Saturday is party time. Come if you can. We will have live music and dancing girls, and enough food to make the big oak table groan under the weight of it all. And let's not forget the wine and beer and gin & tonics.

But I have something that's troubling me, although not enough to actually search for the root of the matter because I'd rather just make it up myself. I think that happens a lot more than anyone realizes, the world as it is seen through subjective eyes and related in subjective narratives. We humans are very good at telling stories.

But explain to me, "pot luck" what? I understand about the pot, because pots are cooking instruments, but I don't understand about the "luck" part. Maybe it's a case of, "We brought this bean loaf casserole and it sort of burned on top but with any luck it'll be good." Or maybe it implies the chance everyone takes when they bring food to someone's house... what if ten different people all bring bags of too-salty chips and nobody brings the salsa? Ack. Or if Tim and Sherri just happen to bring a mushroom quiche and, oops, Pierre and Monica also brought mushroom quiche, but Pierre is a chef and his quiche is delectable while Tim's is like cardboard? I could really go places with this. Someone stop me.

I suppose "pot luck party" is much better than either "luck party" or "pot party," which both seem to have an element of scandal about them.

So yes, a pot luck. Barbeque or BBQ or however one prefers, it'll be meat and veggies cooking over fire. Outside, I mean. And maybe the flamenco dancers will get tipsy enough they'll dance for us like they did at the last party, stomp steppastep stomp step step, stomp steppastep stomp, snapping fingers & clapping hands & smiling faces, while conversations and laughter roll like waves.