In photography, there are always challenges. They mimic life.
We join an annual Independence Day celebration at the house of some friends. This year, it was scheduled for the 2nd, and because we had guests flying in from the Northeast to see our exhibition, we were unable to attend. Instead, we invite a group to join us at our house on the actual 4th for a picnic. The weather is lovely when we send out the invitations.
Then, things change. The weather is going to be insufferably hot. UGH-HOT. Breathless-HOT.
We ask if anyone has a kiddie pool. Not only do some friends have one, but it is in perfect, July-4th colors.
I pull out bath toys from our youngest grandson’s last visit and sprinkle them into the pool.
Arnie and I do our preparations. He marinates the burgers, chicken sausages, and shrimp skewers. I put out the assorted beach and lounge chairs. Arnie paints one of our small, fold-up white tables that has seen better days finish-wise. We wipe down all the glass surfaces outside with cleaner. I set up Obstacle Croquet. People are bringing bocce. The condiments are all set, the hors d’oeuvres under net hats we had bought in Provence last month. The buffet is ready to go outside, some items already there. I set up fans to cool off the deck and set them on HIGH.
The skies get darker … and darker … and darker. This is not promising. We think it prudent to bring in most everything and put it in the dining room.
Splat! Splat, splat, splat. SPLAT!!!
I rush outside to unplug the fans. No point encouraging an electrical fire. Then I bring in the last of the condiments.
Just in time. Full-blown cats and dogs. Rumblings from afar. The paper lanterns are soaked, but since the batteries have not yet been installed, I figure they will eventually dry out.
Guests due in 15. Quick shower. At the first rumblings of thunder, I am out of there, fully clean. Hair, too. Downstairs with seven to spare.
Horses and cows now. Arnie checks the weather report that is even worse than a half hour ago. Severe T-storms. Yeah. They’ve already started. We’re now experiencing dinosaurs and pterodactyls. Yeah, yeah. I know they’re now called pterosaurs, but being a bit of a pterosaur myself, I’ll stick to the term I learned back in elementary school.
Latest report: hail and high winds. Arnie brings in our glass-sculpture oil lamp. We don’t want hail to break it.
“Next, we’ll be getting reports of tornadoes,” Arnie quips. Fortunately, this does not come to pass, nor does the hail manifest itself. Whew! But the rains do.
By now, the kiddie pool is fuller than full, and the chairs are soaked. Arnie has retrieved the croquet set stand and put it under the front portico.
We’re all set. Everything is ready inside. Bar on the kitchen-counter ell. Food and trivets on the dining-room table. Hors d’oeuvres in the living room where furniture has been de-MooseCat proofed, and the cushions are no longer standing on end in an effort to thwart our feline friend who can turn any piece of furniture into a luxurious fur coat.
The guests arrive with potluck contributions. Arnie goes out to the driveway with two umbrellas and escorts everyone in one by one. It is very gallant and hospitable of him.
Everyone congregates in the kitchen. So, what else is new? Forget that the appetizers are in the living room. Our kitchen is a comfy gathering place. Always has been, like so many other households.
We point out our home-version of a Jacuzzi, and people get a big kick out of it.
Its time to put the goodies on the grill, and the rains have not abated. Arnie braves the inclement weather, rain jacket on, hood shrouding his white hair. Fortunately, there is no longer any thunder or lightening. One of our friends wields a couple of large umbrellas and protects Arnie and himself. I open the kitchen window and we communicate through it.
“How do people want their burgers?” Arnie asks.
I eventually get people to quiet down so I can ask the question.
“One medium, five medium rare, one however-it-comes-out, and one moo for me,” I tell Arnie. Some will stick to the shrimp and sausages and salads.
“Cheese?” And I give the count.
Orders for the platters are fed through the window, and another of our friends by the French door to the deck relays cheese, platters, etc. back and forth through the door.
The ladies help me take the cooked food to the table.
It is a team effort, for sure.
We crowd into the livingroom, everyone with a seat, just barely. Conversations flow, along with departures and returns with seconds. Laughing abounds. Artistic discussions flourish. It is a great evening. We all have fun. There are even impromptu back adjustments for a couple of our guests with problems.
Everyone is surprised at how seamlessly we have moved a large outdoor picnic indoors.
“I would have panicked,” admit some.
“How do you do it?” ask others.
Arnie and I don’t see the big deal. After all, we have spent our careers adapting and improvising. We are so used to going on assignments all those many decades and finding the opposite of what was promised for our photography.
“We have a great location for you.”
“Yeah, where?” we wonder, saying nothing out loud but scurrying for something more suitable and tactfully suggesting it to the client.
“The building faces west,” a client reports.
Great, but when we get there, we find that it faces east, the “other west.” The late-afternoon light we are expecting will do us no good.
Photography is fraught with these challenges.
For Arnie and me, piece of cake! We just adapt and improvise. It really isn’t so hard if you put your mind to it.
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What a wonderful story! wish we could have been part of it. You and Arnie are marvelous hosts wherever.
Thanks, Nat! You would have enjoyed it.
Take care,
TBC