It seems like if you want to make a party, you need a party
planner.
I used to work in a candy distribution company. Although our
main customers were candy stores and shops with quality
candy, over the years we had developed a large group of
'friends, and friends of friends, and . . . ' who knew that
they could come to our warehouse and get wholesale prices, so
when people had a simcha, we were one of their stops.
I used to marvel at customers who came by, sometimes a year
in advance, with a thick loose-leaf binder. Everything for
their party was in the planning stages, or perhaps already
decided. And now they would settle the candy, too.
I knew that was not my style.
Of course, a minimum amount of planning is unavoidable. So
this summer, we began to plan our Parshas Bereishis
Bar Mitzva. My teenage daughter, eager to practice on our
computer, volunteered to do the invitations with her preteen
sister. My older daughter anticipated a ten-week plus summer
vacation, with nothing specific to do other than running
short-term neighborhood camps and babysitting. She offered to
work on our invitation list and start baking and did a
wonderful job on both. Every week or so we would tell her
that we were going to look over the list . . . while
container by container, our freezer and our neighbors'
freezers began filling up.
Naturally, I undertook to outfit my three young daughters and
two granddaughters. As I checked out a few stores, however, I
kept running into the same problems. I couldn't really find
something answering to my modest taste, while the second-best
outfits were circa 400 shekel each. I did the math and
decided that I would sew matching outfits for the little
ones. Of course, I wanted to keep it simple, just a skirt and
vest.
But all told, five outfits, no matter how trouble-free, was
still a big enterprise. As I contemplated purchasing the
material, I was a little worried about undertaking this
project. The fabric alone could easily run a few hundred
shekel. And what if it didn't come out right? I stopped in a
fabric store in Geula and the owner pointed to stacks on the
front table, saying, "Remnants, marked down to twenty shekel
a meter." Well, that helped me decide.
I measured and cut carefully, knowing I couldn't get more
fabric. The backs of the vests were made out of lining
material and I even had a few scraps left over for hair
bands! I tried to find time to work on them, until one day I
declared: This is it! I'll just get up, daven and then
sew. I ought to be able to begin by 10. And I did. 10 p.m.,
that is . . .
All of a sudden the summer was drawing to a close. "We need
to get these invitations done already! Don't forget to
include Ksiva vachasima tova." I was beginning to feel
a little pressured. As we went off to the printer, with what
we thought was a basically ready print out, we were chagrined
to discover that "almost doesn't count" and camera- ready
artwork is or isn't. Ours wasn't.
Since the printer needed a couple of days, we decided to
switch to G'mar chasima tova. Then began the final
reviewing of the guest list, and we were ready to address. My
daughters had some friends over but I wish I had spent a few
minutes showing them how to address an invitation. When I
politely pointed out that they didn't look so nice, the girls
didn't seem to understand. Only when a friend of mine stopped
in, and with her calligraphic handwriting addressed one for
us did the idea begin to sink in. But they were addressed
already, and had to go as was. "Well, we'll surely avoid an
ayin hara," I philosophized.
The Yomim Tovim came and I still hadn't finishing my sewing
project. Okay, the bar mitzvah was two days after Yom Tov. I
would just have to complete it by then. Right after Yom Tov
was over, we began taking care of all the last-minute things.
That evening, my daughter said, "Mommy, could we borrow some
fancy accessories from a simcha gemach to set up a
buffet sweet table [`bar' in `Hebrew']?" I grudgingly agreed.
While I often agonize over such questions, I like to let my
'workers' have free rein and enjoy themselves while they help
me. But I also like to minimize and not overdo. It's a
constant struggle.
She made a few calls: one was all loaned out, another
inconveniently located. We tried one last person - at about
10 p.m., the night before our Bar Mitzva. "Oh, sure I have
those things," our friend said, "but I no longer loan them
out. I stopped babysitting, and now I am doing this
professionally. You can hire me to set up." I made a quick
calculation — we were preparing the food ourselves,
sewing the girls' dresses . . . it was time to spend a bit. I
confirmed with my husband and the Bar Mitzvah boy, and called
my friend back. "You're on! Please be there at 5 PM
tomorrow." The party was set for 8 PM.
Before going to sleep, I decided to make a list of what still
needed doing tomorrow: ribbons on the outfits . . . salad . .
. dressings . . . buy soda . . . Well, I thought, I might
even get to nap!
The next morning I decided to think about what I was going to
wear. I mean, there is no time like the present! I had been
so focused on the outfits that I hadn't thought about myself.
Oh-oh. My sheitel didn't look so great. A quick call,
and I sent it off to the sheitel-macher who would give
me an appointment. I continued through the busy day feeling
quite relaxed.
At three in the afternoon, as I opened my refrigerator to get
out some items, an unusual sight caught my eye. 4 bags of
flour lined up in the door. What's that? my
overcluttered brain tried to puzzle out. Hmmm. Oh, yes,
rolls. Rolls? Oh, no! For today! I had totally forgotten;
it hadn't even made it to the list!' I surveyed my messy
house, and thought about my nap. Forget them, I decided. I
had five hours, plenty of time to make 90 rolls . . . I just
felt bad that my parents, who were coming to my house before
going to the hall, would have to see this chaos.
At 7 p.m. rolls were coming out, the girls had finished
setting the tables and my friend was setting up the sweet
tables. Time for my ribbons. Oh, and what would I wear? No
problem, I had a couple of suits to choose from. But where
were they? Not here, check the other closet . . . Oy, I
loaned them to my friend who had a wedding in America. Well,
okay, I'll just wear the suit I got at Beged Yad Leyad and
have worn to my friends' simchos. I realized at this
point that I couldn't over-rush. Whenever I would get there,
I would get there. Then I got a surprise call — my
parents were already at the hall. Baruch Hashem, the mess was
my secret. But I needed to hurry!
It was 8:00 and the hall was 5 minutes away. "Mommy, let's go
already," my daughter was begging me. "Please," I said, with
a petended calmness, "I'll just be a bit later than I had
hoped, but we'll still be ahead of the guests, I'm sure. Go
on ahead." Just then the phone rang. The fellow with some
kugels was sorry to be bringing them at the last
minute, but would pick me up and give us a lift to the hall.
What a nice surprise.
B'H everything fell into place, without the year in advance
planning. Did everything go super smooth? No. But does it
when you plan ahead? Not always. This wasn't my first bar
mitzvah, but I admit that although the details varied, my
efforts at planning were about the same each time. Did I have
mishaps?
The most memorable oversight was at one bar mitzvah which we
shared with a Russian boy in my son's class. I told his
parents what to bring, and I did the rest. Imagine this
scene: we were in shul, davening was over, everything
set up but no one could make Kiddush. We had forgotten the
wine.
B'H we found a half bottle in the back of the refrigerator.
I'm sure it was in my son's merit for agreeing to share his
big event. Still in all, I have really seen, time and again,
that when I do make plans without overdoing it and stay
relaxed about the outcome, allowing myself to 'go with the
flow,' most things work out.
After all, Hakadosh Baruch Hu plans things very nicely.
