Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

Yesterday was the big combined housewarming and Independence Day party for the friends I'd helped move a couple months ago.

They were expecting a lot of people and had put out a call for chairs, so I loaded up a few in my truck earlier that morning. I knew that if I packed up a lot of stuff all at once — chairs, food, camera — my dog, Una, would get suspicious and start whining, expecting to go along.

She knew something was up, though, when I started chopping up fruit for a fruit salad. I don't normally take such trouble in my cooking preparations. But it was a dog-free party, and she wouldn't have had much fun. It would be far too crowded for her tastes, and she wouldn't have been able to snack on any of the food or run around outside or play.

By the time I got there, the weather was steaming hot, the hottest we've had so far this summer. It was the kind of heat and humidity that, before I lived in the Philadelphia area, when I visited, I thought felt like a hot, wet blanket wrapped around me.

The party was supposed to start at 1. I got there at 1:30 and the room was already filled with people, many of whom I hadn't seen for months. Everyone was really relaxed, sitting around talking and munching on vegetables.

I knew there was going to be a lot of food at this party, and I decided before I got there that I was just going to write this day off, in terms of my diet. But at first I tried to be good, just chewing sugar free gum and drinking water. I was very good, in fact, until the desserts came out. My friends, who are not normally evil, had nevertheless decided to tempt me with a cornucopia of pies, cakes and cookies. I sampled a little piece of this, a little slice of that, trying to tell myself that, really, it only added up to a regular slice... or two...

When the thunderstorms hit, the air cooled down, but unfortunately that also kept us inside. A few brave souls wandered out from time to time to stand under the metal canopy on the cement steps. The young daughters of one of the guests were running around, playing tag in the rain. I might have joined them, except that I figured after I came inside, all wet, into the air conditioning, I would have regretted it. It also would have been difficult to persuade someone to let me squeeze next to them on the couch.

Of the four chairs I'd brought, the one that I believe actually belongs to my upstairs neighbor was in sad shape. This is probably why he'd left it on the porch to begin with. It was a folding chair that was already bent when I brought it. By the end of the party, it was dangerously bent and one of the metal pegs supporting the seat was all but ready to pull away from the frame, so I removed it from circulation. By then, enough people had left that it wasn't really necessary.

My most recent ex was there, and it was remarkably easygoing between us, considering that we hadn't seen each other in person since breaking up. But we'd always been good friends, and I told him when it happened that I wanted to keep him as a friend. It was like an exhalation of breath to realize, in person, that it could really be true.

It was a quiet sort of party, the kind we often had in college, where we'd all gather around and socialize and talk a lot of nonsense, joke about old times and new projects. One of the guests had brought along a number of wines that he had purchased from a small winery — rumor says he'd bought 76 bottles!

We tried apple wine, a delicious blueberry wine and palm wine, which must be an acquired taste. It was reminiscent of a fresh field of squeezed grass.

We actually managed to stick pretty well to the "no TV" rule, which was instituted years ago to keep this group of friends from watching movies for an entire party. You see, they're all pop junkies, like me. We did watch a short animated movie, "Horses on Mars," which tells the story of a microbe and his journey on a pebble from Earth to Mars. It had been brought by one friend who is an animator, artist and game designer, living out near Chicago.

As one after another guest said their good-byes, it still seemed as if the night was young. I truly had lost track of the time, and by the time I realized my dog had been alone for a hideously long time, there were only five of us left, sitting around a fan in the living room, talking about comedy sketches we'd written in college.

On the way home, a number of street lights were blinking. It was clearly much later than I'd thought. I actually called my apartment on my cell phone, and when the answering machine picked up, I left what I hoped was a soothing message for my dog, which I knew she could hear. "I'll be home soon!" I promised. I could picture her running around the house, excited.

I got back and she had been extremely good. Even the most tempting garbage was still where it belonged, in the trash can. When I took her outside, she wouldn't even run down onto the grass at first, she was so excited to see me. She just kept licking my face and hands. I was forgiven.

I remember in college when I met most of the friends who were at yesterday (some were met later) and how, through all the good times we had together, I really thought those were our halcyon days and that one day we'd be looking back on it from our separate corners of the earth with a certain wistful nostalgia, a certain pang. I certainly never expected so many of us to be living within a day's drive of each other, or that we would all travel, every once in awhile, despite the distance, to spend a great day together, to create new memories, even if it does sometimes involve palm wine.

Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson

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