Haste to the Party
Unless we are trying to catch a plane, we never get out of the house on time for a trip.
I had it all planned that we would leave the house at 10am so we could be pulling up to 735 Canyon Crest about 4:30 or 5. We actually were on the road at 11:30 am, making me very afraid that we would be caught in the 210 Pasadena rush hour on the far end.
The cd changer was loaded and we were talking about the nature of Grace, when we got to Tracy and the 5. May the First dawned clear and warm in Oakland; the Valley was hot and very dry. By the time we got to Santa Nella I began to notice that my skin was beginning to pucker. By the time we took the long left hand off the 5 on to the 210, I realized that I’m not a lizard anymore. After 17 years in the salubrious climate of the San Francisco Bay, I need to put cream on my skin when I go to my home town. Oh well.
I began the planning for my mother’s 90th birthday in November. I talked to the birthday girl about the whole thing. But, did I tell my sister? No, I thought that Mommy would. More fool I. I sent out the ‘save the date’ cards at the end of February. And people started responding to my sister. So, at the beginning of March my brilliant, gorgeous sister Julie found out that she would be hostessing a party for at least 15 on May 3rd.
It must be understood that I go down for the Mommy’s birthday every year. We watch the Derby (Kentucky), eat deviled eggs, drink mint juleps and enjoy each other’s company. Usually my sister’s friend Susan (another horse fan) joins us, and Auntie Jenny is there for dinner. During the weekend we visit and go the the Sierra Madre Art Faire and often to the Pasadena Design House. Just a lovely, relaxed weekend. But, last year Kathy & Jack came from Houston. That meant that Julie and John had to come over. It was a grand meeting of the clans and from which came the germ of the Birthday Party.
After the Thursday drive I slept late, breakfasted and went out into an unfamiliar Pasadena. With Sestra Julie as my guide, I assayed the place I used to know and saw the new. Stuff changes. Frederico’s, still on the corner of Colorado and Allen, was our stop for birthday breakfast sweetbread. But the whole area around Sears, at Michellinda and Foothill, was entirely different than I remember.
The cake was already ordered. Through the serendipity of a wise and loving sister, our mother’s 90th birthday cake came from the same shop that provided the wedding cake for Philip’s and my wedding, 23 years ago. All hail Carrie the Cake Girl and her wonderful shop Takes the Cake. After prep and cleaning we retired to the Derby, George Wolf’s old place in Arcadia. The food is fine, the drinks are generous and the service is wonderful. This Derby week was so much sweeter because Philip was with me.
The Birthday dawned beautiful, clear and warm. (After the fire, the Sister put ceiling fans in all of the bedrooms. In this family of women who need cool heads to sleep well, ceiling fans are such a luxury.) There was work to do, especially the eggs.
Now, for those of you who don’t submit yourselves to the narrow, finicky work of deviling eggs, you might not understand. The eggs must be as fresh as possible. They must be boiled to get a deep yellow yolk , about but not precisely 15 minutes. And oh dear Lord, let them be easy to peel. And so they were. This year I brought my own equipment and had pre-made my mayonnaise. Deviled eggs are the first thing I learned to make, even before clam chowder. After 43 years of work, I have some reputation to uphold.
The invitations said 4:30 pm for the revels to begin, so we had time to enjoy the race. The big tv, that the Mommy can kind of see, is ensconced in my old room. Upstairs and down the hall, it is the smallest bedroom in the house with a very comfy couch is where we watch the race. I’ve been making mint juleps for Derby Day for at least 40 years. We’ve experimented with various bourbons, Jim Beam 8 year old in especial, and played the whole powdered sugar, granulated sugar game. I know that there are those who insist upon mint as a garnish and I simply beg to disagree. Good bourbon, simple syrup, mint and ice. I muddle my mint first, in a drip of the syrup, then add ice and booze and water. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Everyone knows who won and how. By 4:15 people started to arrive, and they came from everywhere. Richard, Lorna and Nicholas, Auntie Manya, Nancy Jane and Peter all came from Glendora and Riverside. Julie and Max from Azusa and Auntie Jenny from Monrovia. Liz came all the way from her new home in Bodega Bay. Then there is Kathleen and Jack, who came all the way from Houston, Texas, that’s right Texas. With Cousin Johnny and Sandra Buchan to round out the party, there were 17 people in the garden to celebrate the Mommy’s 90th.
