June
29, 2013
At
least my cat likes the wild rice salad I made for the party. I had to refrain
from feeling disappointed that no one was dipping out of the formidable container
that held my coveted scrumptious rice, nectarines, raspberries, plums, scallions,
balsamic and olive oil dressing with a bit of honey. I had gotten the wild rice
from my dad, who glommed onto it from a farmer, who happened to be a former
grade school classmate, from northern Minnesota.
Actually a very tasty grain and hardly the typical root-flavored wild rice.
Most of the salads, with few remains, contained some sort of meat product and
mayonnaise. Everyone raved about the animal protein edibles yet I could only
look-on as I dived into my wild rice dish, potato as well as ambrosia salads
and spinach dip with Hawaiian sweet bread. Dessert was cheese cake, accompanied
by keep-me-awake-please coffee, which were delicious and efficient respectively.
Beasty
BBQ sauce, a white topping and tart vinegar-based sauce were whipped up, house
cleaned, bedding laundered and last-minute preparations for the fiesta took up
most of the morning. A spattering of people drove up then a huge lag that made
all of us shudder in bad karma, wondering just how many people would come to
partake in the scads of food and insurmountable drink. Handsome hand-made corn
toss boxes and throwing bags were set up on the expansive newly cut lawn.
Tables, chairs and electrical cords distributed around the first pole barn room,
for comfort. A make-shift stage graced the front area for the young talented
and exuberant singers, who entertained far into the night.
It was
a clash of age groups yet most managed to change clothes multiple times after
dinner/supper, depending upon where you grew up. The few that stuck out were
three teenage clingy athletic and agile girls who were asked quite a number of
times in many different tones, if they weren’t cold? The skimpy swim bottoms
didn’t seem to bother the men in the crowd, in fact, they probably frowned at
the women telling the young pretty round-bottomed girls that they “made them
feel cold just looking at them!” One super-sized woman clung to her sippy cup
that contained Kentucky
whiskey straight up. She refused to place it on the ground to toss the corn
bags and would hurl them with indifference, more often than not, to land
obediently on the box (that is a good thing, by the way, and wins precious points.)
Aside
from corn toss, we delighted in a game of wiffle ball or bobbed in the swimming
pool out back. Horse walks were encouraged for all of the kids though only one
pony was ridden since the other three are not schooled in that entertainment. I
was the sidelines cheerleader for the wiffle ball game though it was mostly due
to inaccurate and constant hand gyrations to ward off the vicious mosquitoes. A
spectacular fireworks show scoured the sky once we had our fill of the girls’
concert. Stories that didn’t fall into any particular category, save “Strange,”
were told ‘round the campfire (to calm the children before bedtime?) over the
crackling of marshmallows, singed on the fire, for s’more fixings. I passed on
those girl scout delights since I was full to the brim from numerous Pale Ales
and more chips than I could count.
We were
in bed no later than 2:00am after line-dancing and sing-a-longs. Fourteen of
us, at last count, slept in and around the house. Every imaginable spot was
taken so the dogs, typically couch sleepers, could not find sanctuary. The
coyotes howled in pleasure but dogs snoozed silently indoors.
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