L minus 19 Hours

The luncheon is 19 hours from now and the feeling I have is like the opening scene from Cats, the Broadway musical.  The cats are prowling, meowing around the stage and all of a sudden a giant shoe drops from the ceiling.

I've several people think that they needed to triple the recipe (because I mentioned somewhere in the directions that it was tripled).  So instead of sweating that I may not have enough salad, I may be drowning in Quinoa, Corn and Edamame Salad.  Or Confetti Pasta Salad. (Links to the single recipe's amounts are at the bottom of those entries.)

I made table cards listing the menu and where the recipes could be found, but forgot to mention that they needed to cut the cakes near them (we're putting them out on the table) into 10 servings.  So, above you see the cake signs.

Some people said they can't find Herbes de Provence.  A pinch of rosemary, pinch of oregano, a pinch of thyme, I tell them--use that instead, and hope that it's reasonably close.  I forgot to buy one helper's ingredients.  She'll get it, she said.

I spent the morning in the car dealer's getting a tune-up for the car.  You have a nail in your tire, they said.  It will have to stay there until Monday, I said.  I picked up the tomatoes from Trader Joe's--not a hitch--but the spinach that I'd ordered from Smart and Final--first 30 boxes, then I called back the next day and revised the order downward to 20--is all in and ready for me to pick it up tomorrow.  And wouldn't you know it--they have 30 boxes for me. I take a lot of deep breaths.  Say a lot of prayers.  Hope that the 300 women coming tomorrow like the menu, the salads, the cake.  And spinach.

L minus 18 3/4 and I'm waiting for that shoe to drop.