Birthday Bash 2009

Ask any random married couple whose side of the family brings The Crazy, and chances are good that each will point to the other. Ask me and Husband, however, and it’s unanimous: I win.

Dad has been throwing an August Birthday Bash every year since 2003ish to commemorate our four August birthdays: mine, Grandad's, Dad's, and Husband's. It's a way to acknowledge everyone's birthday at once without the hassle of having to see each other more than we must.

Birthday Bash 2007 set the bar pretty high for what counts as classic Family Crazy, but I must say that 2009 put in a good showing. No glassware was shattered, no tables were crushed, but sticks were thrown and names were called. This year, the Bash was set for Sunday the 16th, and the whole family turned out. Sister and Niece flew in on the 12th, AuntZ and CousinZ drove up on the 14th, and Dad, Grandad, UncleR, AuntG, and CousinM were already there.

PROLOGUE

The Seattles are no longer in Seattle. (If you have no idea who I'm talking about, read this post for a recap of Who's Who in the Fam.) In March or April, I was informed that UncleR and AuntG, after 16 years of West Coast residence, had decided to retire, move back east with CousinM as soon as they could sell their house, and set up housekeeping with Dad here in Virginia. UncleR would take care of the exterior property and general handyman things, AuntG would take care of the cooking and cleaning, and CousinM would go to the local community college. AuntZ and I made a bet as to how long the arrangement would last: she said a year; I said 3 months. Feeling generous, I revised my assessment and gave them till Christmas. Considering the current real estate market, particularly in the Seattle area, I figured it would take a while for them to dump the house; but, much to my surprise, on July 8, the Seattles arrived at Dad's house and settled in.

STICKS AND STONES

Sister and I made plans to go out to dinner on the 14th with Husband and Niece. The family can be a bit… overwhelming… and we wanted some time for just us to talk. As soon as Husband and I arrived at Dad’s to pick her up, the family descended and we were engulfed in hellos and age jokes. It seems it will just be me, Husband, and Sister for dinner; Niece is staying at the house because she “wants to play with [her] cousins” and with her new pet, an inchworm named Rachel. Sister tells me that the whole Fam went hiking earlier in the day at Great Falls, so Niece is probably a little tired too.

We went around the deck to say hi/bye to Grandad, who was sitting at the umbrella table over the back yard. With our usual fabulous timing, we'd managed to arrive just as they were sitting down to dinner, which means that they all had to wait until we left to begin eating. However, as often happens when you haven’t seen family in a while, we got roped into conversation with Dad, thereby further delaying everyone's meal.

That’s when it happened.

The food was out and ready to go, and Dad and I would be chatting for another minute or two. Cousins M and Z and Niece were sitting at the kids' table, and Aunts G and Z were bringing dishes out of the kitchen. Seeing that his father was hungry and not wanting to let the hot food get ice cold, UncleR started dishing up one of the sides onto Grandad’s plate.

A word here about Family protocol. In Dad’s family, formal meals have ever had an air of patriarchal ceremony to them. At dinner, all dishes are placed around Father, who magnanimously carves and serves the food his little wife has prepared to those for whom he provides. The symbolism cannot be lost on you. Service begins with Mother, then proceeds in gender and age order (ladies first, in ascending maturity), and you can’t eat until everyone is served. At their hands, I endured countless meals involving cold gravy and mushy sides. It's a condescending, inefficient, and silly practice that I take every opportunity of helping into the great beyond, but some people insist on bringing out the paddles to resuscitate it.

In his peripheral vision, Dad saw that UncleR was serving food to Grandad and, in what I’m sure he thought was a jocular fashion but came across as authoritarian, shouted, “Now wait a minute, Bro, you have to serve the girls first!”

(The word “Bro” would never actually pass the lips of anyone in The Fam, except in a sense of irony. But since I don't use the actual names of those related to me [that whole protect the innocent/protect me from the guilty thing again!], "Bro" will have to suffice.)

Well it seems he’d had just about enough from Dad because UncleR lost his proverbial shit. He threw down the spoon, grabbed a leftover hiking stick, uttered a primal roar, and winged the stick off the deck towards the woods before turning on Dad again. “It’s always what you want, isn’t it Bro? It’s McDonald’s every day with you: Have it your way! You are one arrogant, imperious son-of-a-gun!” (Apparently my uncle is Ned Flanders.) As everyone sat dumbstruck in disbelief, he flung his glasses into the chair and marched away from the table. Sister, Husband, and I took this as our cue to exit, but not before watching Dad shadow UncleR into the house, parroting after him, “Shake my hand! Come on, shake my hand Bro!” I decided it would be imprudent to point out that it’s actually Burger King where you can supposedly have it your way, and away we slunk.

