We had a lovely, lovely party last Saturday, and lovely house guests all weekend. Here's the report I gave the Maud list.

OUR HOUSE GUESTS ARRIVE

Kip and I spent Friday morning frantically trying to finish cleaning the house so our expected house guests, Jessica Weissman and Cindy Price, didn't clue in to the customary squalor in which we live. We were insufficiently organized to the point that when Jessica arrived (I raced over to the airport to collect her, guiltily leaving Kip still slaving away), the vacuuming still hadn't been done. Jessica gamely offered to perform that chore while I once again (guiltily) volunteered to head off to Target for a mattress pad for the guest-room bed, and also lunch. I came home with a giant bag of Chinese food, which we all fell on, being careful not to drop any on the newly pristine floors (I highly recommend Jessica's vacuuming skills, and I deeply regret that she is out of our price range, given the added expense of flying her in to perform such a chore. I mean, she's good, but not *that* good).

Cindy was due to arrive late Friday afternoon, so Jessica and I headed out more than an hour before she was expected, because of the Friday afternoon traffic and all, and we didn't want to make Cindy wait, and also because we wanted to go shopping before we picked her up. (The truth always comes out.) Jessica lured me to the Land's End outlet store and forced me to buy a shirt and a pair of shoes. She might try to tell you that her purchase of a beautiful aqua-colored jacket was entirely my fault, but I hasten to say that I was in no way culpable. Frankly, I blame O.J. Simpson.

So *then* we headed for the airport. The main terminal of the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport is always a ridiculous zoo, but especially so on Friday afternoon, and of course the security gestapo wouldn't let us lurk outside the baggage-claim doors, so we made the loop three times before Jessica wisely offered to get out of the car and wander around inside, looking for Cindy. We synchronized cell phones and I made the loop again (five times, but who's counting) before Jessica and Cindy made contact at Northwest's lost-luggage counter (her layover in Atlanta was insufficiently long to allow her suitcase to join her on the way to Minneapolis, apparently), filed a report and joined me in the car. I don't often sing the praises of cell phones, but were it not for them, there's a good chance that Cindy might have spent her weekend in the Minneapolis airport.

However, our triumvirate made a triumphant return to our house, where Cindy was introduced to Andrew and Otis (Jessica met both when she and Louise were here earlier in the summer) and installed in the guest room (Jessica was assigned to our downstairs guest room, which is where Kip's sons sleep when they are at our house). We spent the evening gossiping and eating and drinking (and, on Jessica's part, catching a few brief -- and potentially dangerous -- power naps). We'd all gone to bed when the doorbell rang at about midnight; Otis and I scampered downstairs and found Cindy's bag on the front porch, somewhat damp from the showers in Atlanta, but none the worse for wear.

FRIENDLY, POLITE MINNESOTA SAMPLE SALES

My sister Jennifer and I have gone to several sample sales put on by B & Lu, a Minnesota company. When I told Cindy and Jessica that there was one scheduled for Saturday morning, with every item just $3, they both fell in with the plan, so we scooped up my sis and headed for the sale.

Jessica's description of the sale was accurate. We are unfailingly polite here in Minnesota, as long as we're not in our cars driving down the interstate and someone cuts us off. Cars make us braver, far more rude and entirely too willing to employ impolite hand gestures.

But none of that was evident on Saturday. As soon as the doors opened, the ladies stampeded (politely) into the room (a community center gym), swarmed the tables and followed instructions to the letter: We were to rip open the plastic bags containing the clothes for sale and then deposit the bags in large bins beneath the tables. Yes, and people actually *did this.*

Within five minutes, salegoers had amassed piles of clothes and had repaired to the sides of the room, where they stripped off and tried on their acquisitions. There was much discussion of what looked good on whom, and we were out of there within an hour, each clutching a bag containing our new clothes.

Having never been to a sample sale on the East Coast, I have nothing to which I can compare the B and Lu sales. But I believe the well-traveled and erudite Jessica, the Elizabethan slut border guard, when she says it's every woman for herself in other locations.

THE REST OF SATURDAY

... was spent preparing for the Sibley side lawn party. Jessica embarked on her chocolate bread project, which was derailed when, as she related, Kip inadvertently assassinated the yeast with an overly hot oven (I fear I can't blame O.J. Simpson for that; besides, "Kip Sundquist, Yeast Assassin" sounds like a new book by Robert Ludlum or some other dead thriller author).

