I'm going WAY over the top from now on.

The difference between ho-hum and hey-o! is in the details.

I’m going way over the top from now on.

Because the spice of life is in the details. And I feel this now more than ever.

Joy, is found in the details. Miracles, emerge from the details. Do you know about the insane, mind-blowing intricacy of the human eye? Google it, you’ll have to go lie down.

The miracle in the details is why I hope a monarch butterfly, with its stunning design on its thin magical wings will land on my finger so I can admire it. And why I screamed when a dusty gray moth landed on my arm before I slapped it away and panic jumped into Poppy, who fell backwards, ticked.

I learned about the gift of details from my mom, but it took me decades to appreciate it. She’d call me in my twenties to go over the Thanksgiving menu with excruciating detail and I’d hold the phone out, glazed over, suffering. “Good grief,” I’d think, “stop micromanaging me and the mashed potatoes. Who cares!” I thought it was such a bizarre waste of time and wondered if she could use a hobby or two.

Little did I know going way over the top was her hobby. Because she knew a secret. The kind of secret that’s real obvious, but most of us can’t be bothered.

Ambiance, wonder, joy, mystery, shock, surprise— all that real juicy stuff in life, doesn’t just “happen.” It’s created. Whether it’s by God in nature, or by us in our kitchen— somebody, somewhere, took the time to give a crap. You know when the music, the company, the lighting, the menu, the wine, the conversation, the couch, the entertainment, the cookie, just hit different? That feel-good energy washing over us isn’t a coincidence, it was someone’s exquisite attention to detail affecting the air all around us. We just get to breathe it in and enjoy.

So, I’ve been thinking, if I’m going to go to the trouble to do something, why not go over the top? But most importantly, and only if, I have fun doing it?

Aren’t I worth the extra effort? Aren’t my family and loved ones, my community? You?

Excellence doesn’t have to be drudgery. It can be a whole buncha fun all on its own. Why do we expend so much effort avoiding it? Okay, I get it. Work! Exhaustion. Piles of laundry. No time.

But no one has time. We make time for what truly matters. Or we don’t, and wonder why life feels broken.

This past Sunday, I hosted my parent’s birthday party (yes, their birthday is on the same day). Even though my dad has just passed, we knew he needed to be part of the celebration. Honestly, it would have been easier on me emotionally to skip it, avoid it, or maybe go to a busy restaurant where it’s loud enough to drown it. There was a part of me that poked around for an escape hatch so I didn’t have to look my dad’s shocking absence in the eye. Walking towards pain goes against our every instinct. Ironic, though, that’s it’s usually where we’re delivered.

In the same way I knew I’d have to do the impossible and give my dad’s eulogy, I knew I would regret not rising to the occasion and giving my mom a charming, deeply moving, and delicious celebration. We would sorrowfully miss my dad, but come hell or high water, we’d try and have a little fun!

I wanted magic.

“I think it’s too much food,” my sister cautioned as I rambled off the menu. I wanted a lot of small, special bites. Variety. The kind of spread where you look around and rub your fingers together wondering how you’ll be able to fit one of everything on your plate. Not like a cheap buffet, where you feel a bit greasy and bad about yourself, but more like an afternoon tea at Ina Garten’s house, except enough substantial food so my teenage nephews don’t secretly DoorDash Panda Express. I planned my over-the-top chicken salad on croissants, roast beef on brioche sliders, shrimp Louis (shrimp with a special cocktail sauce that was so good it makes you anxious). Blue cheese stuffed dates, wrapped in prosciutto- simply insane, but did look a bit like Yorkie turds (it’s good to stay humble). I made a spicy pimento dip with homemade lavash. Lemon bars, coconut pecan macaroons, chocolate brownie cookies, petite angel food cake slices with whipped cream, strawberries and lemon curd. And of course, a Chantilly cake. I set up my Nespresso machine for coffees and espresso, a variety of wines and beer and Topo Chicos with a hint of lime- because I’m worth it America!

It was too much food.

It was the kind of too much food where you start to threaten your family – they WILL be coming. I don’t care if they lose an eye on the way over, find a patch. And everyone have a healthy appetite, so help me God!

Then my brother’s family had a small emergency and thought they may not be able to make it.

First, I cussed him. Got petty and blocked him. Then I called my sister.

I felt sick. How could they not be there? She assured me that it was going to be a special, memorable day for mom and for us, no matter what, and if there’s more food than we needed, who cares? We’d freeze it, take it home, make it work.

And with a cracked voice, a weepy little cry in the back of my throat that came out of nowhere, I said, “I would have done all this just for me and mom.” It’s not the food-- it’s the joy, the shock, the surprise in all the precious details - and I wanted her to have it all and then some on the very first birthday she’s experienced without my dad since she was fifteen years old.

Mom was the first to the party, and walked in, shocked, stunned! The over-the-top spread was far more than she was expecting. We popped open a Prosecco, I put on some Ella Fitzgerald. My brother and his family made it. I unblocked him. And as the rest of our family trickled in, we fellowshipped together while we ate and sampled and got stuffed and still had a little more. We sang happy birthday and when it got to the “happy birthday mom and dad” part, me and my brother in particular, sobbed all the way through. Mom blew out a single candle. The smoke swirled all around and soothed me.

And then I noticed— there was barely any food left.

After some time, everyone slowly packed up to make their way home. Mom lingered behind to sit at my island while I cleaned up and packed all the last bits away. We chatted about our future and I eventually sent her off with leftovers, joy, her gifts and flowers. Then I hobbled to the couch where I collapsed, begging Rob to bring me some Advil and maybe a little more cake if there was any left.

Worth it.

You don’t ever regret going over the top. Well, I suppose, there is one exception. You can’t do it for the accolades. Because humans are incredibly disappointing. The secret is to do it for God. Because he so loves us, we are compelled to love others to the very best of our ability. Because it’s what we were created to do, not because we want something in return. And so, when people cancel, or don’t care, or pick at the food, or it drops or breaks or spills, or your husband and brother get in some political argument that ruins the vibes, you can just go tattle on them to God and wash your hands of the whole thing. You did your part, and you did it good.

It’s that spice of life found in all the nooks and crannies. And I’m determined to find it. All of it. Get my fill.

As an aside, the Yorkie turds taste even better the next day, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

xx Anna

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