The Cocktail Party

Once upon a time, 50 years ago, a married couple invited their friends to a cocktail party. Such parties were fancy affairs back in the day. Men wore suits and ties. Women came in cocktail dresses. My new stepmother labored for two or three days before the party on dozens of fancy canapes. On the day of the party itself she probably steamed, peeled, and deveined several pounds of shrimp.  She made sure the martini and Manhatten glasses were spotless and that  plenty of olives, tiny onions, toothpicks and ice were on hand. Meanwhile, Dad brought home multiple bottles of gin, scotch, and vermouth to bolster the supply already stashed in liquor cabinet.  

My best friend, Kay, was allowed to stay overnight to keep me company while the party went on downstairs. We offered to take Sunny, our rambunctious boxer, to the park. "That's fine," said Mom. "Just keep her on her leash because she'll get into the swamp if she has a chance."

It was springtime, the season of skunk cabbage. The swamp water was always stinky, even without fresh skunk cabbage. Sunny usually got to run loose in the park.  She didn't like being on a leash. Kay and I, smallish 12-year-olds, could hardly manage her. So when we were out of sight of the swamp, we snapped off the leash. That dog could outrun a horse. With a wild look in her eye, she immediately galloped toward the swamp for a joyous romp. By the time we caught up with her, she was soaking wet, but happy. Somehow we grabbed hold of her collar and put her back on the leash. 

Back home, my parents were dressing for the party.  We sneaked the wet, smelly dog up the stairs, past their bedroom door and into my room. We couldn't hose her off outside or bathe her in the basement because then Mom would know. So we tried sponging her down and towelling her off.  After we'd done our best, she was still faintly redolent of swamp water. We sprayed her liberally with my cheap "Clover Blossom" cologne and sent her out to meet the world.  Anyway, Kay and I wanted to get downstairs before the guests arrived to help ourselves to some party food, especially the shrimp. 

My dad met up with Sunny on the stairs. "Dot, " he yelled, "This dog smells funny." 

A Bulldog Named Margaret

Back in the day, dogs ran all over the neighborhood. A cute French bulldog often came visiting because Mom gave treats to all comers. I called her "Margaret."

My dad asked, "Is that dog's name really 'Margaret'?"

"No, " I said, "we just call her that."

"But why 'Margaret?'"

"Because she looks like Margaret E.," I said, naming a well-known dowager-about-town.

"Oh, she does not!" exclaimed Dad, rather indignantly.

I saw him look at the dog again and suppress a smile.

Ai yi! Fate pays us back. Now I am a "dowager-about-town" and worried about starting to look like a French bulldog.

Off to Peek 'n Peak Tomorrow

Tomorrow I'm driving to Peek 'n Peak, a family resort in southwestern New York state, to attend my niece's wedding. I'm looking forward to a reunion with my four sisters. Three are actually half sisters, but they are all sisters to me.

First stop along the way will be Valencia, PA, to visit BF. She is the sweet woman who boarded a Greyhound near Pittsburgh three times during the past 18 months to come down to stay with Mom while the Tree Hugger and I went away for long weekends. I'm giving her Mom's service-for-six sterling silver.

We won't discuss politics. The last time the TH picked BF up at the bus station (October 2008), he said, "Might as well tell you. We have an Obama sign in our front yard."
"Oh, said she, "he's a Muslim."
"No, he's not."
"Yes,he is."
"So I suppose you're voting for McCain."
"Yes, but I'm not that crazy about him. I really like Sarah Palin though. If Hillary had won the nomination, I would have voted for her."

Since we won't be discussing politics, we won't be discussing health care reform either. BF has private insurance, but she's not happy with it. "They don't pay jackshit," she says.

Then on to Meadville, where I'll visit my 90-year-old Aunt Virginia, who's in the Assisted Living Center at Wesbury United Methodist Community. Aunt Virginia, who's about 90, lived alone until this June, when my cousin, Harry, realized that she was getting forgetful. Pots boiled dry on the stove, bills unpaid, etc. Mom and I used to stay with Aunt Virginia when we came up to Meadville so Mom could visit her friends. I wonder if Aunt Virginia will still recognize me.

Finally Peek 'n Peak. The wedding is Saturday evening. On Sunday, we'll regroup in Erie, PA, at the home of one of the sisters.

On Monday, my sister Barbara and I will visit our mothers' graves at Greendale Cemetery in Meadville. Both our birth mother and my stepmother are buried there. It will be the first time I've seen Mom's grave since her death in December. She's buried beside our dad. Our birth mother, who died ten years ago, is buried beside her second husband.

I'll be home by Monday night. Summer day camp will have ended for our grandson and school won't have started, so he'll be with me all week. Maybe we'll go see the dinosaurs at the Museum of Natural History.

Even More Fun with Hearing Loss

I'm not even going to tell you how I killed my hearing aid. Let's just say that it got wet.
It's been two days now. I fed it a new battery, but it wasn't interested. It's angry, and still playing dead.
At least I hope it's only playing. I'd buy it candy and flowers, but I think our affair may be over.

The next available appointment with the audiologist is August 27th. That's a long time to be without my friend.

Sometimes well-meaning people gush, "You're so lucky! My father needs aids in both ears!"

All I can say is, "Now, think about that for a moment." OK, I need only one hearing aid, but it's because I am completely deaf in the other ear. How did this happen? We think I lost the hearing in my right ear at age 3, when I had spinal meningitis. I am not complaining. I survived meningitis and the hearing in the left ear was good enough for me to get by for many years without help.

The audiologist doubts that meningitis was the culprit. He says that meningitis usually inflicts equal damage on both ears.

My first memory of being affected by my hearing loss was choosing a desk at the back of the room on my very first day of school and having my dad say, "No, you have to sit up front." Another effect is never knowing where sounds are coming from. Everything seems to originate on the left, whether it's an approaching fire truck or a friend trying to get my attention in the supermarket. I'll turn to try and locate my friend , who's laughing and saying, "Over here! Over here!" Even with a hearing aid, I miss punch lines, because people's voices tend to fall at the end of a sentence. Meetings can be a nightmare, because I understand speech better when I can look at the speaker. Someone's talking, but where are they?