer small gatherings, even just getting together with one other friend. But I would not have traded these past few days with friends and family all piled in together, roaming the house and sharing company.

Our refrigerator has the last vestiges of the various meals we ate: lasagna, egg casserole, baked beans, sausages, English muffins, watermelon, chicken, chocolate dessert. I hasten to add we didn’t eat all these things at the same meal, although Earl and I probably will this evening. And as I enjoy the leftovers, I’ll be thinking of how special it was to take time to party, party, party.