Having people visit makes me anxious: You would have never guest

I am not a gifted or gracious hostess. I am not confident in my culinary or housekeeping skills. I am awkward when it comes to small talk. 

Hospitality is an important part of my Christian faith ("For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger and you invited me in..." Matthew 25: 34-36) but I am TERRIBLE at it. Uncomfortable. Anxious.

But...new year so back up on the hostessing horse I go.

"What are you doing?" my daughter yelled on speaker phone as I balanced on a dining room chair, delicately unscrewing a blown-out light bulb. "Are you putting in the company light bulb?" she shouted accusingly. "Two bulbs don't illuminate the room enough," I said defensively. "You let me sit in a dark room over Thanksgiving just fine," Savannah snarled, "but the minute Katriel comes over...Let there be light!"

The light bulb was the least of my problems.

"I don't know what to make for dessert," I lamented to Brad. He paused...aware that this seemingly small matter (to him) was nearing crisis territory for me. "We like chocolate pudding..." he suggested carefully. I brightened. I had pretty dessert glasses. 

Jello had recently sent me into a tailspin by changing their packaging. Heaven forbid we stay with tried-and-
true.

The ridiculous purple packaging pulled one more punch:  It was instant. "I can't serve instant pudding to our guests," I cried, "Take it away." Brad stoically carried it outside and dumped the pot's still steaming contents in the field ("You littered?!?" our from-Toronto-visitor gasped when he heard the story recounted later. The three Wyoming County residents sitting at the table stared at him while my husband slowly asked, "We littered by dumping pudding on cow manure?").

Now there was no dessert.

Brad escaped my next melt-down by plowing the driveway.

When he returned, he complimented the stacked plate of Rice Krispie treats. "Yeah," I scoffed, "great if we were hosting ten-year-olds."

A few minutes later, he came racing back into the kitchen at my next cry of dismay.

"What?!? What's wrong?" he asked, scanning the room for the source of my distress. "Look at this," I wailed, brandishing a stalk of celery like a sword. Brad skillfully blocked my Shomen Uchi strike to see what could possibly be wrong with the sturdiest member of the parsley family. 

"Ewww..." he said, looking at the black sludged paste coating the end of the vegetable before walking it out to join the pudding. "My salad is ruined," I ruminated. At this point, we would be serving stale cereal. 

Our guests arrived and it was immediately clear that they were here for the people...not a gourmet presentation. Stale cereal, steak, spaghetti, or scrambled eggs...Katriel and Dan just wanted to hang out with us. The evening wasn't about culinary dishes...it was about conversation. We had self-consciously rolled out the welcome mat and they could care less if the rug had a few stains.

Except for my losing EVERY game of euchre, we had a lovely evening. 

We should have taken the meal and the cards as a win but no...

"How about we light a few sparklers?" I suggested, wanting a memorable ending to our visit.

Brad glanced at me...wondering if I had factored in the darkness, deep snow, wind, and cold...before
sighing, of course I hadn't.

We gamely waded through knee-high drifts, past the pudding and celery sludge, and set up our little sparklers well away from trees and the house.  Shivering, Katriel and I watched as Brad and Dan lit our little display. Let's just say, they blew us away.

Not surprisingly, Dan and Katriel left, more or less intact, pretty quickly after that.

"Well," said Brad as we watched our guests drive rapidly away, "I thought that went pretty well. You must be feeling pretty good." He paused, watching me vigorously wiping the bottom of my boot in the snow. Apparently, I had walked through sludge. "Not nece-celery," I answered.

Lord knows I tried.