The Binder. She is complete.

For the past few months, I have been on a team of volunteers working to organize a big whoop-de-do for some graduating high school seniors. It’s an event that has been around for 30 years. But this was the first time the team was in charge. It took nine of us to fill the comfortable shoes of one very dedicated lady who -- after a decade or two of heading up the event -- finally decided she wanted to step down to spend more time with her great grandchildren. It was the least we could do.

It seemed very daunting, this little shin dig for nearly 200 women. It was a tea with lots of little details to fuss over. Sugar and creamer sets, serving trays, engraved napkins, centerpieces, sliced cheese, Sociables and Wheatables, scented candle favors wrapped in tulle, speakers and sound operators and photographers, heavy lifters and behind-the-sceners, and dozens and dozens and dozens of homemade cookies. We stopped short of have a bouquet toss.

In honor of its 30 year history, I decided the event needed to have a “how-to” manual. A written one, to supplement the one in the head of the dedicated lady. So during all our planning meetings and emails and impromptu conversations, I gathered info for a binder. A pretty, light green binder I envisioned filled with critical tidbits about how to pull off a spectacularly girly tea party.

The tea was on Wednesday. We had a debriefing meeting on Thursday. By Saturday afternoon, The Binder was finished.

It is a piece of organizational insanity, this binder. It has no less than thirty tabs, printed in 18-point Arial. It has spreadsheets detailing costs and bricks of cheese and 8 foot tables. It has color photos of flower arrangements and table settings and food platters. It has sample programs and comment cards and signs. It is overrun with bullet points.

So far Rob is the only other person to have seen The Binder. I am a little hesitant to show it to anyone else, for I know what people will think. I have thought the same amused thoughts when my dad has shown me his binders of planned road trips and house hunting projects. I know how over-achiever this binder is and how it might have just a touch too much detail for the average reader. But I also know there is absolutely no way I could not have created it. I am my father’s daughter. I am destined for binder assembly.

Truth be told, I am sad I am finished with The Binder. Working on all the parts and pieces, organizing the tiny details, consolidating months of notes secretly made my heart sing. I adore stuff like this. And I miss being so focused and productive. I used to run projects and analyze stuff for a living. My cranky back prevents me from having a job, and there are times when I really miss being able to work. The Binder reminded me of an old self, a former life. It gave me joy and satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment…and a very sore back. Although I was surprised to be reminded how much I miss having a job, I also realized that I can still be my old self in new ways. And that there is always room for one more binder.