Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

Mom, Butch and the photo of Wincence

Bright and early Sunday morning, everybody got up in great spirits, ready to work. Which was good, because there was a lot of party preparation ahead for my mom's 60th birthday celebration.

After a morning kick-start of convenience store coffee (or, as my brother calls it, "Crack-accino"), we began our errands.

This involved making corn slaw and a brown rice salad, both suggested by Mom, from one of her vegetarian cookbooks. We were also making macaroni and cheese, also at her request. The idea was to cook it up and then keep it in crock pots, which could be plugged into the electric sockets at the picnic pavilion.

While my sister, along with my brother's wife, tackled the salads, my brother and I picked up the fruit and vegetable trays that had been ordered. They were huge, and came with dip.

Finally, we were packing up our cars and heading up to the picnic site. We'd rented a pavilion at a local state park, a park my mom suggested because of its proximity to most of her guests. Plus, it's nicely kept, with mowed grass, trees, and a river flowing by.

I was hanging behind the others, because I stopped to get ice for all the coolers (one for sodas, several for food). I was nearly halfway there when I thought that we must have left the candles behind. We'd bought them this morning, and they'd been in a little white bag next to the veggie tray. Since I hadn't specifically told anyone to take them, I thought they'd probably been left behind. I headed back.

As I was driving back to my dad's place to get the candles, my cell phone rang. I picked it up. My sister wanted to know if I had the cake in my truck. I said no. "Well, nobody up here has it either. You better go get it," she said.

Of course, in my truck were all the table decorations, plates and cups, charcoal and lighter fluid, so they really couldn't do anything while they waited except unpack the food from their vehicles.

When I got back to Dad's, I found the cake but not the candles. I called my sister's cell phone to ask her about it. She said, "Oh, yes, we have those." But at least it wasn't a wasted trip.

As soon as I got there, people rushed to the truck to help me unload, including some friends of the family whom we consider an extended family. It wasn't too long before we had all the table cloths on the tables and tacked underneath. I'd learned the last time I went to a party at that same park, and the winds from the river blew all the decorations around.

We hung the "Happy Birthday" banner. My brother and my sister's boyfriend prepared the grill and got the charcoal going, then began cooking up the three types of burgers (beef, turkey and veggie), and the fat free hot dogs. They were the most efficient grill cooks I'd ever seen at a picnic, getting everything cooked and hot just when people were ready to start eating. The veggie burgers went better than the beef did, but knowing my mom's friends, I shouldn't have been surprised.

The rest of us bustled around putting together the tables, arranging the food, setting presents on a separate table. The musician had arrived earlier, a friend of my brother's from college. He set up at a good place. As soon as guests started to arrive, he started playing. He played folk music and, at Mom's request, a lot of oldies by people like Bob Dylan. She really seemed to enjoy it.

Guests kept filtering in. All told, we had about 30 people total, which was pretty good, especially since Mom had worried no one would show up at all. We knew this wasn't the case, because she's well liked by her friends and coworkers.

The salads were a hit: we kept getting requests for recipes. I referred them to Mom. People seemed to like the music, clapping along or singing, maybe even dancing a couple steps.

We had brought along a lot of games in case people wanted to play them. They did play a lawn tossing game that was a lot like horseshoes. They also seemed fond of the bubbles that my sister had left on many of the tables, and bubbles filled the air.

As soon as everything was on auto pilot, I grabbed some food and basked in the successful party. My mom's cousin, Butch, was there. He'd been doing more research into the family genealogy. His present to my mom touched her deeply: a large, wall-mounted photo portrait of her grandfather. We'd never seen a photo of him. There was a rift in the family when Mom's dad married a Protestant. He was Polish Orthodox.

                

               my sister
          blowing bubbles

In fact, Pop-pop had talked so little about him that I had to ask Butch what his name was. "Wincence," he told me. "But in America they called him William."

"But wouldn't it be the Polish version of Vincent?" I asked.

He shrugged. "They called him William."

My grandfather wasn't the only one who didn't get along with William. The photo had been damaged back in the 80's when one of my great-uncles, Vince, got mad about something that happened a long time ago and punched the photo.

Butch was telling us about how the brother of one of our direct ancestors (it's always my indirect relatives who are most interesting) was one of the U.S. Rangers trying to track down Poncho Villa. He went on to become a highly decorated World War I war hero and when he was buried — not in Arlington but at his home town of Ashland, at his request — had a funeral procession which, Butch said, rivaled those given for presidents.

The family in later years would rue the fact that the immediate relatives at that time had decided to bury him with all his medals. This meant that not only could they not pass them down as family heirlooms, but they don't even know everything that he won. The military records perished in a fire in the 1930s, which is a problem for many trying to trace old military records.

Butch also told us about how he'd just come back from Canada. When he was there, he tipped a bartender with a Canadian one dollar bill from 1953. He'd been holding onto it since his last Canadian visit, about 50 years ago. The bartender, who happened to be a coin collector, said, "Are you sure you want to give this to me as a tip?"

"Yeah, sure," Butch said and shrugged.

From the way the bartender was shaking his hand and thanking him, it must have been valuable. Butch didn't seem to care.

Many of Mom's old friends showed up, including one friend who showed up despite having a broken arm which is not healing well. Her hand was all swollen and her arm was in a cast.

When it came time for the cake, I had to gather everyone around it so I could light it without the candles blowing out. "And now a little tribal ritual we like to call blowing out the candles," I said.

After the cake was served, we poured out sparkling cider and sparkling apple-grape juice for a toast. No alcohol was allowed in the park. "In Vermont, they allow alcohol," my brother said.

I read a slightly refined version of "All You Need is Mom." Everyone laughed in the right places, and Mom even looked a little teary eyed at the end.

Then we opened presents, and Mom got a lot of things that seemed to suit her: lots of things with flowers on them, things to pamper herself with (since she never does). My sister gave her a beautiful plant stand for the front porch. I gave her a selection of bath products. My brother and his wife gave her a "Moose cookies" kit and two cookie cutters: one shaped like Pennsylvania and one like Vermont.

The family friend we lovingly refer to as "Uncle John" took photos of everyone, and then the guests began bidding good-bye. As they left, I called out, "See you on the hundredth!" But I think we'll have one sooner than that. After all, this was the first birthday party my mom had since she was 16. I think if anyone had realized that, growing up, we would have thrown her one sooner. She never complained.

A few of us hung out awhile longer. The musician played some more before packing up. My brother and his wife went off with them to hang out for a little bit, to catch up on old times. The son of one family friend showed up so late he had to eat with a serving utensil, since my brother and his wife had loaded up the remaining plasticware in their car.

After cleaning up the picnic site, throwing out all the trash, we trucked all the food over to my dad's place. Mom came over with some containers and we divided it up, parceling it out for all of us to take our separate ways.

After we'd divided up all the food and given Mom a big hug, we sat down and watched "Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of the Clones," which Dad has on DVD. The whole way through it, my brother and I were cracking jokes about it and talking about why the original was better. Just like old times.

I hope the 100th birthday party is as good.

Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson

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