This weekend, we celebrated my Father in-law’s 70th birthday with a party for 100 of his closest friends and relatives.
The trick with the latter part of that sentence is my Father in-law comes from a large family and despite being married to my husband for twelve years and knowing the family for close to twenty, I still have to quiz myself (sometimes with pen, paper and stop watch) on his siblings names, their spouses, their children, their children’s children and in some cases, their children’s, children’s children. There are a lot of names to remember and I don’t often make a mistake but on occasion I’ve mixed up spouses or great grandchildren but tried my best to cover it up with a welcome hug and a genuine, “I’m happy to see you.”
This weekend was no exception.
It was a rather arduous task preparing for this event and everyone was excited though anxious about the rather unappealing weather forecast for the outdoor affair.
When the first guest arrived, I was glad to see someone with a smile, sporting cold-weather-appropriate-attire and ready to celebrate. The problem was, I didn’t recognize where she fit on the family tree but knew I should. With my cheat sheet tucked neatly into the stow-and-go-safe in the caravan, I was going to have to wing it.
I approached the woman with open arms and an uncomfortable “Nice to see you.” And it really was nice to see her as she was the first to brave the cold, windy weather. At the very least, she deserved a warm welcome.
My Father-in-law (likely witnessing the strange exchange) attempted to save me with, “Liz, this is Helen.” Though I wanted him to know I would never be at a loss for sweet Helen’s name and who could forget that adorable hat with the ear flaps. I looked as though we needed no re-introduction, Helen and I went way back and this was our moment to reconnect.
I attempted to give her a genuine, direct eyeball to eyeball welcome and a let’s-hug-it-out -friend kind of hug. She did everything in her power, not to make eye contact with me, directing her gaze around me and sideways toward the shed like I was the special helper assigned to wipe imaginary cob-webs from plastic chairs. Where’s the love Helen?
When I did give her a warm embrace, with a little extra squeeze that whispered, “I’ve missed you Helen,” I watched as she scurried toward the garage where she and her band-mate were setting up for their gig—to entertain a party of 80-100 people with their violin and keyboard. Dave, (on violin) received the same warm welcome from a complete stranger though I like to think of myself as a friend he hadn’t met.
