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Jul. 6th, 2005
Stars and Stripes and Nachos.
Jul. 6th, 2005 12:44 pmEvery year, my mom and her husband Ro throw a big shindig at their house. They dig out all of the Independence Day decorations they've got stored in the basement, and essentially festoon the entire house and surrounding yard space with red, white, and blue ... stuff.
There's a chain-post runner of plastic flags lining the walk as you go along the side of the house to get to the backyard. There's string lights in the form of a flag strung over the fence around the hot tub deck. Red, white, and blue star soaps sit in a dish in the bathroom, and you dry your hands with similarly-colored individual hand towels packed into a basket being held by Uncle Sam. Ro wears his goofy flag-motif top hat, vest, and shorts, with a bowtie, and no shirt. "Thanks for coming!" he bellows out at intervals, and he's usually at the outside bar, making sure people are refreshed accordingly. The dishes and napkins are red, white, and blue. Etc. It's all very, very festive.
They make such a big deal of it not only because Ro likes the holiday, but because it also happens to be their wedding anniversary. This year was year 11. In 1994, a bunch of us snuck indoors and upstairs during the already traditional party into the air-conditioned bedrooms to shirk off our swimsuits and don wedding gear. A few of the stepbrothers stood up in tux jackets and Hawaiian shorts, and Tyler and I stood as witnesses. The judge, one of the partygoers, got a bit more formal and wed my mom and Ro on the hot tub platform, to a surprised audience of friends and family. Surprise! It's weird to think it's been so long since then.
I was a little late to the party this year, since I was awake most of the night having serious discussions about silverware patterns and custom address labels, so when I got a call on my cell from my brother telling me he and Brandy had to take a much earlier flight than originally planned (they were flying on buddy passes - standby), I felt a bit frantic and sad. Not only was I going to have to say goodbye to my brother hours before I had expected to, but I was going to have to endure most of the party mostly on my own. So I got there, hung out with Ty and Brandy for a few minutes, and then before I knew it, he was giving me a gruff hug and trying not to get too choked up before he had to go say goodbye to Mom.
The rest of the party I spent much time in the kitchen, keeping my mom company, nursing a very nice mug of coffee, and being at mom's beck and call as we moved appetizers in and catered food out to the counters on the back deck (lather, rinse, repeat for desserts). Besides, it was raining on and off most of the day, so it felt nice to stay in and look out and enjoy the cooling air and occasionally babble at my mom to take her mind off of Tyler being gone.
She does this thing now, when she gets upset about him being far away from her: she reminds me that she is still very glad that I am here, because if she lost both of us, she'd feel so empty and lost and sad. It's sort of funny. I never really took her missing Ty as some sort of commentary on my own value to her, but now, because she's so emphatic about it, it bothers me maybe just a tiny little bit, you know? I don't worry about it, but she doth protest too much, I think. Ty's the one who's really going to give her real grandkids, after all. He's married and respectable and down-to-earth. I'm the unpredictable artist goofball with weird hobbies. I know she'd miss me if I were to leave Chicago, but I think Ty's being in Texas is more poignant for her. Oh well.
Anyhow, the party was about 50 or 60 people strong, with plenty of kids splashing around in the pool and older guests happily eating and laughing together under the umbrellas and sitting along the edge of the pool, or blocking the doorways as they tried to get out of the intermittent showers. With the rapidly-cooling air, I was glad I had worn an open button-down blouse over my t shirt, and I was also glad I had cut the cuffs off my khaki green trousers, to make them more pedal pusher/clamdiggerish. One woman, on her way out, smiled really sweetly at me, grasped my arm and coo'ed, "I just love your style! Love it!" in this way that meant that she always had. I was taken aback at first, but as her compliment sank in I realized that I did feel a bit more like myself that day, and I had dressed accordingly, right down to how I had twisted my hair up in little froofy scraggly bun things, with lots of clips.
