John G. turned 92 this last weekend.
We’re not a family that is very good at planning; we tend to throw things together on a more spur of the moment format but the gatherings always tend to be great fun so maybe we’re actually really goodat planning. I don’t know.
Last Tuesday, I got a text from Josie asking if there was going to be a party for Grandpa’s birthday. I immediately texted all my siblings, asking if anyone was planning anything. Katie M. volunteered her house, as the yard and deck were currently looking great. Her very large back yard is also completely fenced in, so it’s a good gathering place for lots of little kids. Her back yard is at least three times the size of mine and she lives right in the middle of us all so its just a very good location. Plus, she’s the closest to the lake, if anyone wants to take a walk.
But, she warned us all, she couldn’t afford to feed this whole crew so food would be up to the rest of us.
That’s more than fair; with a crowd like this, the host shouldn’t have to provide more than access to a bathroom. I offered to bake a cake and bring the fixin’s for root beer floats (Dad’s favorite.)
I texted all my kids: McC’s house, Sunday, John G.s birthday dinner, 4:30, dessert at 5:30. Pot luck.
They all enthusiastically responded that they would be there, great grand kids in tow.
Then Katie M. sent a text saying it was not pot luck, just a dessert party.
I ignored that and told all my kids to bring what ever they wanted to eat. Jay did a pan of wings and Mom did two giant racks of ribs.
Then Katie M. sent a text changing the party from Sunday to Saturday, saying the forecast was for thunderstorms on Sunday.
Turns out, I’d accidentally told my kids the party was on Saturday, so no harm; no foul. Unfortunately, all of Joe’s family was already booked on Saturday so they didn’t make the birthday party. Also, Ty and Megan had a wedding to attend but since they dropped all the grandkids with me, no one missed them.
Actually, Ty and Megan did make an appearance at the birthday party, as Katie’s house is right on the route from the church, which is in Edina and the reception, which was two hours later, downtown. They just didn’t eat (much) at the party.
Katie M had filled up a ten foot inflatable swimming pool, so all the little kids brought their suits. Tot, Xena, Babalouie and BoopityBoop were all seen doing cannonballs and slip-slides in the pool. Boop isn’t really into swimming right now but she was very into running around screaming and laughing at Babalouie and Tot. Bean, Nanners, Johnny and Charlie were too big and cool for the pool but had a corn hole tournament going on beside the pool.
Jay had picked up a couple of pizzas to augment the pan of wings he’d cooked. He got a thick crust, cheese pizza because he knew it was Babalouie’s favorite. Babalouie was too busy swimming to eat any pizza when it first arrived. You know what happened next.
When Babalouie finally came to get his pizza, it was all gone.
Tears and recriminations!
This was the day when Babalouie found his extended family to be not at all sympathetic to his plight. Even after getting no love from his parents or grandfather, he came crying to me, his Nana. I explained to him one of life’s most important lessons: You snooze, you lose.
At this point, Xena, the best big sister ever, gave Babalouie the piece of cheese pizza she hadn’t bothered to finish. Everyone was happy.
It was a grand birthday party and lasted until the mosquitos got to be too much even for 25% deet.
I brought Xena, Babalouie and Kitten home with me while Ty and Megan went off to the wedding reception. Babalouie watched the Sandlot with Coach while Xena helped me feed Kitten and get her calmed down for the night. Kitten is going through a phase where she likes to cry for about 45 minutes before conking out for the night. She doesn’t pull that stunt with her mom but for the rest of us…look out!
I was not intimidated. Sometimes babies like to cry for awhile. I could tell that Kitten was in no pain and nothing was wrong; she just felt like howling. It’s a baby thing.
Before the crying started, she’d finished most of her bottle, had a dirty diaper and we’d played on the couch. I got her smiling quite a lot and even giggling a little. Next time, I intend to get a full blown laugh out of her. She was totally digging some of our games. Stretchy-touchy was her favorite. That’s the one where I take one hand and the opposite foot and gently stretch them out, then bring them together over her tummy. She thought that was a riot!
I find few things in life more satisfying than getting an infant to laugh.
After Kitten fell asleep, we put her on a blanket on the floor and Xena and I watched Toy Story.
It was a good day.
Sunday dawned very hot but clear. No hint of rain. Jay and I, exhausted from all the fun and hanging out with the kids, slept late. I didn’t wake up until 9:35!
