Smiles of a Summer Night

I wasn't going to say anything. I really wasn't. But Bill blew my cover in his blog, and then people piped up all over the place saying, "So how was the party?" Uh, who said anything about a party?

It defies description. It was the best party I've ever been to or hosted or anything, and I have my sweet BOTB to thank for that, and dear Margaret, and my other friends all of whom pitched in to make it a night to remember. You know who you are. Twinkle Girl, FlankSteak, BottleCap, SpringRoll, Cheap Lawnchair, PolishPants, KayakBoy, FabulousFungus, NatureMama and Pennsylvania Wine, to single out just a few.

The weather was perfect, sunny and clear and about 82 degrees with low humidity.photo by Jane Streett

Bill transformed our four-car garage into a performance space, draped with tapestries and colored lights.

Friends came from far and near.

He hired our very favorite band, the Patrick Sweany Band.Nope, not my photo, sadly.

Just looking at Patrick made me forget which birthday we were celebrating. He makes me feel like spring has sprung, and there's a wonderful song to be sung.

There were scallops the size of your palm, and little crab cakes, and Kobe beef in red pepper sauce, sour cherry pies and rice salad and fresh peaches from Grimm's Green Acres and cheeses and strawberries and wine and fancy beer and just every delicious thing you could think of, and this apparition chased me around all night with trays of food, asking if I wanted anything.photo by Jane Streett

There was a giant photo of me smiling down on the proceedings, just in case anyone forgot why they came. Heaven forfend. Along about ten, Patrick sang our song, Rain on the Delta.
And I told Bill how much it all meant to me.
After that, it got a little crazy, kind of Southern-fried and sweaty and hot.There was dancing, and some beers were consumed.
The Swinging Orangutangs played a few sets, too. But mostly, we partied, letting Patrick and the boys carry the music. Along about 2 AM, everybody got hungry again, but the fancy food was gone. Bill of the Burgers to the rescue. Band, front and center. I believe that this is the gig against which all the Patrick Sweany Band's future gigs will be measured.

Then it was time for jokes. I will not disclose what was discussed here, except to say that Jess and I felt very much one of the boys.
Chet Baker retired to the lap of his foster mether, Mary Jane. The faithless little sprite leapt into David and Mary Jane's car the following morning, ready for another stint at Camp Baker. They almost pulled it off, then came rolling back up the driveway with big triumphant smiles and Chet in the front seat. Hmmph.

Tents had sprung up all over Indigo Hill just before dark, and the last revelers crawled into their sleeping bags around three. Little did they know that the birds start yelling at 5:15, and the sun would cook them slowly to doneness by 7:00. Hey, we'll sleep when we're dead.

Aftermath: tomorrow.