The sycamores, old and broad, canopied the party. The sister Julie ruled the barbecue and produced perfect chicken. Salads, dips and all sorts of extras were brought by the cousins. Let me now praise the Cousins. We know their history, they know our flaws, we grew up together. And now that we are as grownup as we are going to get, it is so fine, so sweet, to gather with these smart, handsome, splendid people. We trace ourselves to Dorothy Viola Gibson Jenkins, the mother of our fathers, and honor her by loving each other.
Then, there are the others, those who were and are touched by the birthday girl. They love her because her house was an house of comfort, ease and joy. It is not just that Katherine is the Last Mommy Standing (although she is); it is because she is Katherine. Julie, Kathleen and Liz all came because they love her and she is a lodestar in their lives. Truly, she was surprised and rather diffident when I first started talking about The Party back in November. At first, she thought I was blue skying because, well, she knows me. It took me blindsiding my poor sister in February with the save the date notes, that La Mommy finally realized it was going to happen.
The day passed far too soon, filled with laughter and stories and music. Jack, bless his ears and whiskers, always brings his gorgeous bass-baritone and guitar. He just needs to learn more cowboy songs. Saying goodbye is always hard. At least, Liz is only 90 minutes away from us in Bodega Bay. Houston is so far away and I miss Kathleen every day. But, I’d rather miss her and know that she in in my life and so happy than spend those years not knowing how or where she was.
We were late out the door again on Sunday. Sister Julie was back from church before we hauled all of our stuff, coolers filled with left overs. we headed down to San Gabriel for a very short visit with Auntie Mary. Mary had a stroke some months ago and is staying in a very comfortable and old fashioned place. My sister gave me good directions, if I can remember where San Gabriel Nursery is so we can to turn left to get behind it. But, not being a gardener, I have perhaps gone to the great nursery maybe twice in my whole life.
The instructions were perfect, we found the place. Old, graceful and brightly clean, with none of the antiseptic smell that is so often in such places, we found Auntie Mary. Cousin Johnny was there, keeping her company. Her hair was shorter than I’ve ever seen it and, as happens with so many stroke victims, she had shrunk. Mommy had warned me not to overtax her sister. No more than 5 minutes, she warned. We visited, held her hand, I kissed her and told her how much I love her. This woman is one of the greatest hostesses I know and she taught me so much about how to throw a party. It is very possible that I have seen her for the last time. We left and Johnny came out to remind us that the 10 was just a few blocks away. After thanking such a gentle and thoughtful suggestion, we chose to go back the way we came. Up San Gabriel Blvd. to the 210 freeway and thus to the northbound 5.
Where is my bullet train? Why do we have to drive 6 to 8 hours, in a single family car, to travel less than half the state? We lost an hour and a half because of a jackknifed truck. Ok, here is my rant. Interstate 5 is the most important road in California. And through the Great Central Valley, it is only two lanes in each direction. This is simply bad design. One jackknifed truck on the Northbound 5 and the world comes to an end. We saw warning signs of the blockage and then experienced the longest backup in many years of my experience. There was a small horse trailer just before us. While we were stopped, the driver pulled to the right and I thought he was trying to make an end run. But no, he just pulled over so he could check on his horse. Speaking sweetly and low, the young horseman calmed his mount enough until they got home.
Once past the accident, we went up to Harris Ranch. Philip turned 60 on this trip. He insists that his birthday does not matter. Well, loves, it means the world to me. Sometime I will tell you what my basso means to me.. We take that big right exit from the 5. We pull up, park, walk in and there is a beautiful image of California Chrome. He was bred from a Harris Ranch sire, Lucky Pulpit, to a very dark dam, Love the Chase. Yes he lost the last leg of the Triple Crown but I don’t care, he is champion.
After a lovely dinner we got back on our road home and here is where the trouble begins. Once Philip can smell Oakland, he starts to speed. He gets frustrated with other drivers who won’t allow enough space between cars and starts to tailgate and I get antsy . Once into the Livermore Valley he calms down but the speeding continues (iwanngohome.) The three Crosses at the 580 /238 exchange is a comfort because we take that large right turn and are on the road home. Suddenly we crest one more hill and there is TJ’s and the Grand Lake and one of the most beautiful views of the Bay. We pulled up to the Prancing Pony and immediately heard about our absence from the cats. Joshu, in especial, had to tell us all of the things that happened on Hamilton Plc. while we were gone. Celebrate, my friends, celebrate your family. They will object , claim it’s not important and stick out their lower lips. But ignore all of that, chose a date, plan the party and enjoy. Love never dies.