The Mass we usually attend starts at 9:30, so that was off the table. Instead, we went downtown to the Basilica of St. Mary, our favorite church in the metro, where we are actually members of the parish. The church is spectacularly beautiful and the music is always as good as possible, in a town packed with professional musicians. The Church’s big fundraiser, the Basilica Block Party, had taken place this weekend so the church property and surrounding streets were still covered with tents, booths and temporary fencing. I haven’t gone down to the Block Party in years but I fully support the event. Fr. Mike O’Connell may be laicized but his legacy has become legendary not only for the parish but for the city of Minneapolis!
After Mass, Jay and I drove past the Bryant Bowl, which does good brunch. Jay said if there was a parking spot, we’d stop; if not, we’d go home and he’d cook.
We got the spot right outside the front door! Same thing happened at Bunny’s last week. We’re on a roll!
Brunch was fabulous.
On the way home from that, I called Mom and asked what she and Dad had planned for the day. Joe and some of his boys were coming over for the afternoon, then they were going to go to Red Lobster for dinner, as Dad had been craving it all week.
“Unless you have a better offer?” Mom said.
“I do…”
When we were growing up, my parents used to buy a half a cow from some friends who were farmers south of the cities. Mom used to take the roasts; pot roast, arm roast etc. and marinate them in Wishbone Italian dressing. When I say ‘marinate’, I mean she would drown the meat completely. Not a bit of meat would show beneath the bottles of dressing she’d pour over them. The meat would soak in the dressing for at least 4 days. Then she’d grill it up for us.
You’ve never tasted anything more delicious in your life.
I’m telling you: the first time any of us kids had actual ‘steak’, be it ribeye, sirloin or tenderloin, we were bitterly disappointed. This isn’t steak!! we all muttered.
Decades later, I finally marinated a roast for Jay to grill. At his first bite, Zack said in amazement “Why don’t you always cook it like this??”
Because I’m an idiot? I guess.
When I told Mom I’d been marinating a roast since Wednesday, she told Dad and I could hear him yelling “Yes!yes!yes!” in the background.
So we invited them over. I invited all our kids, too. Tyler and Katie declined, as they were all worn out from the busy weekend. Perfectly understandable. Zack dropped by to give John G. the card he’d forgotten to bring to the party the night before. Josie and her beaux did join us for dinner.
This was the first time Dad had been over to our place since his fall. Jay was a bit concerned with how Dad would get up and down the two steps from our driveway to the deck and one more step into the house but I knew he could do it. With all the work he’s put in on the weight machines and physical therapy, I knew the steps up would be no problem and that with our help, getting down them again was well within Dad’s current ability.
We all had a drink on the deck before dinner. It was ninety degrees and humid but felt comfortable enough in the shade on the deck, as long as you didn’t try to do anything silly. Like move. We did decide to eat in the house.
The six of us polished off that roast like it was a piece of bacon. We also had salad, mashed potatoes, cucumbers in blue cheese and a baguette, so there was plenty of food. For dessert we had what was left of the cake from the night before and more root beer floats.
I gave mom a tour of all the new plants on our newly landscaped front hill as Dad and Jay sat on the deck again. They were talking golf.
As Mom and I rejoined them, Dad was telling Jay a tale from early in his career.
Dad had worked on a story about Bobby Jones when Mr. Jones was an old legend and Dad was a young reporter. Although the article wound up getting spiked, Dad and Bobby Jones became friends.
“The low, lost wind comes whispering, over the red clay hills
It sings to me through Georgia pines, the song of remembered thrills
They bring back ghosts from a vanished year—phantoms beyond all reach
When Bobby Jones was the king of golf and Ty was the Georgia peach”
Grantland Rice
Dad had been an avid golfer from the age of 14 and he knew a lot of good golfers, including a classmate from high school who played for the state amateur championship and eventually qualified to play in some big time pro-am event which the legendary Mr. Jones was attending. By then, Bobby was confined to a wheelchair but Dad’s classmate was thrilled to be able to introduce himself to his lifelong hero.
Mr. Jones shook his hand, then said “You’re from Minnesota? Do you happen to know my good friend, John Hubbell?”
When Dad’s classmate returned to town, he told dad “My opinion of you has certainly gone up a few notches!”
The next time you think the old guy sitting quietly in his wheelchair through dinner is just an old guy, remember that story.
The old guys are usually the coolest guys.
Happy Birthday, Dad!