The first clue that something was amiss was the brawl that took place directly across the street from our house.
First there were a couple of guys shouting, next fists were flying, and then a dozen or so men threw themselves into it, either punching each other or pulling others apart.
At the time, we were in our front yard, setting up for a party of our own. We were hosting a, shall we say, extremely senior person within our community, along with 60 or so of our favorite people, and we were putting out candles and tables and wine glasses in preparation for the upcoming evening.
But apparently, the neighbors directly across the street were hosting a party of their own. A wedding. And to start things off right, they had a big fight. The police came, and mobile patrol came, and the gendarmerie guys showed up, and all of the neighborhood boabs turned out.
With all of this attention, the fight ended. And the wedding party started.
There was music. Loud music. Loud Jordanian music.
And there was dancing. Right there on the street, as the wedding couple came out after signing their marriage contract.
And all I could think was, dear god, let this be over before our party starts. Because our candlelit dessert party was definitely going to be eclipsed by this wedding.
Our boab went over to talk to the wedding party (this after he finished cutting our flowers and helping us set up tables) and determined that their party was scheduled to end an hour or so before our began. So instead of stressing, we watched the festivities and took some photos. Oh, and we also hoped fervently that the brawling guys wouldn't plot a return during our party. Nothing like having a fist fight, or some festive firing, take out the VIPs at your party.
Our party went off without a hitch, and it was actually quite lovely.
But look at their party:
Now I'm all partied out. I think this was the third major event we hosted since returning from R&R. We had another party in honor of a super-way-high-up-in-the-DS-chain-of-command-guy when he paid a visit a few weeks back. There were about 30 people in attendance, all of whom wanted some face time with him. He's a great guy - if this is a mark of the type of person running DS, I'd say we're in good hands.
Funny story: this is the second time he's been to our house for dinner. The first time, last year, everything was going swimmingly, and we were all in the living room chatting, when Ainsley stormed out of her room, pointed directly at this very senior gentleman and sternly said "I told you to BE QUIET!!!!"
Thankfully, he laughed. And accepted our second invite. But I don't think Ainsley won any awards for diplomacy that night.
I also hosted a CLO newcomer coffee last week. There were about 35 people, mostly women, half of whom I didn't know, who showed up for coffee and pastries. Which would have been great, except that my oven exploded a few days before the event. Exploded. As in, blew up. Glass everywhere.
They came to deliver a new oven the next day - crisis averted! - except that, on their way in the house, they dropped the new oven and it broke. As in, I still didn't have an oven. And the party was in two days.
As my dear blog friend ADA noted, it was God's way of telling me to stop hosting all of these damn parties. He took out two ovens, trying to get his message across.
All's well that end's well, though, and I had many, many friends offer to bring baked goods to the CLO coffee. We had cinnamon rolls and banana bread and wheat bread and quiche and fruit and tarts and.... I didn't make a thing, unless you count the coffee.
So that, in part, explains my radio silence these last few weeks. Consider yourself up-to-date. Me? I'm off to bed.