The Great John G turned 90 yesterday.
Last year, we celebrated my parent’s 60th wedding anniversary with a huge blowout down at Tyler’s spread. Nothing quite so elaborate was planned for Dad’s birthday but we did center our annual reunion around the event.
It all began when my brother Andy, who has taken on the role of tourney organizer, sent out this email to everyone:
Following up on last weekend's Memorial Memorial Memorial (or are there just 2 "memorials" in the official name?) which kicked off the 2017 Major Championship season in spectacular fashion, this publication would be remiss to not Congratulate the 2017 Memorial Champion Ty Pivec.
Not only did young master Pivec win the event he created and hosted, he also became the first of John and Punkin's Grandchildren to notch a Major Championship win, settling both of the long standing questions of "Who?" and "When?"
An especially bitter pill for the rest of the next generation to be sure, as to be FIRST is something that won't happen again until Beef, Jalen, the twins, and whomever else at that time battle it out on the links. But after all, that's what the Majors are all about: 1 winner, and for the rest, 365 days of self hatred, recriminations, and regret.
On to the next! There has still not yet been a "next gen" winner of the most storied of all the Majors, The Hubbell Open. Could this be the year? That remains to be seen. Clearly it won't be long now.
I don’t need to describe the environment of competition we all grew up in, do I? Back in the days of huge families and small houses, competition was a fact of life. Growing up, I didn’t know anyone who had less than three siblings (we felt sorry for anyone from such a tiny family) or who had their own rooms. Yes, Woody had his own room (It was a converted closet) and I had my own room (second smallest room in the house. My three sisters shared until Woody moved out and Margy grabbed the closet room) but it was right next to the bathroom we all shared so it’s not like I had any real privacy. I had my own room because the number of kids and bedrooms in our house just shook out that way: it had nothing to do with me needing my own space…or maybe... Years later, when enneagrams were in, a bunch of us took the survey. The personality test gave you a range of possible outcomes attached to the nature of one’s psyche, including a ‘worst case scenario’ that usually included suicide. I was the only one whose worst case scenario included a scope and a clock tower, so maybe getting my own room as a kid had more to it than just random space allotment.
My point is that we all grew up knowing that defeating any or all of our siblings in any or all endeavors is what put the sweetness in life.
Whether it was grades, sports or helpings at meals, to beat each other was all we wanted.
We all passed that down to our kids and now they’re big enough to beat us at our own games.
In the past few years, Grandson #1, Mike, and his slightly younger cousin, Tyler, have threatened to wrest the Hubbell Open Trophy out of the greedy paws of Woody. So far, they have not been successful, although in truth, Woody hasn’t won the Open since ’15. But he wins every other year and when he doesn’t win he comes in second. I’m just tired and bored with inscribing his name on the bucket.
As Andy pointed out, we’re all poised to see who will be first.
Before the Open, came the Fourth of July. A new, below the radar tournament was played under cover of the fireworks. Four of the grand kids, who have no interest whatsoever of dedicating two entire days to golf, played nine holes of what they dubbed the Lopvian tournament. In this tourney, the winner took last place and the second place finisher got the trophy. The trophy is a ball, broken in half from being sliced into a tree by one of the contestants. Aside from that, the only rule of the Lopvian is that you don’t speak of the Lopvian*.
The out of towners began arriving on the fourth. The parties began as well.
Jay and I spent the Fourth at Tyler and Megan’s place. It was great fun, with all the fixin’s Independence Day is known for, including a truckload of fireworks from South Dakota and Wisconsin, our neighboring states that don’t frown on fun the way my home state does.
Growing up, we were taught that “Minnesota” was native for “Land of Sky Blue Water” but I have a feeling it really means “Helicopter Mom”.
Babalouie doesn’t like the noise of firecrackers but Xena was in her element. She danced around the yard with sparklers and I’ll be surprised if she’s not demanding to be allowed to light some off next year. Just say ‘No’, Dad. Make her wait till she’s seven.
Boopity Boop were at the party, as well. Boop wasn’t thrilled to find herself in a strange place surrounded by strangers but Boopity took one look at the crowd, opened her arms and screamed “Party On, Dudes!!” or would have, if she could talk. Over the course of the week, this pattern continued: Boop is not a fan of crowds but Boopity plays to her audience. The Spirit of Pat Pivec lives on in her granddaughter, Boopity.
It took a day or two for all the siblings to get to town so we planned Dad’s birthday bash accordingly. I don’t even remember the menu but the food is always good and Meg baked a cake. Plus, I think there were nut goodies in the freezer.
By Friday, we were celebrating the fourth birthday of the week. In our family, July is birthday month. Including both the Hubbell’s and Pivecs, I think there are…eleven birthdays in July. Not including the Birthday of the US, so make it 12.
At Nanners party, we all sat in the backyard under one of the most beautiful maple trees in town, eating Frankie’s pizza and drinking wine. I wore the top I dyed pink and my favorite white linen pants. The second I got a glass of zin, I spilled a huge dollop of it on myself.
The good news is that Oxiclean got the wine stain out of the pink shirt and the white linene pants!
The bad news is that I then washed them together and now I have pink linen pants. Oh well.
Karaoke happened after that birthday party but I bailed. It had gotten late and I was exhausted. The singers had a blast and I kind of wish I’d gone but…no, I was way too tired. I’ve learned to pace myself. But it was Royana’s last night in town and I was sorry not to be able to hang out with her. Next year, I hope she stays in town longer. It’s hard when one has responsibilities.
