Last Friday night, we went to a fundraiser for a friend here in town who has cancer. It was a spaghetti dinner, with an auction afterward.
I went out to our church early and sliced three million loaves of French bread. And then I used giant, space-age-looking bags filled with orange syrup to make punch. The object was to pour one pitcher of orange syrup out of the foil bags, and add five pitchers of water in the giant coolers.
I poured one pitcher of orange syrup into the cooler and added five pitchers of water like a rock star. I OWNED that job.
And then I poured the second pitcher of orange syrup right down the front of my T-shirt and onto the counter and the floor and the girl standing next to me.
This is exactly how you make good friends in life.
It’s how I roll.
After I’d finally managed to make one and a half giant coolers of punch (instead of two, because WHY ARE WE SUDDENLY SHORT SO MUCH SYRUP???), I was entrusted with the task of cutting up cake to put on dessert plates.
I’m not sure if that was a demotion or not, but my hands were so sticky from the orange syrup that refused to wash off with regular water, I stuck to everything.
That’s just a small glimpse into how life actually IS for me.
And then there’s the boy.
On the sidelines of the auction, there was a raffle going on for a portable Traeger barbecue grill, that was valued at $300. Tickets were five dollars each, and all of the proceeds from this raffle (along with the money earned from the dinner and the other auction items) were going straight to our friend, who could sure benefit from some financial help for medical expenses.
(She could also benefit from your prayers, if you’d like to pray for her. Her name is Kayleen, and she has cancer in a whole lot of places. We’re praying for Jesus to show off and give her the lovely miracle of a clean bill of health.)
It’s no secret that Hubs is a professional griller with his Traeger. We have given up eating steaks at fancy restaurants, which come with real linen napkins and no playlands with dropped French fries on the floor, because Hubs can grill a steak better than anywhere in our neck of the woods can.
I’m not even kidding.
Hubs and I both had chicken fried chicken, with gravy, at a posh little restaurant not long ago, because… well... it’s not even a TREAT for us to order a steak at a spot like that. Because good steaks? Yeah, we get a lot of those at home.
The boy and Hubs decided that it would be awesome to win this portable Traeger through the raffle, because really? ARE TWO TRAEGER GRILLS ON YOUR DECK EVER TOO MUCH? So, the boy… who has been working long days all summer long at the golf course… marched up to the table selling the tickets and bought one for $5.
And then, without batting an eye, that boy of ours, whose heart is lovely and pure and good, said he’d take three more raffle tickets, because he figured if giving five dollars toward Kayleen’s medical expenses was good, giving twenty bucks would be even better. So he bought four raffle tickets, with his very own money.
I can imagine you already know where this is going.
Whereas I was the princess in the kitchen who spilled enough orange syrup down the front of her to make three hundred Styrofoam cups filled with punch, the boy, in his Ralph Lauren shirt and his fancy, BUT VERY UGLY, golf hat, won the Traeger grill, when his ticket was pulled out of the bowl containing three-point-four million OTHER tickets.
Oh, yes. He did. HE WON THE PORTABLE TRAEGER.
Which means we now have a little Traeger community sitting on our deck.
Yes. I just said DANCING TO THE AUCTIONEER.
Our younger son DANCED to the sing-song, fast talk of the auctioneer. At one point, he even ran up to me and said, “I’ve never heard this guy’s song before; I don’t really know how to dance to his music.”
I don’t really know how to dance to the words of an auctioneer either.
And apparently I can’t make orange punch.