ANCIENT HISTORY

We were instructed to arrive on the 16th at 11 a.m., bearing egg-free cake. The house was its usual chaotic self, due to the infusion of three new residents and two new dogs, the five new houseguests notwithstanding. Apparently everything had calmed down and blown over between the brothers on Friday night, because Dad and UncleR were right as rain on Sunday morning.

We put the cake in the fridge, then sat down and went through my library of photo albums and photobooks with the Cousins. Ever since the ill-fated Bash '07, I haven’t invited any of The Fam back to my house, so Cousins M and Z had never really seen any of my pictures. I got to show CousinM pictures of me holding her as a baby, and CousinZ pictures of her parents' wedding, which was fun.

UncleR volunteered to take us on a tour of the property improvements he had made in the one month that they had been living there: expanding the basement bathroom, building a walk-in closet for the basement guest room, cleaning up the landscaping, and building a woodshop in the outbuilding so he could work on his mandolins. Husband and I were mightily impressed, though I must admit disappointment that the rainbow-colored stenciled cat border on upper floor of the outbuilding will have to go away (fare thee well, Fran!) We did, however, score another leftover: a free iron silhouette of a cat chasing a mouse. Just what we always wanted.

Sometime in the early afternoon, UncleR remembered that he had found a crate full of old genealogical materials, some dating back 150 years. That was an interesting point and aroused some conversation, and the suggestion was made that we should go through the box sometime and scan things into the computer for posterity and future genealogical purposes.

All of a sudden, UncleR and AuntZ get it in their heads that we should do it NOW, since Grandad’s here and he’ll be able to put some of the material in perspective. Without another word, UncleR dashes downstairs to get the box, and before we know it, the family Bible and dozens of newspaper clippings and old photographs are scattered across the dining table. AuntG was instructed to get her scrapbooking kit with her special pens and pencils so that we could mark the backs of the photos, and a very confused Grandad is being led to a seat in the middle of the table to tell us stories about the things we find in the box.

Now, UncleR lived in Virginia as long as I could remember until I was… I guess 13 or 14, and I adored him then. He was boisterous, and zany, and goofy, and probably inspired a fair amount of my affection for the wacky and weird in life. However, with the exception of a road trip to the family hometown in Wisconsin when I was 8, I’d never spent any real extended time with him. Something I’d never realized about UncleR: his relentless enthusiasm. It's borderline manic. Any idea that gets in his head is a GREAT idea, it must be done RIGHT NOW, and EVERYONE must join him, and they will LOVE IT!

Unfortunately, Dad didn’t really want to do this right now, and even if he did, there was no room at the table. UncleR and AuntZ took this as a personal challenge and explained to him that no, it was a great idea to go through these artifacts and learn about all this, and this was the perfect time. Dad held his ground, so it of course became a squabblefest between the three siblings, and then UncleR went juvenile on us and actually pouted for a little while and tried to put away his toys because “this is Bro’s house and he doesn’t want to do this.” It seems that passive-aggressive guilt-tripping is a family trait. Dad ended it by telling UncleR and AuntZ that they were welcome to do this if they pleased, got a beer, and went outside on the porch. It was quite a scene.

Another characteristic I had never noticed before: AuntZ is an instigator. You’ve read about the annual sparring between her and Dad in previous Family posts; without having the larger dynamic to compare, I thought it was just ordinary arguing. But I watched her egg UncleR on against Dad in every parry and thrust. I know Dad can be an ogre, but the encouragement she gave UncleR on that score was wholly unnecessary, and it kind of soured me on her.

And the truth is, I side with Dad on this. Even if Dad had been gung-ho about the family history lesson, I would have tried to find a way to get out of it for myself. I’m not at all against looking through old pictures and articles and such – it was just the spontaneity and fervor of it: I’m very much an introvert and I require quiet and order around me as much as possible; I don’t respond well to that kind of chaos. So Husband and I made an escape to the front porch as well. If UncleR had set up a date a few weeks out on which we were going to go through the photos and articles, asked Grandad to narrate, and set up a voice recorder to make sure we got everything, that would have been a whole other issue. I would have been willing to do that. But instead, it had to be done rightthisminute!

Furthermore, Grandad, whose hearing aids never work even when he does remember to use them and who (at age 88) requires a little more preamble to understand the activity of any given moment, appeared to have no idea what was going on and what was being asked of him, so he kind of sat there, cloudily letting people whirl about him.

