Parties

I love, love, L-Uh-h-VVVVV parties. And baby, can I throw one! Some of my favorite memories were spent planning, preparing, and celebrating with my favorite people. These times give us something to look forward to and something to remember.

My dad told us he did not want to celebrate his 50th birthday. There was to be no party, no big to-do, nothing. We didn’t listen. Over 30 of my dad’s best friends came to rock the house. The house was accessorized with posters, banners, and photos. We asked that guests bring a snack, but no gifts. They didn’t listen either. The people poured in with food, gag gifts, even a poem written just for dad. We drank, we ate, we laughed; and, oh yes, the fart machine made an appearance. I saw my parents, and their friends, in a new light. They were people. Dad was thrilled. The decorations stayed up until he died nine months later. A massive heart attack took the first man I ever loved. What if we had not had the party? What if we had been too busy, too practical, too obedient? Would he have ever known how many people loved him?

There have been more. Not long after my divorce, my oldest daughter and I worked together to host a Halloween party like no other. We shopped, hung lights, painted lights and baskets, and made food. It brought us together during a time when we desperately needed to enjoy one another.

The celebration of my second wedding was held in the gardens outside my friend, Marilyn’s home. My family, friends, and I came together to recognize my new life and grieve the end of my time in Kansas. What a day! My new life excited me, but I ached at the thought of leaving the kind, talented people who had carried me through my tenure as a special education director.

The slumber parties when I was a girl, my children’s birthday parties, school parties, pumpkin carving events, my breakfast bashes . . . there are too many to list in a single post. I loved them all.

Any party regrets? Only the one I did not have the chance to give. When recruiting in the Philippines, my right, index finger became infected. In the beginning, it was only a strange tingle. Later, it became swollen and sore. The finger continued to swell on the flight home. During this flight, the finger changed from pink, to white, to yellow, to green. Red streaks climbed up my arm like vines. The pain throbbed. Medical help was unavailable at the airports because of the odd hours of my flights. The only relief came with a fantasy I created. Should my finger need to be amputated, a funeral would be held. A coffin would be fashioned from a match box, two of my co-workers would be the pallbearers, we would dress in black, and there would be feast. Ah, yes! If the finger had to go, it would go in style. Thank goodness, the finger is with me still. Oh, but what a party it would have been. I may have to create a prosthetic finger and host the event anyway.

Life is uncertain. Places, careers, and acquaintances come and go; but, memories we keep forever. Time must be invested wisely. Moments with family and friends are investments. Inevitably, we loose loved ones and days stream through our fingers. We must take time to celebrate and savor one another. If joy does not stumble upon us, we must create it. There’s nothing like a good party.