The Germans are coming...

So, here I was one hour ago.  Monday night.  Last ditch effort to scour the house before guests arrive tomorrow morning.   Sweaty, hot, dripping, scurrying.

Phone rings.

310 number.

"It's a work colleague," I think to myself.  I answer.

"Hallo Susse.  Ich bins."

"Fadi?"

"Ya, wir sind hier."

"Im LA?"

"Ya."

So, here I am.  Freshly showered...but again sweaty.  The house is as clean as it's going to get. Our guests are arriving a day early in a blue shuttle bus any second. I am excited.  I am unable to dust every spot I wanted; however, in the end...when you love seeing someone...do you look around for dust bunnies?  Will you ever write down in your journal that a corner had spider webs?  Or will you remember the genuineness of the reception, the warmth, the hospitality, and the calm with which you were received?

I have never felt like the best host.  I struggle to be more easy going, flexible, and relaxed.  I am concerned with appearances and them having a good time...versus simply creating the positive experience organically.

So, the Germans are coming.  My beloved Fadi (and her friend) are arriving any moment.  I am looking at my little Buddha (atop the polished wood table) and thinking calming thoughts.  Daniel's chair creaks in the office...his last few moments of GMAT studying before the Europeans settle into his study space.  He is gracious and calm.  He always is.  I will be warm and merry and not worry about perfection.  Hosting is an art in which I would eventually like to excel.  Another chance begins any minute...