Party Like It's 1874
I know that, on a sleepy Sunday morning, there’s nothing better to rouse my young chap than a silky purring feline. Even at 6:35, the trick is appropriately effective. A young man wrapped in Christmas red footies, rolled over to cuddle his little monster, mumbling something about…
“What store was Daddy bought in?…”
Christmas duties were still in progress. Before breakfast, Puck hand-selected gilded ornaments from the tree to hang on each doorknob…
Smash.
Second casualty.
“Could you go brush it up, Mom? I don’t want your husband to get hurt.”
After I removed a tiny splinter from my hand via the kitchen cabinet, I cleaned up the next mess. Then when all breakfast yogurt had been consumed, Puck hunted out his Sunday Chucks…
“I’m tougher than any worm in the world!” he announced in a low-tone tough guy voice. “Watch, Mom! I’ll sit criss-cross applesauce and…”
Plop. He dropped a 1.5 disc weight onto his gut.
“It doesn’t hurt one bit!”
“Wow, buddy… How much does that weigh?”
“About one hundred and fifty pounds.”
It was revealed over quiche and sandwiches at lunch that Rose had not attended church that morning…
“Hey, my contacts weren’t ready and I wasn’t going to go anywhere in these things,” she pointed to her glasses.
“What, are you trying to impress someone?” Dad asked.
Rose grinned. “I don’t know yet.”
“You shouldn’t worry about everyone else. You’re going to church to meet with God.”
“Well then I already met Him at my apartment today,” Rose smirked victoriously.
Mom’s gifts came in paper form – promises of a future storm door and a dress in the mail. Which Dad approved. The stack also included Dad’s traditional hand-sketched card. Plus a vase of cut red Peruvian lilies, yellow roses, red carnations, and various autumn weed-y things from Rose.
“Are we doing a cake?” Dad asked.
“Well, I was going to make a triple chocolate chip cake,” said Carrie. “But someone ate all the chocolate chips…”
“Luther!” Mom teased.
“Mom!” Carrie accused.
Instead, Dad – who was always hungry – cleared the table and wandered into the kitchen hunting up new grub…
“Anybody want some ketchup and pretzels?”
“Yuck.”
Joe was still in Nashville assisting with photographs, so we had to party without him. Mom’s birthday was Monday, and we were breaking it out early. Maybe most people’s idea of a party wouldn’t include the History Museum, but this one did. Especially when the museum included an old steamboat era exhibit. I was impressed with the general attitude of the entire family as they proceeded through the stations of Confederate uniforms, Native American photographs, and… cholera coffins…
More cheerfully, there was a long table waiting for us in the loft at Fitz’s. But not before a man in a clown suit twisted up an octopus balloon creature for Puck outside the door.
“Wow. He’s improved,” said Carrie. “Last time he was just handing kids — balloon sticks.”
Pizzas, burgers, chili, salads, sandwiches. Football, ice skating. A few bottles of root beer, on the house, to go.
On the drive back, well into dark, The Bear noticed the new peculiar pattern of light emiting from the van’s headlights on pavement…
“The lights are making rainbows on the road.”
“No wonder everyone was staring at us.”
“It really is the joy bus.”
“You should get rainbow pin-striping.”
“A megaphone on top.”
“Playing ‘Rainbow Connection’.”
“It works. It’s green like Kermit.”
“Spreading peace, love, and joy everywhere.”
“Man, this Christmas Uncle Balthasar will really never let us live it down.”
We deliberated – all nine of us – outside Dairy Queen about Mom’s ice cream cake.
“Come in with me, Adel.”
“No, Dad.”
“Mom shouldn’t have to do that on her birthday.”
“Make sure you get something written on it.”
“I’m not going to get writing on the cake.”
“Do it, Dad!”
“Do it!”
Five minutes later, Dad emerged with a ridiculous grin on his face, balancing a fat round cake in one hand. In dark blue frosting across the front…
“Happy Birthday, Adel!”
“Yeah, they had someone come in and order that cake, but they made two of them by mistake, so I took the other one.”
“Riiiiight.”
“You were pretty pleased with yourself, making up that story in there, weren’t you, Dad?”
Dad just grinned.
“And I got it in blue. Your favorite color.”
“Oh is it?” Mom laughed. “I like green a lot too.”
“No,” Dad replied. “That’s my favorite color.”
We feasted back at the house through more absurd old family films.