That’s Gonna Leave a Mark

Generally a couple of days after an event I start to notice bruises on my body. Most of the time I have no recollection how they got there. I know that when I’m in “event mode” and lift a box with my thigh, pinch my finger in the clip of a lanyard, or hit my forearm on a table, in the moment think to myself “That’s going to leave a mark.” and move on. I really pay no attention at the time because I’m usually in the middle of something and don’t bother to stop and process it unless I’m gushing blood.

But, as I was pondering the thought of “leaving a mark” the other day, something else came to mind which did make me stop. As event planners, we want to create spaces and experiences that impact attendees in a memorable way. We work hard at building inviting room settings and engaging activations. We want attendees to leave the event changed somehow whether they have learned a practical tool to implement, discovered a new relationship, or improved their personal wellbeing. We want events to leave a mark.

Sit with that for a minute. Don’t rush to finish this blog. When thinking about the influence we have in this context it changes (at least for me) how we should approach event planning. I feel the weight of responsibility for an individual. It personalizes the process for me. It reminds me that the attendees are actually people, and in some way what I contribute to the event planning process has the opportunity to change someone, to leave a mark on someone’s life.

As a behind-the-scenes person I tend to be one to get things done; making sure tasks don’t fall off the radar, that deadlines are met, and that the project is staying on time and within budget. Thinking about how the attendee will feel or what new information they will walk away with is the focus of other team members. My role is to deliver the venues, rooms, resources, supplies, volunteers, and any other item needed to create the space and time for them to feel a certain way or learn a particular skill. Logistics. Operations. Procedures. That’s me.

Now, thinking through the lens that the role I play in helping secure those logistics and create the spaces can impact a person’s experience at the event to the point they leave changed in some way, that we’ve left a mark, alters my perspective. It’s not just a meeting room, it’s a room where someone might hear something from an industry expert that could be the solution to a problem they’ve been dealing with for months.

The questions I ask are different. Now it’s not only: What is the maximum number of chairs that can fit in this room set in theater-style? Does the speaker need a lapel or handheld mic? Do we need to schedule a volunteer to scan badges at the door or handout materials? Instead, as I think about my contribution to a person’s story, I ask questions like: What is the best room setup for them to receive this information? What type of audio/visual equipment will deliver the best quality sound so the entire room can hear clearly? Does the speaker have a handout, and if so, should we make pens available?

After 20 years of successful events, I have no regrets about how I have planned events nor do I feel bad about the methodology of my event planning process. If I’m going to do something, I give it my best. However, now, I am shifting to see the individual person attending the event and how what I am doing could potentially leave a mark on them. If that’s the case, I want it to be a positive one.

As an event planner, how do you feel about leaving a mark through the work you do?
Send me an email, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

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More at tracybaer.com.

Dinner Dynamics

It’s the holidays. We have passed Thanksgiving and are coming up to Christmas. Facebook is filled with people posting photos of their gatherings; smiling children, everyone in matching family outfits, and perfectly cooked and staged dinners sitting on well-appointed tables. Other photos are of family members in the kitchen baking, seasoning a turkey, stirring gravy, peeling potatoes, beautifully decorating Christmas trees, and everyone is sipping hot chocolate. Very Norman Rockwell. 

I have been to large family parties where there were so many people in the house you couldn’t turn around. The furniture had to be moved out to make room for the food which was in every room, and the din was so loud I personally had to keep moving because I couldn’t hear any one particular conversation. Someone always arrived early, one relative was notoriously late, and still another was expected to bring a very specific traditional dish they’d been making for the last 45 years. For whatever reason, everyone usually ended up mashing into the kitchen, all talking at the same time. The hostess would take over a month to prepare, and it took her just as long to clean up.

I have also experienced the complete opposite end of the spectrum, the quiet dinner for two. My husband and I have celebrated other holidays without our families. In these cases, we generally forego the traditions and eat what we want, which is usually some form of seafood and steak. We rub the proverbial cat backwards, much to the chagrin of my Enneagram One friends. We sleep in, barely get out of our pajamas, play a game or two, and I sit at the kitchen countertop bar and watch as my husband does all of the cooking (it’s safer this way) while music plays in the background. 

