In the End . . . (A Job for the Crockpot)

How is it that I have FOUR grocery stores within a one mile radius of my house,
     and I can never find everything that I need?

I was hosting ten people for dinner.

I had been at a conference, the day before,
     so all of the planning and shopping and cleaning and cooking
were going to happen the DAY OF.

Sounds like a job for the Crockpot.

Guests were arriving at 5 o'clock.

At 9a.m, I went to grocery store #1.

I checked off my list of simple ingredients,

     until I pulled into the produce section . . .

             SCREECHING HALT.    

I needed fresh thyme and rosemary.  

             They had NONE.  

I asked the produce man to check in the back.  

             NO SUCH LUCK.

                      Damn. 

I went to grocery store #2.  

They DID have fresh rosemary, but were fresh out of fresh thyme.  

Speaking of "thyme",
     I needed to get my ingredients in the crockpot, so there was no time for grocery store #3.   

After I chopped and sliced and trimmed all of my ingredients,
     I went to pull the crockpot out of the cabinet.  

Somehow, the lid SHATTERED into pieces.   

Little beads of glass poured all over the inside of the cabinet,
     and all over the floor.  

My boys thought it was really cool, the way it just . . .

                                             {POOF!} . . . magically crumbled.  

          I did not think it was cool.

I quickly used my "dial a friend" option. 

     "Do you have a large crockpot?"  I asked.  

Sensing the urgency in my voice, he immediately brought it over.

I threw all of the ingredients inside, and turned it on high.  

As dinner was cooking, my son and I went to the local Farmers Market
      to pick up some fresh tomatoes and olives (for appetizers),
and a Trader Joe's pumpkin pie (for dessert).  

After the floors were vacummed and mopped,
the bathroom was cleaned, 

     the table was set, and the candles were lit . . .
the guests began to arrive.  

Good food,
     good wine,
           good conversation . . .

                         in the end, it all comes together.  

And, if not (as my youngest son suggested),
     one can always order Chinese.