Unless we are trying to catch a plane, we never get out of the house on time for a trip.
I had it all planned that we would leave the house at 10am so we could be pulling up to 735 Canyon Crest about 4:30 or 5. We actually were on the road at 11:30 am, making me very afraid that we would be caught in the 210 Pasadena rush hour on the far end.
The cd changer was loaded and we were talking about the nature of Grace, when we got to Tracy and the 5. May the First dawned clear and warm in Oakland; the Valley was hot and very dry. By the time we got to Santa Nella I began to notice that my skin was beginning to pucker. By the time we took the long left hand off the 5 on to the 210, I realized that I’m not a lizard anymore. After 17 years in the salubrious climate of the San Francisco Bay, I need to put cream on my skin when I go to my home town. Oh well.
I began the planning for my mother’s 90th birthday in November. I talked to the birthday girl about the whole thing. But, did I tell my sister? No, I thought that Mommy would. More fool I. I sent out the ‘save the date’ cards at the end of February. And people started responding to my sister. So, at the beginning of March my brilliant, gorgeous sister Julie found out that she would be hostessing a party for at least 15 on May 3rd.
It must be understood that I go down for the Mommy’s birthday every year. We watch the Derby (Kentucky), eat deviled eggs, drink mint juleps and enjoy each other’s company. Usually my sister’s friend Susan (another horse fan) joins us, and Auntie Jenny is there for dinner. During the weekend we visit and go the the Sierra Madre Art Faire and often to the Pasadena Design House. Just a lovely, relaxed weekend. But, last year Kathy & Jack came from Houston. That meant that Julie and John had to come over. It was a grand meeting of the clans and from which came the germ of the Birthday Party.
After the Thursday drive I slept late, breakfasted and went out into an unfamiliar Pasadena. With Sestra Julie as my guide, I assayed the place I used to know and saw the new. Stuff changes. Frederico’s, still on the corner of Colorado and Allen, was our stop for birthday breakfast sweetbread. But the whole area around Sears, at Michellinda and Foothill, was entirely different than I remember.
The cake was already ordered. Through the serendipity of a wise and loving sister, our mother’s 90th birthday cake came from the same shop that provided the wedding cake for Philip’s and my wedding, 23 years ago. All hail Carrie the Cake Girl and her wonderful shop Takes the Cake. After prep and cleaning we retired to the Derby, George Wolf’s old place in Arcadia. The food is fine, the drinks are generous and the service is wonderful. This Derby week was so much sweeter because Philip was with me.
The Birthday dawned beautiful, clear and warm. (After the fire, the Sister put ceiling fans in all of the bedrooms. In this family of women who need cool heads to sleep well, ceiling fans are such a luxury.) There was work to do, especially the eggs.
Now, for those of you who don’t submit yourselves to the narrow, finicky work of deviling eggs, you might not understand. The eggs must be as fresh as possible. They must be boiled to get a deep yellow yolk , about but not precisely 15 minutes. And oh dear Lord, let them be easy to peel. And so they were. This year I brought my own equipment and had pre-made my mayonnaise. Deviled eggs are the first thing I learned to make, even before clam chowder. After 43 years of work, I have some reputation to uphold.
The invitations said 4:30 pm for the revels to begin, so we had time to enjoy the race. The big tv, that the Mommy can kind of see, is ensconced in my old room. Upstairs and down the hall, it is the smallest bedroom in the house with a very comfy couch is where we watch the race. I’ve been making mint juleps for Derby Day for at least 40 years. We’ve experimented with various bourbons, Jim Beam 8 year old in especial, and played the whole powdered sugar, granulated sugar game. I know that there are those who insist upon mint as a garnish and I simply beg to disagree. Good bourbon, simple syrup, mint and ice. I muddle my mint first, in a drip of the syrup, then add ice and booze and water. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Everyone knows who won and how. By 4:15 people started to arrive, and they came from everywhere. Richard, Lorna and Nicholas, Auntie Manya, Nancy Jane and Peter all came from Glendora and Riverside. Julie and Max from Azusa and Auntie Jenny from Monrovia. Liz came all the way from her new home in Bodega Bay. Then there is Kathleen and Jack, who came all the way from Houston, Texas, that’s right Texas. With Cousin Johnny and Sandra Buchan to round out the party, there were 17 people in the garden to celebrate the Mommy’s 90th.