What these dramatically different family dinner experiences have in common is that they both require some level of planning, though not necessarily the same amount. Because stores are usually closed on major holidays when people are gathering, the shopping needs to be done beforehand. This necessitates the menu be determined in advance and assignments given to those who are responsible for bringing additional dishes and desserts. Conversations have to be had, tableware and decor pulled from the recesses of the closets, homes tidied up, and invitations sent, even if just a quick email or text.

Planning checklists for family dinners probably don’t include printing wayfinding signs or sourcing linens, but they might. Coordinating catering or renting China and silverware doesn’t generally end up on the to-dos, but they could. Plans presumably don’t include arranging flights, making hotel reservations, renting cars, or designing welcome baskets, but again, these are not out of the realm of possibilities. Event planning was born somewhere. It hasn’t been an exclusive process for hotels, convention centers, and meeting professionals; people have been doing it long before it had a name or a full-blown industry.

Visiting someone’s home or inviting someone over, having a meal together, and sharing stories are some of the fondest and most vivid memories I have as far back as I can remember. Recalling particular dishes that appeared at holiday meals like corn casserole, pretzel salad, and lamb with mint jelly, can make me smile and cringe at the same time. I used to watch my mother iron linen tablecloths and napkins as she prepared, and my grandmother made sure I knew how to properly set a table.

I imagine some of our grandmas were great event planners and didn’t even realize it.

I’m sure you have a family dinner planning story. Share it here or send me an email!
I’d love to hear it.

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Free resources for planners at tracybaer.com.

Hoofin’ It Home In Style

In my blog Party ‘Cause the Cows Came Home, I talked about the traditional Alpine cattle drive as the farmers bring their herds back down from the Alps into the farmlands for the winter months. During this Almabtrieb or Viehscheid the farmers dress the cattle up with fancy headdresses, wreaths, and large cowbells around their necks. They’re then paraded down the main streets of town as they head back to pasture. The farmers themselves are dressed in traditional Bavarian clothing of lederhosen and drndils. I happened to be in Austria this fall as an Alpine cattle drive was going on. Fascinating and scary at the same time.

As onlookers stood on the sides of the street, herds of two-ton animals with ornate evergreen headdresses and huge cowbells came tromping down the street. No barriers. No safety nets. No defense. I stepped out of my hotel and stood there, just my cell phone between me and these mammoth beasts. I have never felt so small as when standing on the sidewalk watching these animals watching me watch them parade through town. The farmers were always in close proximity, wielding sticks to keep the wayward cows in line. Occasionally, a cow or two had a mind of their own and wanted to taste the local greenery or a neighbor’s flowerbeds on their way by much to the chagrin of a home or shop owner looking on. One “farmer” had to be all of nine or ten years old leading a herd with his grownups close by, his cute little legs sticking out under his lederhosen.

There were no road closures, no barricades, no traffic officers to block the roads or move cars and people out of the cows’ path. People in the area pulled onto the street, saw the cattle coming, and just turned around and went the other way. No honking, no debate, no road rage. I feel like this scene would have unfolded very differently in the US. One of the shop owners was even handing out beer to the farmers as they walked by. Each one grabbing a stein, chugging it in its entirety, handing the glass back, and moving on without missing a step. 

On this particular day, although there appeared to be some pre-planning for this event since there were 3-4 herds all being paraded through town on the same day at the same time, I did not encounter any of the traditional accompanying festivities. No beer tent, no market shopping, or rides for the kiddies. The townsfolk of this tiny spa village got a pass for having a small population and forewent the frivolities. The spectacle was certainly not diminished because there wasn’t a craft fair or an inflatable in sight.

I did enjoy the spontaneous parade I found myself a part of that day. It really is a sight to behold seeing the time and energy that must go into making the headdresses, which has to be done in the days just before the parade because the flowers and greenery are so fresh you can smell them over the cows. The thundering of the cattle tromping down the street truly shakes the ground underneath. And din from those enormous cowbells? It is like standing near the belltower of a church with an overzealous bellringer. They are loud and deep and ring across the pastures, down the lane, and echo off of the Alps.

