My husband just celebrated a milestone birthday and he was not sad.
He is, of course, a bit like me when it comes to age, slightly embarrassed at being as old as he is and, therefore, wanting to forget about the whole thing.
I get that.
But, in my husband’s case, that was not going to happen.
The thing is, he is getting older, but he is not doing it alone. He not only has me, he has these three kids who decided without further ado, his birthday was cause for celebration.
And so they decided to throw him a party.
And they did not ask him.
They just did it.
They told me not to get involved, but only to supply a guest list.
I was slightly miffed and I must admit I did more than a little bit of fretting and worrying when I was informed of their decision.
I saw it all now. Things would not get done, and certainly not get done right.
“OK,” I said, somewhat haughtily. “Sounds good.”
I was pretty sure they would be calling for help along the way. I would, of course, graciously comply.
It turned out I was wrong. They did not call.
Apparently they did not want or need my help in any way, shape or form.
I pondered this greatly in my mind. I only hoped they knew what they were doing.
It turned out they did.
As far as parties go, it was the best ever. People even commented that it was ‘magical.’
Once again I found myself pondering.
“What is it that raises the elevation of a party from being just average to being really good to finally being classed as ‘magical.’?
In their song Wasn’t that a party the Irish Rovers suggested whiskey and rye as the magic ingredients.
I beg to differ, although whiskey and rye could certainly attribute to feelings of good cheer that caused people to raise a glass or two to the guest of honour.
I’m pretty sure presents don’t account for magic either, but, wow, they sure are nice.
My husband received this Google Home device that really does seem like magic. In fact, never in my entire lifetime, have I had a real, live person actually obey my instructions like this Google Home thing does.
I ask it to play music. It does. I ask it how many calories are in an apple. It tells me. I ask it to just shut up. It does.
It’s amazing.
The party is over now. The guests have gone home. My house is quiet and I finally got things put away and sorted out and some semblance of order restored.
But, in my mind’s eye, I can see it all.
Grandchildren, darting in and out of the crowd, playing hide and seek, gorging themselves on cupcakes, laughing and teasing each other. So young and so very, very precious, these tender branches of the family tree.
And I see my kids, relaxed, completely in control and acting very adult because, after all, they are.
And I see friends and relatives spilling out of the kitchen, hanging out in the living room and relaxing on the sofa downstairs. They are doing what they are supposed to be doing and doing it well.
Partying!
And I hear the music. Oh yes, the music. To me, sitting around that old piano as we belt out the oldies, but goldies in my living room trumps listening to a baby grand in a concert hall.
And, once again, as I ponder all this, I realize I have discovered what makes a magical party.
It’s all of the above!
Treena Mielke is the editor of the Rimbey Review.