Kip, a skilled multitasker, took time out from murdering innocent yeast to prepare his prize-winning pico de gallo and string up Christmas lights on the deck. Jessica helped chop vegetables and tried to salvage her bread (and succeeded admirably). Cindy and I went to the grocery and liquor stores and came home with many bags of food and drink. Kip's sons, Tim and Eric, arrived and were promptly put to work hauling chairs and a table and the fire pit out to the side lawn, putting the drinks on ice, chopping kindling, etc., etc. We took Otis the smelly dog off to PetSmart for a bath so he would be presentable to guests. At one point, everyone had fled the premises except for Jessica and Andrew; Jessica pronounced herself up to the task of watching a 6-year-old while we all went our separate ways. When Cindy and I arrived home, we learned that we hadn't even pulled out of the driveway before Andrew had tested Jessica's child-minding skills: He still requires a little help after various bodily functions (I'm trying so hard to be delicate here; please bear with me). This manifests itself this way: He'll retire to the bathroom, and after a few minutes, we'll hear, "I poo-ooped," which is the nearest adult's signal to come in and assist with cleanup.

Jessica heard this shortly after we left. In fact, she heard it several times before realizing that she was required to respond in person. And she went above and beyond the call of, um, duty by stepping up to the plate and doing so, with Andrew providing helpful instructions.

(In the continued interest of delicacy, I will refrain from identifying the person who, on Sunday morning, issued a similar announcement from one of the bathrooms. In this case, it did not come from Andrew. I will leave it at that, although I have to add that it left Cindy and me in hysterics in the living room.)

THE PARTY

Perhaps the hostess shouldn't admit it, but it was great, great fun. People started arriving shortly after 6; we already had food arrayed on the dining-room table and the mega-grill ready for action, but by the time all the guests had arrived, the table was groaning with all manner of delicious edibles. Guests swarmed over Kip's pico de gallo (both versions, one labeled "Hot!" and the other "Wimpy!"). There were many delectable desserts, most of them provided by the guests. At one point there were so many people circling the table munching on chips and pico and brownies and bread that I feared no one would be interested in the brats and hot dogs; my fears were very shortly proven unfounded.

Otis, who takes his responsibilities as a guard dog very seriously and was pretty vocal when the first guests began to arrive, was shut up in Kip's and my bedroom for the first part of the party, but we let him out after a bit, and he plunked himself in the middle of the living room and basked in everyone's admiration. Lani J. took a particular shine to him; I feared for a bit that she would try to smuggle him home, but he does weigh 75 pounds, almost more than the wee Lani, so it would have been difficult to accomplish.

We all did repair to the side lawn for a bit, where we raised glasses and toasted all our absent friends; I believe there is photographic evidence of this, because my stepson Tim was standing on the table, patiently clicking one camera after another.

The diehards lasted until close to midnight. We sprawled out in the living room and talked about damn near everything. I particularly remember a suggestion that we schedule an Extreme BT convention in Las Vegas; I won't offend anyone's sensibilities with the suggested activities, but we did find ourselves vastly amusing. And I must reiterate, as I have in the past, that if Julie Chuba and I had gone to school together, teachers would have had to put is in separate "buildings" to keep us from causing trouble.

SUNDAY

Our plans to drag our guests, kicking and screaming, to the Renaissance Festival were abandoned when we learned that Jessica's flight left Sunday afternoon. Instead we piled into the minivan and headed for Green Mill, a restaurant that serves a lovely Sunday brunch, and then to Half Price Books, where Jessica once again forced me to spend money. Someday my destitute family and I will show up on her doorstep and beg her to take us in because we spent all our money on books and clothes and shoes, and it's all her fault.

Cindy and I delivered Jessica to the airport and bid her a sad farewell. On Sunday evening Cindy and Kip and I consumed vast quantities of leftovers, watched the Emmys and snarked on the clothes and the annoying people (I must say that Brad Garrett really is a colossal pig), and Cindy and I whooped and exchanged high fives when my Secret Celebrity Boyfriend James Spader won. Though we were all utterly unwilling to give up the weekend, we all finally succumbed to sleep. Cindy headed for home Monday. Kip reported that the house seemed awfully quiet that afternoon.

I'M ALMOST FINISHED, NEVER FEAR

We truly wish that every one of you could have been at the party. I love Cindy and Jessica more than ever, and I love all of you, too. I hope tons of you come to Minnesota next summer for the state fair party.

How much more dull and colorless my life would have been if I'd never read that first Maud Hart Lovelace book. I shudder at the very thought.