Have you seen one of these cow parades up close and personal? Share your experience here or send me an email!

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PS. The photos are all from my trip! More at tracybaer.com.

B2 Excited About Bingo

A close-up of a bingo card with colorful markers placed around it, set on a gray table.

My daughter went to a private elementary school. Part of our obligation as parents was to serve on a Sunday at the local VFW for Bingo Night as a way to raise funds for our PTO (parent-teacher organization). Have you experienced one of these events? These ladies are cut-throat! There were a few men there too, but by and large, elderly, Catholic ladies gathered for hard-core games. I thought I was going to hand out bingo cards and blotters to cute, little, old ladies for the night. Boy was I wrong!

The players clearly come to Bingo on a regular basis. They had their seat where they set up shrines around themselves; stuffed animals from friends or family members, trinkets they’ve won, and photos of loved ones all designed to bring them luck. Different colored blotters were lined up with precision so they could be snatched at a moment’s notice. And before the first ball rolled down the chute, players were purchasing six, seven, and eight game boards from the volunteers hand-over-fist.

Between the bingo calling, we also walked around selling $1.00 scratch-off instant game tickets. I couldn’t believe how popular these were. Players would fling their hands up in the air and holler “here” and expected the closest parent to run over with a string of game tickets at the ready. As soon as someone won a little cash, you could expect to quickly be summoned to provide these fun-and-yet-mostly-disappointing cards.

During the breaks there were hotdogs, granola bars, bags of chips, and other random snacks available at a snack bar. I can’t imagine who planned something like this every week. They clearly had dialed in what the players wanted and how much because all of the food was gone by the end of the night and everyone was happy. There were the right number of old wooden folding tables, metal folding chairs, and volunteers to hand out game boards and instant tickets. It had become a well-oiled machine.

I got to reminiscing about this crazy volunteer requirement from yesteryear because I recently ran into another unusual bingo experience. My sister and I were sitting in one of our favorite lunch spots overlooking her city. It’s a very eclectic place with what looks like a garden terrace but indoors. The restaurant is on the top floor with a glass ceiling so you feel like you’re outside. The tables and chairs are wooden like old patio furniture and there’s a huge tree in the center behind the big round bar.

As we were having lunch, a couple started to set up what looked like an acoustic show. We were having a late lunch and had been talking so long we didn’t realize it was getting to be happy hour. The gentleman was setting up a couple of free-standing microphones and speakers. The woman was getting a guitar and keyboard ready. They were peculiarly dressed as if they were going to break into a Cabaret show instead of an acoustic music set at a bar.

Once settled, they started handing out bingo cards to everyone in the bar and adjacent rooms. These folks were colorful and engaging and full of energy. We were enjoying ourselves just watching them get set up for what could only be a fun song and drink bingo game. Other colorful characters soon arrived and the event ensued. Sadly, we had to go or we’d have stayed to participate, if even just as spectators. I can only imagine what went on there that night. I won’t elaborate but it makes me smile every time I think about it.

I think bingo is a lost art. In the event world, at least in my experience, we’ve relegated it to a networking, ice-breaking exercise to get people mingling. Guests have to interact with each other to find out who has what type of experience or where they’re from, all the while attempting to gather their names and occupations in an effort to win a prize. I’ve also used it to encourage attendance and participation on a trade show floor. Event attendees win various prizes from vendors or the host organization based on the number of interactions they have and the patterns on their bingo cards. Both are effective but both lack the fun of hearing the ball tumbler spin, a ball roll down the shoot, and someone yell out the familiar bingo numbers, eventually followed by an attendee yelling “bingo!”

Wouldn’t it be fun just to plan an actual bingo game night? One with numbers and a ball tumbler, and blotters, and stuffed animals, and snacks? And of course prizes. Hmmmm….

Do you have a Bingo story you’d like to share? Leave it in the comments or
send me an email.

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those who like to play Bingo!

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