Sam called me a bit later in the evening to check on me, which was really appreciated, and we chatted for a bit, and then I fell into yet another narcoleptic coma on the amazing chaise lounge that just won't quit being awesome, and then I packed up tons of leftover food my mom had put into containers for me, and I drove back into the city to relax and play a little Halo and then ultimately crash into bed.
There's a chain-post runner of plastic flags lining the walk as you go along the side of the house to get to the backyard. There's string lights in the form of a flag strung over the fence around the hot tub deck. Red, white, and blue star soaps sit in a dish in the bathroom, and you dry your hands with similarly-colored individual hand towels packed into a basket being held by Uncle Sam. Ro wears his goofy flag-motif top hat, vest, and shorts, with a bowtie, and no shirt. "Thanks for coming!" he bellows out at intervals, and he's usually at the outside bar, making sure people are refreshed accordingly. The dishes and napkins are red, white, and blue. Etc. It's all very, very festive.
They make such a big deal of it not only because Ro likes the holiday, but because it also happens to be their wedding anniversary. This year was year 11. In 1994, a bunch of us snuck indoors and upstairs during the already traditional party into the air-conditioned bedrooms to shirk off our swimsuits and don wedding gear. A few of the stepbrothers stood up in tux jackets and Hawaiian shorts, and Tyler and I stood as witnesses. The judge, one of the partygoers, got a bit more formal and wed my mom and Ro on the hot tub platform, to a surprised audience of friends and family. Surprise! It's weird to think it's been so long since then.
I was a little late to the party this year, since I was awake most of the night having serious discussions about silverware patterns and custom address labels, so when I got a call on my cell from my brother telling me he and Brandy had to take a much earlier flight than originally planned (they were flying on buddy passes - standby), I felt a bit frantic and sad. Not only was I going to have to say goodbye to my brother hours before I had expected to, but I was going to have to endure most of the party mostly on my own. So I got there, hung out with Ty and Brandy for a few minutes, and then before I knew it, he was giving me a gruff hug and trying not to get too choked up before he had to go say goodbye to Mom.
The rest of the party I spent much time in the kitchen, keeping my mom company, nursing a very nice mug of coffee, and being at mom's beck and call as we moved appetizers in and catered food out to the counters on the back deck (lather, rinse, repeat for desserts). Besides, it was raining on and off most of the day, so it felt nice to stay in and look out and enjoy the cooling air and occasionally babble at my mom to take her mind off of Tyler being gone.
She does this thing now, when she gets upset about him being far away from her: she reminds me that she is still very glad that I am here, because if she lost both of us, she'd feel so empty and lost and sad. It's sort of funny. I never really took her missing Ty as some sort of commentary on my own value to her, but now, because she's so emphatic about it, it bothers me maybe just a tiny little bit, you know? I don't worry about it, but she doth protest too much, I think. Ty's the one who's really going to give her real grandkids, after all. He's married and respectable and down-to-earth. I'm the unpredictable artist goofball with weird hobbies. I know she'd miss me if I were to leave Chicago, but I think Ty's being in Texas is more poignant for her. Oh well.
Anyhow, the party was about 50 or 60 people strong, with plenty of kids splashing around in the pool and older guests happily eating and laughing together under the umbrellas and sitting along the edge of the pool, or blocking the doorways as they tried to get out of the intermittent showers. With the rapidly-cooling air, I was glad I had worn an open button-down blouse over my t shirt, and I was also glad I had cut the cuffs off my khaki green trousers, to make them more pedal pusher/clamdiggerish. One woman, on her way out, smiled really sweetly at me, grasped my arm and coo'ed, "I just love your style! Love it!" in this way that meant that she always had. I was taken aback at first, but as her compliment sank in I realized that I did feel a bit more like myself that day, and I had dressed accordingly, right down to how I had twisted my hair up in little froofy scraggly bun things, with lots of clips.
Sam called me a bit later in the evening to check on me, which was really appreciated, and we chatted for a bit, and then I fell into yet another narcoleptic coma on the amazing chaise lounge that just won't quit being awesome, and then I packed up tons of leftover food my mom had put into containers for me, and I drove back into the city to relax and play a little Halo and then ultimately crash into bed.