Last Wednesday night I took the red-eye to Houston for a long weekend with the Texas Contingent. That’s the name for my family in Texas because after four days of big food, big wine and little sleep, it’s as ingenious as I can be. But let me clarify: My family is not from Texas. Some of them transplanted there and their families proceeded to grow. Kinda like a weed.
I hadn’t been out there for about fourteen or so years, when my youngest, Graden was about four — or so (funny how I am now sounding just like all of the other adults I knew growing up, who when asked to name a year for a specific event, favorite song on the radio, or otherwise would ponder it and reply noncommittally with something like “Oh… I don’t know. Maybe 30 years ago, or so.”). The reason for the trip was to PAR-TAY at PAH-TAY‘s house (look that one up – you’ll be glad you did). One of Pah-tay’s daughter’s (my niece) was turning forty (it’s a freak of nature thing… she’s actually OLDER.THAN.ME.SWEAR.TO.GOD.), and Pah-tay was throwing a party for her. She was also throwing a big baby shower for her youngest daughter (my niece) who was having her first baby. Big party in Big Texas.
And you guys, this is SEPTEMBER!
As many of you know, September is a big month for me already because it’s Ovarian Cancer month, and I do what I can to honor and pay homage to my beloved sister Maven (this year I am selling my cute little charm bracelets and have made them super affordable so everyone can wear one and show their support for the cause.)
Add to that the fact my sister Maven’s daughter would be there with gorgeous grandson #1 whom Maven met just days before passing, as well as grandson #2, whom my sissy never got to meet… it meant I was GOING.
If AT ALL POSSIBLE, I WAS GOING.
Maven had so looked forward to being a Nonna (grandmother in Italian), and it was only to be for a few days, so since her death, I’ve tried my best to be a surrogate Nonna to these boys (#2 even I hadn’t met)… I fail miserably most of the time, because I’m just not with them, nor have I been with any of Maven’s family for most of their lives. But hell. I can try.
So I went. I partied. I cuddled and posed for far too many photos with all of my relatives (want a picture of me? just pull out a camera… I’ll be right over)… and it was a BLAST!
And now that you know all ten gajillion excuses for my trip, HERE.
HERE IS WHAT WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO SEEM SO COOL:
The sixties.
Yeah. Non sequitur.
We had a photo booth, with wigs and glasses and other wild accessories.
Do NOT put a pile of wigs and glasses and other wild accessories in front of me (camera or not) and expect me not to parade around assuming you do not know who I am in my fabulous disguise. I was totally unrecognizable.
It was a hipper than hip, cooler than cool reunion of the Sherwood Girls on another Caper: Pah-tay, me: Brat-tay (dead center, wig) and Ice-Tay.
We went all sixties, all night long.
Yeah. The sixties may have been wild, zany and all kind of angel dusted-colorful, but they were never supposed to seem so cool.
But here, today, wearing the sixties like there is no tomorrow… we were cool. We were so cool. Peace.