Sometime in early May, niece Diane sends a broadcast e-mail, announcing a party to which we'd been invited. The date had been set, the location easy....the family home. Diane's mom won't know and thus can't object. The surprise will surely erase any reluctance to celebrate grandly.
During the period prior July 6th, family and friends from around the country selected flights, made hotel reservations, pondered outfits (some of us did) and consciously avoided accidentally indicating that we'd see her soon. In the same time frame, her sweet husband bravely endured his fourth ankle surgery and settled in for a multiple month recovery. Perhaps she was right in insisting that her birthday be eschewed. Her supportive caregiver role required total commitment. Still, we blithely overlooked her wishes.
Diane, ever awesome, handles the complex party logistics with absolute aplomb. Though two jobs absorb nearly all her waking hours, she has somehow found the energy and determination to also enroll in a rigorous week-end culinary school. Adding to this relentless schedule a spectacular party for her mother attests to Diane's limitless love and devotion.
E-mails update everyone as the weeks dwindle, the New York temperature rises to uncomfortable levels, and suitcases are filled for journeys of various lengths. Deftly combining scattered family members with friends from near and far, the guest list focuses on those people whom the honoree cherishes the most. Not one person said 'no' to the invitation. Each felt honored to be included and could not wait to shout 'Surprise!'
On the appointed day, friend Rosie, coincidentally in town from North Carolina, whisked birthday girl Carol away for a shopping jaunt to a favorite hamlet. During the afternoon, the ever thoughtful, soon-to-be-astonished Carol called home several times with suggestions for dinner. Diane firmly dissuades her from getting pizza or anything else. It isn't easy.
As Steve sits immobilized by his recuperating ankle, the house surges with guests.
From Colorado came sister Flory, recently evacuated from her home due to monstrous wildfires. Nephew David flies in from Washington, D.C.
From Oregon, long-time school friend Marina.
From Florida, venerable Aunt Dorothy, hair beautifully coiffed and dressed perfectly in white. Her son, Carol's first cousin Mark, drives from New Jersey.
Niece Caitlin, animated despite a red eye flight from Portland, is delighted to attend. The California contingent: Henry and myself plus Carol's son Keith, his wife, Alisa and daughters Drew and Brooke.
Rosie and husband, Ray, up from North Carolina.
Local friends, most of whom we knew only from their names having been mentioned through the years, mix easily with family members. Chatting, sipping liquids constantly in an effort to withstand the unpleasant weather, we wait impatiently. Finally, we're rewarded. She's downstairs, headed our way. As she reaches the landing, Carol realizes she's been tricked. Her first words are, "I hope the toilets are clean." (They are spotless.) She smiles graciously and ascends.
The party begins.
Thus unfolds an evening that will always resonate joyfully in the guests' memories.
Henry sits with his Aunt Dorothy whom he hasn't seen in many years. He hands her a brittle, yellowed letter. It is something she hasn't seen in 65 years. A charming note which Dorothy wrote to Henry's mom, her sister Sylvia, in the hospital just after Henry's birth. The letter will go to live in Oregon with Caitlin. A special family legacy.
Cousins converse, adroitly transcending decades and distance. They're drawn together by common ancestors, shared snippets of lives lived apart.
Carol happily hugs all assembled, pausing to speak a few words to each person.
Meanwhile, the dining room table is laden with Italian specialties, cold cuts from Sauro's deli, cheeses, fruit, olives and more. Plates are carefully balanced on knees, placed on tables, quickly emptied and then a bit more food selected.
Caitlin's a temporary bartender, dispensing white and red wines.
Diane never pauses as she continues to bring an endless array of food from the kitchen and yet somehow neglects to eat anything herself. Her smile is radiant. She knows instinctively that she's created a miraculous event. We are so terribly proud of her. Her parents glow with good reason.
Employing her culinary expertise, Diane creates decadent desserts. She could open a restaurant and be assured that everyone at the party would be instant customers.
Sometime after dinner is finished, the youngest guests play catch in the spacious backyard.
Wandering out to the deck, I see our great-niece, Brooke, standing at the top of the stairs. I gently suggest she join her contemporaries in the yard. She demurs and confesses softly that, though she was once shown how to throw a spiral, she doesn't remember the details. I tell her to wait right there. Inside, I locate Henry and apprise him of the situation. He'll gladly serve as the temporary coach. In a very few minutes, Brooke has learned the spiral technique and is throwing hard. She's a natural athlete.
Silly putty hasn't lost its appeal and youngsters of all ages squish the goo into newspapers to make patterns or create long strings of pink. Multi-generational fun.
Seeing Henry and his two sisters together is such a treat. Their shared childhood evokes many stories and much laughter. I think about their parents, Murry and Sylvia, and imagine that somewhere they are smiling as they observe this special night.
We realize that the hours are precious, that almost certainly this whole group of people will not ever be together again. The Kaner and Weiss descendants congregate on the porch, creating a photo for posterity.
Several of us vainly attempt to capture all the guests in one people-packed photo. We settle for several views.
For more than a few, the hours are especially poignant. I, for one, am so grateful that we've assembled to celebrate Carol and not because a loved one has been lost. I'm also reminded that upon marrying Henry, I gained a new family that embraced me totally from the onset, deep Southern roots notwithstanding. A unique and special group of individuals who have enriched my life, added immeasurably to my years and loved me without restraint. As someone who places the highest value on family and truly cannot count all her cousins, I'm profoundly privileged to be 'married-in.'
The party in Patterson owes its genesis, as well as its genius, to niece Diane. We celebrate her with love.
Missing Carol's extraordinary zero birthday celebration would have been unthinkable. I believe she feels the same way.
