chameleonization of hippies or Day 2 of farmers visit

No rest for the weary. B1&B2, TSOldtimer, and I were all up early getting ready and trying to load the car with the yummies made for the party. We got to the church early and set-up the room that the Belated Grad family Brunch was to be held in, and it was in those moments of preparation when I was spazzing out a little due to family stress that I realized how great my friends really are—when your friends can watch you turn into uber monster bitch because the delivery man from Nino Salvagio’s is dropping off a huge veggie platter and you are still wearing a tie-dyed shirt and are trying desperately to ignore your sister’s constant stream of questions, and they can just smile and nod because they understand…they really understand. That is friendship.

The Brunch went well, with a little over three dozen family and close friends present, and provided a good opportunity for everyone to catch up. In light of the recent Hunger Banquet that I attended it felt a little terrible to be enjoying so many of our American creature comforts on this cold day: the warmth against the storm; good, cheerful company coming together to celebrate a milestone; tasty, plentiful food. And yet, thinking about a celebration like that I was reminded of my time in El Salvador where in the midst of all the poverty we also saw how people, poor people, also relished a celebration; how they did with what they had the best they could and that made the party an equal to anything I have ever experienced here. It is funny how some of the sad or touching moments that we experience in life are the things that come back to us in the quiet moments that can only be found when we are surrounded by the din of a party and its celebrants and yet we are totally alone. In the middle of honoring what I had achieved and struggled for I wanted nothing more than to hear my Dad’s voice telling me he was proud since he was one of the major reasons I had done this. And if anyone tries to tell you that in those moments you can still hear your Dad’s voice, can still have that person with you, can have them with you all the time now—they are full of shit, or have reached some level of Zen I have not yet attained. It isn’t the same and all I wanted on that day of celebrating of me was my Dad to be there too.

The afternoon went without a hitch, and none too soon and we were already washing dishes, putting away food, cleaning, plugging the garbage disposal—the norm. I was exhausted and so glad to go home and take a little nap before we all headed over to my best friend L&K’s house for a night of Midwest friends bonding with my East Coasters. I was pleased, pleased, pleased to see so many of my favorite people sitting around, sipping beers, and getting to know one another. Another thing I love about my friends, they aren’t sedentary like luggage—place them in a new setting and for the most part they chameloenize themselves to their new surroundings, and in no time we were talking religion and politics—aah, I was in Heaven then.


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