For Christmas Eve, we organized a fancy dinner for 9 people, including several friends, my son, and my step-daughter. I was dumb enough to plan, along with many, many other things, Beef Wellington, a 
pastry-wrapped beef filet requiring a meat thermometer to ensure proper cooking.
This was one labour-intensive and nerve-wracking meal, requiring perfect timing amidst the chaos of a major dinner party. I worried about it for 4 days and 4 nights in advance, lost hours of sleep over it.
What was I thinking? I’m no longer thirty-something.
Anyway, we made sure to place the thermometer on the counter, ready for insertion at the appropriate time. While the meat was cooking, I checked multiple times to make sure the thermometer was there, front and centre. It was.
Guests arrived and deposited offerings on the counter. Drinks were served, appetizers devoured.
When the magic monent arrived, NO THERMOMETER.
I panicked, dragged my husband out of the living room and away from guests to help hunt for it. Soon the kitchen was overflowing with dinner guests.
No one could find the damned thermometer.
Needless to say, the beef ended up over-cooked. Still delicious, juicy and tasty, but not the pretty pink I’d anticipated.
Turns out, my husband had shifted a pile of bags, gifts, and implements a guest had deposited on the counter along with her contribution to dinner (scalloped potatoes).
The thermometer was mixed in with the serving spoons under a bag.
People enjoyed the meal anyway, hung around much later than usual, and had lots of laughs, a sure sign of success.
The next day, we were both exhausted, spent Christmas Day doing nothing except sleeping, reading, sleeping, eating leftovers, sleeping, and binge-watching Netflicks. Did I mention sleeping?
We plan to host our Christmas Eve dinner next year, but the meal will be vastly simplified.
Lesson learned. I firmly believe that, at an energetic level (if you believe in that sort of stuff, which I do), I manifested the missing thermometer through worrying about it so much. Our thoughts are powerful.
I do hope your Christmas was less nerve-wracking than ours.