SANDWICHES

When your family invites you to come over at 11 a.m., what meal do you expect to eat? Lunch? Yeah, me too. Husband and I imagined we’d arrive at 11, have a drink, do lunch and cake and presents, chat for a while, be out around 5 and home by 6, so we made a point of not eating breakfast since we had eaten a metric ton on my actual birthday the day before and wanted to be ready to eat again at Dad’s.

We were told to expect burgers and hot dogs, and Dad wasn’t there when we first arrived, having gone to the store to get charcoal for the grill. Furthermore, Aunt G was cutting up veggies and grapes for what she said would be a chicken salad later. Dad returned shortly thereafter and went around to the back deck where the grill was, so we figured he’d be setting up the coals and that lunch would be coming along shortly.

But at noon, there was nothing.

And at 1, there was nothing.

At 2, when the Ancient History fight was going down and the table was being covered with photos and papers, there was nothing. Husband and I realized that lunch wasn’t just going to be late, but very late.

At about 2:30, Dad got up from the porch, saying he was going to make himself a sandwich. Stolid in our belief that it was just going to be a late lunch (okay, and not wanting to go back into the hornet’s nest), Husband and I stayed where we were, trying to trick our stomachs into believing that Red Stripe and Diet Coke were fine replacements for actual food.

Right now you all are thinking, “Well you big dummies, why didn’t you go fish up something from the fridge yourselves?” To which I say back that once you move out of your parents’ house, I don’t feel it’s right to consider their refrigerator or cabinets public domain. Plus, think about Thanksgiving and Christmas: when you skip lunch at a family gathering, it usually means that a feast will be taking place in the late afternoon to substitute for both lunch and dinner at once.

It wasn’t until 4 that The Fam decided they were hungry, and AuntG heated up some queso dip while UncleR brought out the cold cuts. Since lunch was not coming and the coals were not even lit for dinner yet, Husband and I gave up and fell upon the snacks like locusts in the Dust Bowl.

FAMILY PORTRAIT

Since the entire family was together, UncleR decided that we must have a family portrait done. And, much like the Ancient History thing, it had to be done RIGHT NOW! No planning, no warning, no foresight. NOW. So I have him to thank for the fact that I was wearing an unflattering tank top and had not brought my makeup and hairbrush for touch-ups.

At this point, we’ve been surrounded by my very loud and energetic family for five and a half hours. It’s wearing on me. But I assigned the day to The Fam, so we’ll go with their flow.

Of course it can’t be as easy as snap-snap-snap and done. No, no, there must be tripods and timers and posing and eleventy-five arrangements of subjects. Now the light’s not right and now the background is wrong. On top of that, there’s corralling a squirrelly 5-year old and convincing an octogenarian to do just one more picture. And of course everyone has to see the digital playback, and no one likes how they looked, so we have to do another one, and another one. I think this experience went down in Husband’s books on par with our wedding day, when he grew so sick of smiling that he was threatening to do all manner of things if someone pointed another camera at him.

STUPID HUMAN TRICKS

It’s about 6 now. The photos have been satisfactorily taken and martinis have been concocted and served, and I’m finally having a glass of wine. At long (LONG!!!) last, Dad has gone outside to start up the grill. AuntZ, Sister, Niece, Husband, the Cousins, and I are sitting in the loft, having just concluded a viewing of Niece’s dance recital DVDs. I don’t even know how the topic came up but we started talking about strange things people do, like whistling noses and talking in our sleep. Then AuntZ got it in her head that we should put on a Stupid Human Tricks talent show after dinner as evening entertainment. Sister would show off her shoulder blade wings, AuntZ would exhibit Whistle Nose, Dad would present his double-jointed thumbs… Husband and I looked at each other in panic. I tried to play it off that she was joking, but she was serious enough about it that she ran downstairs to tell the rest of The Fam and to get them to think of a weird talent to show off. Husband and I went through the rest of the evening in a state of frozen fear, hoping that it would blow over, and cringing every time she brought it back up.

PEPPER BURGERS

I spend a lot of time here poking fun at other people and the foibles of my family. Now, I’ve got to get as well as I give. This last Vignette of Fools from the day is my own fault.

CousinM was taking stock of dinner requests on Dad’s behalf to get a tally of how many hot dogs vs hamburgers to grill up. AuntG had been talking up Dad’s hamburgers that day, explaining how he grinds up several different kinds of peppers and puts them in the burgers, and they’re so fantastically good. Well with that kind of sell, of course I’ll have one! I love spicy things, and we grow peppers in our backyard – jalapeno, habanero, Thai, Tabasco, cayenne… I can’t wait to find out what this amazing pepper burger tastes like, and I haven’t had a burger in a good long while.

