Oh, My, God.

So we arrived - (and at last we have arrived at this final post) -

We only had minutes to spare before S was to arrive and we scrambled into action.

Two started unloading the stuff, while another ran to work the combination lock on the shed.

The combination lock refused to cooperate. We'd been here multiple times before and every time the lock functioned fine. NOW - while we're under a time constraint - it refuses to work.

"Let me try"

"I did that"

"Are you sure it's . . ."

"Let me try"

"Give me that"

Through the trees we hear the sound of an approaching car and we made a command decision.

BREAK THAT SUCKER ! ! ! ! (Turns out it wasn't her.)

We broke the lock, one scrambled to unlock the outhouse while the second zipped into the shed for the table.

Set up was almost instantaneous.... cheese, strawberries, caviar, champagne, ice bucket, crackers, whipped butter, table, chairs, gift bag.

All positioned between car and outhouse so S's approach would not see us until she was upon us.

Then she did arrive and parked at the head of the 'driveway' as we all alit and posed, casually, as if no effort were involved in this frantic undertaking.

"OOP! We should've closed the door to the shed."

So Mike stood, and edged blatantly and surrepticiously (Ala the Prince in Monty Python's Holy Grail movie) closed the door and sat back down.

As S neared the car, she spotted the outhouse.
She paused. She covered her mouth. And she said the three words which she would repeat for the next 20 minutes.

As if she were a scratched record on a random repeat.

"Oh, my, God."

"WAIT TILL YOU SEE INSIDE!" Blabbed Mike.

"MIKE ! SHH!" Rick and I chorused.

So she did look inside.

She approached the door (all of us gathered near) and simply gazed and said, "Oh, my, God."

I positioned myself to see her face as she opened it.
Rick twisted at the champagne cork. (And had a little premature release.)

Then she opened the door and gazed and said, "Oh, my, God."

Then her knees went week. And we thought she was going to pee, right there, steps from where it would have been more appropriate.

"Oh, my, God."

For minutes, she was constantly discovering and admiring something new.

Some detail, some big thing, she'd touch and "Oh, my, God."
She'd point and "Oh, my, God."

She'd sit and say "Oh, my, God."

Then start the process again. Touch, point, caress. "Oh, my, God. Oh, my, God. Oh, my, God."

Then she DID pee. But at that point, she was in the perfect spot with the door closed and us outside yelling "WE'RE NOT LISTENING!"

Finally, she joined us at the table and dabbed at her eyes and put her hand to her chest and breathed (the first breath in five minutes) and began her first new words of fragmented, incomplete sentences.

"It's simply . . .I can't believe . . . OH MY GAWD!" Then she ran for her camera.

Eventually, she settled and had noshes with us and we gave her the picture book that documented the creation of the outhouse.

And we sat and chatted and laughed and cried . . . cleaned up and parted ways.

Heavy, but satisfying Sigh of it finally being done and over.

And a hugely gratifying reaction to an uqually hugely outrageous, and impractical project.

It is finished.