They looked beautiful in their finery. Glasgow Girl, her hair done up in an elegant up-do, was picture-perfect in her wedding dress. Renaissance Man made a dashing and splendid sight in his kilt regalia – the only man in a skirt, at this party. I was happy to see them together like this. Rumpole, looking distinuished, rumbled and rambled a wonderful anecdote about the two of them. He played his bass quite well with the band, in spite of the fact that earlier in the day I had inadvertently crushed his bass-plucking fingers while helping him and Barb shift the portable bar into place. Amazingly, while he hopped around clutching his injured finger, he demonstrates a rather unusual and unfamiliar ability to sing in a high key. Luckily, the swelling had subsided by the time the band struck up with music for the party.
My sister, Margaret, who has faithfully attended at all of Renaissance Man’s milestone celebrations, was there with her husband and daughter. Margaret, an attractive matron, danced up a storm with Renaissance Man. She demonstrated some dance moves Go-Go girls would try hard to emulate, much to her daughter’s amusement.
Renaissance Man’s friends, Pete, Heidi and Stevo, also known by their band name, “Sex Under Cars” warmed up the revellers with some groovy punk music. The crowd just loved them, especially Heidi, who sings with an amazing growl and was dressed in a vintage black dress with lace inserts in strategic places. After them, Rumpole and Renaissance Man’s band, “Pyro Bob and the Maniacs” sounded a tad Lawrence Welkish, very mainstream.
The guests were colourful for the most part. The exceptions were those of us of a matronly persuasion who worked around the periphery of the celebration, monitoring the tables groaning under all the foodstuffs, clearing dishes, watching the celebrants with amazement and amusement. We all wore black; why, I am not sure, but there we were, black crows fluttering about. Martha had on top of her elegant black duds a rhinestone-studded apron. Lucky, in her black dress presented as attractive and sophisticated. Barb worked the bar like a pro. Looking-for-Beauty strolled around taking pictures. She had on the most elaborate black-on-black blouse and pants outfit. Our-Lady-of Perpetual-Crisis showed off her new, svelte, personal-trainered figure with a stunning black ensemble. We looked, good, efficient and, dare I say it, as if we had colluded prior to this do about how we were going to present ourselves, which is absolutely not the case at all. We simply must be going through our “black phase” simultaneously.
The whole party had a big-barn celebration feel to it. There were little children dancing and goofing about. People chatted, danced, visited at different tables. Lots of hugs in greetings and goodbyes at the end. We had to shut things down by 11pm. as we had to be out of the building by mid-night.
Dismantling elements of an event such as this takes orchestrated effort of many individuals. We, the old crows, packaged leftovers and sent them off with various groups. The younger men broke down the band-stand, band equipment and loaded up the cars and trucks. The younger women disassembled tables and crated dishes and cutlery. The young men cam and hauled all this stuff to be moved by cars lined up outside. By the time the building security came to kick us out, the hall was completely empty. The security guard was amazed our exit was so well organized.
Rumpole went off with the band to return the equipment to their home base. The rest of us dispersed, quite exhausted to our various destinations. Looking-for-Beauty drove me home. We unloaded a ton of supplies into my studio and staggered off to the kitchen in search of some tea. We were sipping our tea, quite wilted, when Rumpole arrived home. He collapsed on a kitchen chair and announced, “On my way home it ocurred to me that I had left my suit hanging in the Legion Hall.” He had changed clothes into comfy band clothes earlier. I figured the suit was safe, hanging where it was until Monday morning. LFB toddled off home.
Rumpole and I spent yesterday in a fog of exhaustion. We have to return the dishes and cutlery to the rental place this morning, and then go and retrieve his suit from the Legion Hall. We have some leftovers to consume, for which I am most grateful as doing cooking is something I do not wish to do for several days. My flu is still lingering; Rumpole’s flu has again cycled back. All our friends are exhausted. But, the big party is truly over. It was fun, but not the kind of fun we want to have much to do with for a long, long time.