It’s almost 8 and food is finally on the table. My pepper burger is appropriately dressed with mustard, ketchup, and pickles. I take a nice big bite…

Oh.

It’s the other kind of pepper. It’s peppercorns. I hate peppercorns.

DENOUEMENT

In the end, we didn't get out of there until 9 p.m. That's 10 hours. Because I grew up with my family and am therefore used to their antics, whereas Husband grew up in a much more calm and peaceful environment, I have a standing deal with him that he is permitted to drink as much as he likes while at these kinds of gatherings and I will drive us home. The Fam is generally a much more entertaining experience when you're a few sheets to the wind. But because I was driving and have a reasonably low tolerance for alcohol, I did not partake of the wine past the glass and a half I had around dinner, so I did all 10 hours SOBER.

On the bright side, we did manage to avoid the Stupid Human Tricks talent show, though I cannot say what Sister and the rest of them were subjected to after Husband and I made our escape.

Passphrases

Company has instituted a new security methodology. Effective as of the end of the month, we are no longer permitted to use passwords, but are instead required to create and use passPHRASES. Get used to the term: it's going to become ubiquitous in a fast way. The government has latched onto the idea as the latest rage in computer security.

The last time we had an evolution in passterminology was "strong" passwords - passwords which had to include at least one each of the following: capital letter, lowercase letter, number, and symbol (aka "special" characters, which always makes me giggle in a juvenile fashion.) While this was originally a burden, some of us developed a method for random strong password creation.

When I joined Company, there were so many systems, I was at a loss as to I was going to remember to change my password on all of them when it came time to change it on one (otherwise you're stuck remembering which ones use the new and which use the old). But Company has an internal website called Password Manager that allows you to change your password across all pertinent systems at once. Hooray, Company, for making your employee's lives easier!

But now we must develop passphrases. Passphrases must be between 15 and 30 characters long, to include spaces and symbols, such as "You have got to be joking!"

To own it, Company is probably only doing it as a brag point to the government. But policy is policy, so let's go online and invent our passphrase.

And now we come to the punchline. Computers that use Novell as a gateway are not permitted to use spaces or any special characters that were not already approved as part of the Strong Password movement. And, to my knowledge, we ALL use Novell. So basically, we're just supposed to create an exorbitantly long password.

But wait, there's more. This passphrase is only for systems that use our email password, which does not include our encryption system or our time entry system, possibly among others. So now we're up to three passterms to remember (because don't you dare write them down!), since our encryption system uses one set of criteria, our time entry system uses another, and neither of them accept passphrases. And let's add insult to injury: Password Manager now only let's you change your passphrase across the email-password-based systems - it won't let you change your password for the systems that won't accept more than 8 characters, so we'll have to do that manually.

Wow, that was quite a value-add. I'm so glad Company went to all that trouble to institute this policy since it will make such a difference. Really, the only difference I can note is that it is easier to mistype my fancy new password.

It's Baaaaack!

I picked these up on August 11.

You know what this means, don't you?

At least I can stockpile them now while they're fresh.

Usually I get them when only the stale ones are on the shelves.

You know. In October.

Bon Voyage, Julia & Justin!

It was with great joy that I watched my friends Julia and Justin set sail into wedded bliss yesterday afternoon!

I have known Julie for more than a decade, since we struggled our ways through the minefield of college. I was so proud to be chosen as her Maid of Honor and to stand by her as she promised her life to this man who loves her for everything she is.

Julie and Justin were married on the Royal Caribbean cruise ship The Grandeur of the Sea, at the Baltimore harbor. Due to cruise and Customs limitations that allowed only an hour and a half of reception time on the wedding day, Julie instituted the first "upside-down" wedding I've ever been to by holding the reception the night before. Her good friend Ted Garber performed live for us, and I danced in my gold stilettos until I could dance no more!

At 1 p.m. on August 8, the music played, the bride appeared, and the groom teared up at the vision of the woman who would be his wife. At 4 p.m., they sailed away on their honeymoon.

My very best wishes go out to them both! Justin, your bride is among the truest and most romantic souls that ever was. Know the gift that you have been given, and take good care of her.

Scaredy Cat

Last night, my fierce huntress cat was scared out of her admittedly tiny wits by a fearsome beast of epic proportions. The monster came at her from nowhere like a bat out of hell, then dove at her with no mercy, making strange whapping sounds the whole time! She ducked from its ferocious attack, then dashed to safety behind the loveseat and stayed until it thundered downstairs to seek easier prey.

What was this Grendel, you ask? A little white moth that flew in when Husband pitched a bottle into the recycle bin out back.

Yes, my 7 lb cat was terrified by a 0.7 oz moth. Pride, thy name is Pocket.