Today marks my 12th anniversary as an expat and frankly, I am feeling a little crapulous.* Perhaps it was Southern BBQ pulled pork sandwiches, cole slaw, potato salad, Costco cake, potato chips, hummus, guacamole, mojitos, ice cream, apple and blueberry crumble, red wine, caipiroskas, beer and Butterfingers that has me feeling this way? The Radish looked absolutely horrified when informed that we were serving our out-of-town guests a lard laden Star Spangled cake from Costco for dessert on the 4th but in the end, even she was won over. That, and a stack of Chinet paper plates, was my bid towards easy entertaining for the holiday masses. Pepper bacon this morning rounded out our Pork Fest.
Even though we bifurcated our 4th of July party, we had a great time. It could be like cell division – you can’t go back. How are we going to go get back to having one party next year? The only way I can see it is to rent the Grange hall for added guests and have a tricycle parade up here like the 425 crowd mastered (Middle Sister was one of the Grand Masters but I will leave that story to the participants). I attribute my mother’s miraculous recovery on the 5th with the fact that the party was smaller and held at my house. So even though we had a perfect day, I missed my sisters, their families, and friends.
Mr. and Mrs. Ferdnancy, Minivan Nan and Mr. IranContraCosta, friends from our Baltimore days and Buddy‘s godparents, came up from the Bay Area with their three perfectly behaved teenaged children. Uncle Jess and Aunt Paul came up from SF, on their way to the wilds of Alaska. They did not know each other but got along like a house on fire. Aunt Paul cleaned our clocks at Balderdash (Uncle Jess even blushed at the word “ballhooter”), Mr. IranContraCosta taught the kids poker, and Minivan Nan and I gabbed and blabbed. Yesterday, on a tout from 425 Heidi , we went on the Seattle Underground Tour. All were entertained by the thinly veiled potty humor comedy routines by Jim and Terrilynn. I won the prize for having been there the longest ago: 32 years. The same crapper** is still there. In what might possibly be the cutest Christmas card photo ever, I clicked Mr. IranContraCosta and Minivan Nan in front of said commode. Then it was back to the Space Needle for lunch where we got another bang for the buck with the Lunar Orbiter ice cream extravaganza.
The house is empty now. Not to offend all the non-travelers out there, but those who travel just to visit, play Scrabble, catch up and connect are simply the best house guests on the planet, especially if they recycle their empty Coke cans. Nothing says I Love You like a visit from out-of-towners. Conditioned not to cry anymore as I wave good-bye, since that seems to be my life’s theme, it’s only later, as I am blogging, that the tears start to flow. Damn, that was a fine party.
*** HAPPY 40TH BIRTHDAY TO MISSIONARY GIRL!!!***
*it’s a real word. Go to www.merriam-webster.com
** toilet, invented by Thomas Crapper. Now my kids know it’s not a bad word. Thanks, Jim!