What’s the population of beautiful Green’s Harbour, I wonder? I don’t have a clue, but I do know that last weekend, the population there increased by eight.
Eight fabulous personalities, eight people who know what life is truly all about, and who appreciate every single second of it. Eight people who really could have made that lovely little town just a tad bit nervous if the locals knew they were coming.
That’s right, last weekend I played host to eight phenomenal women, each of whom I absolutely adore for their own special
reasons. Now, that many women in one house is enough to make even the bravest of men ever so cautious. For that reason, hubby stayed away.
This weekend had been planned for well over a month. Three days prior, though, an email went out and the excitement really started.
Who’s bringing what food? Who likes red, who likes white? (Like we’d actually be forced to choose!) When is everyone arriving? Where the heck is everyone sleeping?
Well, our team of superheroes had it all figured out in jig time, and by mid-afternoon on Saturday, the harbour had been invaded and I was giddy with happiness.
I went there the night before to get the place ready. You know the drill: make a few salads, strip the beds, clean the bathrooms, dust, break out the paints, grab a canvas, uncork a bottle, make all kinds of excuses for eating the entire family-sized chocolate bar … typical prep work.
You’d swear they were coming for a week with the gear unpacked from the two cars they arrived in.
I’m sure I saw one vehicle hauling a trailer behind it because there was no way all those bags fit in the trunk.
In 64 seconds flat, all my efforts for a clean place were hidden by about 17 bags of everything imaginable.
It didn’t take long for the food to be broken out. We decided to potluck for the weekend, and with these creative souls you could be assured great grub. No one was disappointed. In fact, it seemed like as soon as we got one meal cleaned up, snacks were broken out. And as soon as the snacks were cleaned up, it was time for another meal. This was a most enjoyable cycle.
We relished our time together because as different as we all are, there is love, love, love (yes, it’s worth saying in triplicate) among the group, and it’s palpable whenever we are together.
How many different conversations can happen in one room at one time? Well, between nine women, I’d safely say at least 22 in total if you count interjections. Our house was buzzing, and if our walls could talk, they’d probably be saying, “Pass the earplugs!”
The evening led to a late supper, music, laughter, tears, more laughter, a few more tears, then finally, hitting the sack at an ungodly hour that I will not admit to in print.
Body clocks are a double-edged sword; great for days when your alarm might malfunction, bad for mornings when you feel your head literally just hit the pillow.
Bright and early, three brave souls sat and chatted, yours truly included. Slowly the rest of the stragglers made their way, and before long, we were cooking and eating again. Thankfully our choices were quite healthy for the most part, so it was all good.
Then the ladies hit the beach, each found just the perfect rock, while I broke out the paints and brushes. A little keepsake of our weekend together was in order and all were getting messy!
Eventually, with painted rocks in tow and still with at least 17 bags, everyone made their way home.
It was a beautiful 24 hours; every second of it was perfection.
And since there are many more days with 24 hours left in them this summer, and since Green’s Harbour survived unscathed, I suspect before too long, we’ll be doing it all over again.
Email Paula Tessier at email@example.com.