The sycamores, old and broad, canopied the party. The sister Julie ruled the barbecue and produced perfect chicken. Salads, dips and all sorts of extras were brought by the cousins. Let me now praise the Cousins. We know their history, they know our flaws, we grew up together. And now that we are as grownup as we are going to get, it is so fine, so sweet, to gather with these smart, handsome, splendid people. We trace ourselves to Dorothy Viola Gibson Jenkins, the mother of our fathers, and honor her by loving each other.
Then, there are the others, those who were and are touched by the birthday girl. They love her because her house was an house of comfort, ease and joy. It is not just that Katherine is the Last Mommy Standing (although she is); it is because she is Katherine. Julie, Kathleen and Liz all came because they love her and she is a lodestar in their lives. Truly, she was surprised and rather diffident when I first started talking about The Party back in November. At first, she thought I was blue skying because, well, she knows me. It took me blindsiding my poor sister in February with the save the date notes, that La Mommy finally realized it was going to happen.
The day passed far too soon, filled with laughter and stories and music. Jack, bless his ears and whiskers, always brings his gorgeous bass-baritone and guitar. He just needs to learn more cowboy songs. Saying goodbye is always hard. At least, Liz is only 90 minutes away from us in Bodega Bay. Houston is so far away and I miss Kathleen every day. But, I’d rather miss her and know that she in in my life and so happy than spend those years not knowing how or where she was.
We were late out the door again on Sunday. Sister Julie was back from church before we hauled all of our stuff, coolers filled with left overs. we headed down to San Gabriel for a very short visit with Auntie Mary. Mary had a stroke some months ago and is staying in a very comfortable and old fashioned place. My sister gave me good directions, if I can remember where San Gabriel Nursery is so we can to turn left to get behind it. But, not being a gardener, I have perhaps gone to the great nursery maybe twice in my whole life.
The instructions were perfect, we found the place. Old, graceful and brightly clean, with none of the antiseptic smell that is so often in such places, we found Auntie Mary. Cousin Johnny was there, keeping her company. Her hair was shorter than I’ve ever seen it and, as happens with so many stroke victims, she had shrunk. Mommy had warned me not to overtax her sister. No more than 5 minutes, she warned. We visited, held her hand, I kissed her and told her how much I love her. This woman is one of the greatest hostesses I know and she taught me so much about how to throw a party. It is very possible that I have seen her for the last time. We left and Johnny came out to remind us that the 10 was just a few blocks away. After thanking such a gentle and thoughtful suggestion, we chose to go back the way we came. Up San Gabriel Blvd. to the 210 freeway and thus to the northbound 5.
Where is my bullet train? Why do we have to drive 6 to 8 hours, in a single family car, to travel less than half the state? We lost an hour and a half because of a jackknifed truck. Ok, here is my rant. Interstate 5 is the most important road in California. And through the Great Central Valley, it is only two lanes in each direction. This is simply bad design. One jackknifed truck on the Northbound 5 and the world comes to an end. We saw warning signs of the blockage and then experienced the longest backup in many years of my experience. There was a small horse trailer just before us. While we were stopped, the driver pulled to the right and I thought he was trying to make an end run. But no, he just pulled over so he could check on his horse. Speaking sweetly and low, the young horseman calmed his mount enough until they got home.
Once past the accident, we went up to Harris Ranch. Philip turned 60 on this trip. He insists that his birthday does not matter. Well, loves, it means the world to me. Sometime I will tell you what my basso means to me.. We take that big right exit from the 5. We pull up, park, walk in and there is a beautiful image of California Chrome. He was bred from a Harris Ranch sire, Lucky Pulpit, to a very dark dam, Love the Chase. Yes he lost the last leg of the Triple Crown but I don’t care, he is champion.
After a lovely dinner we got back on our road home and here is where the trouble begins. Once Philip can smell Oakland, he starts to speed. He gets frustrated with other drivers who won’t allow enough space between cars and starts to tailgate and I get antsy . Once into the Livermore Valley he calms down but the speeding continues (iwanngohome.) The three Crosses at the 580 /238 exchange is a comfort because we take that large right turn and are on the road home. Suddenly we crest one more hill and there is TJ’s and the Grand Lake and one of the most beautiful views of the Bay. We pulled up to the Prancing Pony and immediately heard about our absence from the cats. Joshu, in especial, had to tell us all of the things that happened on Hamilton Plc. while we were gone. Celebrate, my friends, celebrate your family. They will object , claim it’s not important and stick out their lower lips. But ignore all of that, chose a date, plan the party and enjoy. Love never dies.