Speaking of which, some of us are now bona fide empty nesters (even when the kids still live at home, if they’re adults, you’re basically a retired parent) and we’re loving it! Not only do Margy, Kathy and I have no kids to schedule around, Kathy quit her job and Margy and I just lost our last remaining pets so we are FREE, BABY!! Katie is only a couple of years away from total freedom and then…look out, world.
Don’t get me wrong: we were all stay at home Moms and we loved every minute of raising our kids but to every thing there is a time and a season and we were ready for the page to turn.
I’ve been thinking a lot about middle age, lately. It’s awesome.
Sure, I’m a wreck, physically. I’ve had frozen shoulder syndrome, tendonitis that has lasted over a year, I had to give up running due to knee and hip problems, I can gain weight just by thinking about chocolate, I have to color my hair every three weeks but these are very minor inconveniences compared to the upside of having lived nearly 60 years.
I’ve been around enough to have gained a teeny bit of wisdom. If all you ever learn in life is ‘this too, shall pass’, consider yourself fortunate. As Socrates said, the wisest man in the world is the one who realizes he knows nothing.
Getting good at anything, whether one has any innate talent or not, is really all about practice. I’ve had time to get good at most of the things I like to do. My kids have grown into wonderful people I like to hang out with. I have grandkids, the best thing in the world.
There are no shortcuts in real life and no substitute for experience, so yeah: I’m digging middle age.
Saturday was the first round of the Hubbell Open. While the golfers spent the hot, gorgeous day on the links, the rest of us walked around the lake and went swimming.
Lake Harriet was always our stomping grounds. We grew up 100 yards from the Bandstand and we had a boat on the lake. We walked, biked and ran around that lake every day but we didn’t swim there. Lakes were for sailing and water skiing.
We grew up country club brats. JP and I reminisced about how we disdained swimming in lakes when we were kids. I have to admit: it still grosses me out a little. Public pools are no better; they’re so crowded. We grew up always getting a lounge chair, never having to wait in line to use the diving board and having food and drinks brought to us. We were spoiled rotten.
No wonder the terrorists hate us.
It’s been over a decade since we went to The Pool, as it will always be known in our family, but one of my kids admitted to me the other day that he’d been spoiled by the pool too and couldn’t bring himself to enjoy swimming any other way. Don’t underestimate the lessons learned in early childhood.
But we had a blast at the beach. It was 90 out and sunny. Back at the concession stand for ice cream, we ran into MJ’s oldest friend, who now lives on the east coast and was back for a visit with her husband and kids, including a new baby girl!
Wait a minute. That couldn’t have been Saturday: JP played in the tournament. Oh well, the whole week is kind of a blur to me. I don’t remember what we did Saturday but I know we went to the beach some time last week and it was great.
Saturday night, we had just my folks and siblings over for dinner, none of the grandkid generation. Sometimes, we like these smaller, more intimate gatherings because when everyone is there, its such a chaotic, noisy crowd that you don’t really get to talk to anyone. So Mom (Grandma Punkin) requested a dinner with just her kids (no grandkids) and I offered to host. There were only 22 of us that night. So peaceful.
Mom brought two giant tenderloins for dinner. I devilled two dozen eggs, we had cucumbers in blue cheese, fresh baked baguettes and a huge tossed salad. We borrowed a neighbor’s table to have enough seating out on the deck and the night cooperated by being clear and balmy. The backyard looks spectacular.
After several hours of conviviality, my Mom asked me if she could take what remained of her tenderloin home; we were all invited to come have steak sandwiches for lunch the next day. Of course! I wrapped it in tin foil and she and dad left.
An hour later, Jay walked into the kitchen with a pizza. I asked him why he ordered pizza and he told me several of the crowd had been in the front yard all night and completely missed dinner. They hadn’t expected the tenderloin to leave with Mom and Dad. Hahaha!!
They should have known better. You snooze you lose isn’t just a saying around here! Most nights, if you wait three hours after dinner is served, there won’t be a morsel left.
Tyler was at the top of the leader board at the end of the first round of play. Many of us were hopeful that this would be the year one of John G.’s grand kids would break through for the win but it was not to be. Ty choked off the first tee, giving Woody and Bill all the opening they needed to spring ahead. In the end, Bill beat Woody in a play-off.
Yay! This was at least the second win for Bill. Eight or nine more and he could someday tie Woody!
We always have a big party at the end of the tournament for everyone involved. Last year, it was out at Ty’s place, which is huge and beautiful but very far from the airport. This year, since we had family leaving and arriving all day, the party was in town, since four of us live within easy driving distance to MSP international. Royana and the Good Doctor had to leave but the Younger Frank contingent arrived in force and the good times just kept a-rolling.
I skipped the early part of the party to buzz out to the Arboretum for my weekly painting class. I had a ball and managed to get to the party, paint free and in my new dress, before Xena, Babalouie or Boopity Boop had to go home. This time, I’m the one who missed dinner but no one heard me complain about it.
The next few days were filled with walks around different lakes, boat rides, visiting the Arboretum without my painting gear, million dollar open houses, family dinners and a trip to the newly reopened Sculpture Garden downtown.
We thoroughly enjoyed the SG. I’ll write more about that later.
Although the last of the out of towners flew home by Thursday, Hubbellpalooza can’t really be said to have ended. It has simply shifted to Chicago, where a large contingent of cousins are going to see Buffet tonight (Huey Lewis and the News are opening) and a couple of very lucky girls are going to see Hamilton tomorrow. So jealous. Okay, not really but that’s another post, too.
This one is already too long but I’ve been too busy and too tired to write anything.