Tag: Friends

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New Year’s Eve – Guest Writer

Written by the Site Editor 

It is always bizarre to be a teenager and celebrate New Year’s with family. There is the sense that some massive party is being missed – when usually, my friends and I were far too disorganised to organise anything. So I created a system; one year with family, one year with friends. My family have never celebrated New Year’s to much extravagance in my memory – although apparently there was a good ‘end-of-the-world’ party at the turn of the century. One year, we were skiing in Austria and my parents, my sister and I were far too tired to make it to midnight, and decided to celebrate ‘Ugandan New Year’s Eve’, as it was several hours ahead and allowed for a 10pm bedtime.

For the winter of 2015, this was not the case. The plan was to celebrate up in Gruyeres, the small medieval town in Switzerland that bizarrely hosts a horror art museum attributed to the designer of Alien, H. R. Giger. We even invited some friends we had known in Uganda to join us.

We expected there to be some fanfare. But at 8 o’clock when we had gone to dinner, nothing had yet been made evident. It turned out that one of our friends, the father of the family we had invited along with us, is not an evening person. As we tried to coax him into playing games, he grew evermore disinterested. To the extent that winning and losing were met with the same ‘Oh, that’s interesting’ comment. We were far too amused by his reluctant attempt to stay up until midnight to realise that nothing had happened in the village. My sister was head down on the table feeling ill with a condition that we later diagnosed as chickenpox at the age of 14 (I contracted it 2 weeks later at 17). Perhaps it was epitomising Swiss-ness, and a rowdy party was not an option for such a sleepy, usually tourist-filled village.

However, at 11.50pm, something happened. A group of about 10 or 15 people bundled into the central square with a massive speaker. They started pouring drinks, chatting and laughing. The speaker blared out ABBA, Queen and various classic songs that everyone can sing to, be they English, French or German speaking. And for 15 minutes, we laughed and drank together to welcome the new year.

By 00.10, they had cleared out. Obviously, it would not do to have a rowdy event in the town square endure for too long and upset the neighbours. They cleared themselves away, took the speaker and all the plastic cups from their champagne, and bid us good night. We were stunned, as they erased any sign of having been there at all. We walked up to the top of the village to spot fireworks being set off in far away villages and mountain chalet towns. We welcomed 2016 in the tranquillity of a Swiss village – the year that followed was anything but tranquil.

We wish you all the best for the New Year’s, and thank you as ever for your support. Please forward Words for the Weary to anyone who you feel needs a story every week! 

 

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The 4th of July

My extended family gathers on the Mississippi River each 4th of July to celebrate with fun and gluttony. These gatherings are the source of many of my favorite memories.

Anchoring the weekend is the keg – sometimes two kegs – of Miller Lite. In recent years this has been supplemented by margaritas and single malt whisky.

As the morning sun sparkles on the mighty river the breakfast pizza awaits – topped with bacon, ham, eggs, sausage. Or for the weight conscious, perhaps just a bowl of ice cream and left over Cheetos. My wife became an official member of the family one year when she came downstairs holding an ice cream bar and wine cooler at 9:30 AM. She had officially joined the dark side. There was wild cheering.

Lunch usually includes deviled eggs and ham salad – a dish that consists of neither ham, nor salad. It is ground bologna and mayonnaise with chives thrown in for roughage. You slather it on Wonderbread. An hour after ingesting this, the cottage septic system takes one vicious beating after another.

Evening favorites include fried catfish or “tacos in a bag”. The latter involves each family member with their own personal bag of Doritos. The bag is flattened, opened, and then ground beef, cheese, and tomatoes (veggies, so important) are scooped in and mixed around with the crushed Doritos. Then you just dig into the bag with a spoon. No messy cleanup!

After this we waddle to the campfire for S’mores with a side of diabetes. The campfire is the site of legendary family bonding: inappropriate fireside skits, inappropriate song and dance, inappropriate amounts of liquor. And so much 4th of July explosives that it leaves ashes in your drink.

Nearby is a small town which hosts our favorite 4th of July Parade. One year as the parade rolled past, a young lady waved from the back of a pick-up truck proudly wearing a sash that read “Clayton County Beef Queen”. Twenty minutes later the exact same girl rolled past a second time sporting a different sash that read “Clayton County Pork Queen”.  Here was true 4th of July Iowa royalty.

So too are my three lovely aunts who make the family celebration possible each year. This story is dedicated to you, with all my love and thanks. HAPPY 4TH OF JULY everyone!

 

[If you know someone else who might enjoy a lighthearted story to begin their week, kindly forward them the link to WordsfortheWeary. The more the merrier.]

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Inseparable – 05/02/2018

“What is the most reckless thing we can do today?” said my son to his best friend as they sat together in a red wagon atop a large hill. You know what happened next.

They emerged from the wreckage looking like they had been dragged across a cheese grater. In their wisdom, they were wearing helmets. In their minds, this was another glorious adventure.

My son and his best friend are inseparable. And not just in matters of self-destruction. Both are creative, kind-hearted, appropriately irreverent, tender. They love to laugh. They seldom shower. For years they lived across the street from one another. They were equally at home in both houses.

Three elements define their boyhood together: creativity, risk, and something physical like fighting, biking, sweat, or food. They often rigged lawn chairs in the upper reaches of a tree with ropes. They sat up there only two feet apart, talking on walkie-talkies. They dressed in armor with spears and shields and jousted on their scooters. They converted the back deck of an abandoned house into a pirate ship, replete with plank, gun portals, and a long section of sloping eaves trough into which they would pee. We could not sit on our sofa for years, because the cushions were perpetually used as a fort.

If you care to download it, I once received the 30 second video at the end of this post whilst at my workplace. The boys had taken our dog crate and taped it to a couple of skateboards.  Then they built a barrier out of garbage cans in our driveway. One would climb into the dog crate while the other pushed it at top speed to crash through the barrier. Who needs virtual reality when your life is this real?

One of the hardest parts about moving to Switzerland was tearing the two boys apart. As we drove away, our son’s best friend ran alongside the car all the way to the end of the block. Many months later our son broke his arm. As we sat in the waiting room of the Swiss hospital his eyes welled with tears. I asked him if the pain was too much. He shook his head. Then in reference to his best friend he said quietly, “This is my first broken arm where he isn’t here with me”.

Video:  https://wordsfortheweary.net/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/IMG_7314.mov