May 7, 2007

The After Party

BY Karen Morgan

Pablo Picasso (1881-1973)
Chimere, April 1935
Chinese Ink on Paper/ 17 x 25.5 cm
Picasso Museum, Paris
Sketch Done around time of painting “Guernica”

I honestly don’t know where to begin. For starters, I’m in the foulest mood on earth so everything is annoying me, including the fact that I have nothing to say. I want to go into all the minute details of my mother’s retirement party but I’ve been talking about for the last three days and I’m beginning to feel like a broken record. Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to say that the flowers were absolutely breathtaking, the food was perfection and my desserts were a refreshing finish to a stellar evening, but I’ve used that exact same statement so many times I’m about ready to kill myself. It’s like the moment the last little drop of adrenaline was squeezed out of my adrenal gland on Saturday, I haven’t had the capacity to generate one single original thought, opinion and or notion since. Plus, I forgot to take food pictures so I’m a double major loser.

I feel as though my arms and legs are hog tied and the only utterance I’m capable of making is : “the flowers were absolutely brethtaking, the food was perfection and my desserts were a refreshing finish to a stellar evening.”

This is my after party, the doldrums of being within nothingness and feeling as though my abilities as a whatever you want to call it are equivalent to a tiny dried up bird terd.

I’m in such a bad mood, I had to pack up my computer, my sour pucker of a mouth and head up to Book People for some real alone time. Away from my cookbooks, away from the toys scattered across all the horizontal surfaces, away from the laundry, the husband, the son, away from my daily reality just for a few short hours so that I might reclaim my center once again. To feel as though I could float away, untethered, naked, floating towards the stars that refuse to shine for me today. Perhaps the promise of evening will hold a few secrets for me…perhaps my adrenal gland will decide to resume working for me…perhaps my mood is nothing short of an illusion I forgot to leave in the nebulous corners of my dreams.

Speaking of dreams, my mother’s party was a dream come true for me for one simple reason. I saw my mother more happy on Saturday night than I have seen her in years. So whenever I feel the nagging tug of exhaustion coupled with pessimism, I fall back to Saturday night and remember that genuine full faced smile that colored my mother’s face so beautifully and I know in my heart that I would do it all over again just to see that very same reaction. In fact, the production of the desserts went very smoothly, it just took a solid week to pull it off. And my poor husband, I swear, by the time Saturday arrived, I thought I was going to be served with divorce papers.

On Friday night, when I was completing the tartlet molds at 12 o’clock in the morning, Tim screamed “Why can’t you just stop moving? Just stop moving for a second! I dare you!”

I laughed and then I kept moving until the party started the next day (two 18 hour shifts in a row).

And as I was leaving the Headliner’s Club after some to the final guests were trailing out, two of the waiters approached me and said, “You know, we do this all the time and this was a really special party.”

So there you have it. The party was more than I could of hoped for; too bad the after party sucks so bad.

Wem Wenders
Ganjin Statue at the Toshodaji Temple, Nara, Japan, 2000
From the book, “Pictures From the Surface of the Earth,” pg.17.
Schirmer/Mosel
Photograph

Posted by Karen Morgan

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