Catherine Drea: It's time for the summer family gathering

It’s an odd one because it’s something I haven’t done since before the pandemic. 

On Saturday I will have 26 people or what is known as "the family” for lunch. 

What was I thinking? 

Well, back in February when it seemed like summer would never come I had visions of swanning about in floaty summer outfits and drinking sangria under a tree. 

I contacted the sisters and before you could say summer party it was happening.

The reality may be a bit of a wash-out according to the weather forecast and, anyway, it’s far from sangria we were reared. 

More likely we will all need hot whiskeys if the weather is as bad as predicted.

It’s a big fat birthday for me too. Now I don’t usually do birthdays so the kids are slagging me and I suppose that will continue. 

I hate being the centre of attention and everyone has been warned it's a party not a birthday party, but they are not taking the slightest bit of notice.

The cousins will be home from Scandinavia and the Dubs will be here too. Some of them will turn up in high heels and high fashion, forgetting as they always do that down the muddy lane, wellies are more the style.

Himself is demented doing jobs. There is of course a long list of maintenance and this has to be strictly managed according to health, ability, safety and the most pressing items on the list. 

We don’t cut lawns or attack nature here so I suppose as usual the Dubs in particular will start weeding unbeknownst to themselves.

“You can leave them,” I will say, when I catch them down on their knees! 

“Those dandelions are for the pollinators.” 

They will then move on to the buttercups and daisies, where they will have a pint of beer in one hand and an outstretched hand pulling at grasses gone to seed and the odd bramble. Sure there’s no stopping them.

The small people will wander around in a creative haze. I love the way they make their own little knee-high worlds. 

I have a toy cattle herd that they usually gravitate towards. Soon the cattle will be fed and watered, while small stables will be built from stones and sticks to house them. 

These miniature farms keep them occupied for hours. Meanwhile, the real cattle in the field next door are attracting a million flies just at the right wrong time.

The little girls will put flowers in their hair and make food from herbs, greens and fruit. The babes in arms will put all sorts of things in the mouths that they shouldn’t and be handed from one to the other of the uncles to be entertained.

Then during all the preparations our one remaining older relative calls to let us know that she now has Covid for the third time. 

Normally a woman to chat for Ireland she is subdued and disappointed that she won’t make the family gathering. 

The dreaded Covid raises its ugly head yet again. I shiver at the memories of the pandemic years and the losses we had in the family. Years that we lost out on family days out and special occasions. 

Every family member is important so we will all miss her.

On the positive side, my oldest friend of 60-plus years is coming. Like everyone else she asks, “Can I bring something?” 

Now that’s a question that I find hard to answer. An event like this takes a fair bit of planning from counting chairs, plates and forks to cleaning out fridges and scrubbing bathrooms. And that’s before we even get to the grub!

Keep it simple the sisters say and buy in as much as possible. 

So I ring a few caterers. Turns out my usual suppliers of raspberry roulades to beat the band are too busy to oblige. 

I could buy in a load of cooked chickens I suppose? Salads from one of the supermarkets?

I could, but I know I won’t. Old habits die hard. 

So I will get a few old reliable items from the local delis but the centrepiece will be all my own work. 

It’s like any creative project, there has to be one creative director and as it’s my bash, I mull it over and insist on total control!

The barbecue will be lit. Salads will be made and summer fruit piled high. 

Thank goodness for the women who make the pavlova meringue shells and the bakery that produces the finest chocolate brownies in Ireland. Whip up some cream, throw on a few strawberries and Bob’s your uncle.

On the day of the big fat birthday, I wake up in fine form. My first thought is that turning 70 feels good. In fact I feel no different from yesterday so that’s a plus. 

I have now outlived my Mother, who died when she was 33, by more than two life-times. I am still here, a bit wonky in spots but privileged to be growing old.

She never experienced everyday things like a hot shower or a mobile phone. She didn’t live to see her children grow up, never mind to witness the birth of a grandchild. 

She didn’t live in an era of chemotherapy or any of the modern medicine that would have extended her life. 

Every birthday I think about all this and I’m thankful to be here in the mystery of it all.