Poor Old Michael Finnegan, Begin Again

Eleven twenty eight pm. St. Patrick's Day. Rolf is downstairs, maybe playing football on PlayStation. I'm in the sun room with d'Ohgy, listening to the stereo. The dishwasher is running, and although it's a bit dark; there is a comfortable disarray throughout the room. Some blarney stone music is playing on Mary Cliff's Tradition Show.

We went to the movies tonight and saw "Casino Royal." The last scenes take place in Venice. We held hands as James Bond passed through St. Marks Square, and past the shop where we bought our Murano glass cuff-links, and well . . . I never imagined that I'd start seeing movies and pictures that would transport us back in time to the most wonderful anniversary. Who could imagine, while watching James Bond chase a bad guy through the squares of Venice, that you'd get choked up at the memory of a twenty-fifth anniversary celebration in Venice?

Boys I'd like to know are having a wonderful time at the St. Patricks Day BlowOff at the 9:30 club. I think I'd like to go to that one day. But for now, lounging with my feet on the ottomon, a memory of olive oil on the roof of my mouth, a soft throw wrapped like a shawl around my shoulders, a vodka and soda with rapidly thawing ice next to a mess of dried flowers on the side table . . . well, there's no where else I'd rather be.

Mom is doing ok. Very ok. Pop, not so much - but that's just so different . . . well, what happened is

__________

Joy (nom-de-internet for my sister) called last week

"Vig! Mama has scheduled an MRI for Friday, so she won't be able to help with the rehearsal dinner!" (Russ and Officer Cupcake's wedding was last Saturday.) "I can't do this alone. Please, can you come and help?"

Of course, I felt lousy that she had to ask, practically beg, because I'd rather be alone looking at the view of the lake with a fifth of vodka than be sociable. . . but what the heck. Besides, I had taken a few days off from daily drunkenness.

"Daddy, and Uncle Casey and Aunt Frankie will be there at 6, but . . ." I cut her off

"Do they know I'll be there?"

"Oh, it will be fine," she says.

"It's ok with me. I love them. He's my favorite Uncle. Even if he won't be in the same room with me. "

___________

I got to the club house at noon on Friday. My sister had already arranged the tables to her liking, a wonderful job of making the tables look elegant with Party City table cloths and silk flowers that she borrowed from all the supervisor's from the courthouse. .

One of the judges had given each supervisor an arrangement of silk magnolia leaves in a gold vase. Her husband - i mean the ex-husband - oh well - because of the divorce, and his general losserness, he hadn't helped out with the rehearsal dinner - he eventually sent her a check for two hundred dollars. I was embarrassed, because I'm an elitist snob, even though Daddy only has a 7th grade education. None-the-less, I thought the party should be a treat for out of town guests, a thank you to the brides family for all the effort and money that they'd been bearing. And as such, it should be fabulous. And, I was embarrassed because I felt like I should' just pay for it. But, that didn't seem right either. I had to trust my sister, but it was hard. And who would I be kidding anyway. I can't afford it.

Anyway, there were enough flowers to put two on each banquet table. The club house is for the neighborhood; it doubles as the pool house too. The top floor has a kitchen and a club room with a fire place. Although there's not much else, it was very nice once Joy had it all set up.

Dinner menu was a spiral sliced ham, potato salad, green beans, and macaroni and cheese. I was dying.

We got all the food loaded in; I supplemented with a huge green salad. Joy and Shannon went to the rehearsal, leaving me to heat the food and lay it out. There were two ladies who had offices in the club house, and they asked me if I wanted them to lock the house when they left. I said yes, because I was in the back in the kitchen. I remember that I said to lock it. Oh . .

________

"Hello?? Hello???" a female voice asks. I stop sauteing the onions and run the maze to the front door shouting "yoo-hoo - who's is it I'll be right there" rounding the corner and running right up to my Uncle Casey.

"Why Hello! How are you doing?" he asks offering his huge hand and smiling like Ronald Reagan. I don't know that I said anything. I know I did; say something, that is. But, maybe I didn't.

That huge smile, he looks as much like my grandmother who's been gone for 30 years now, as he does look like me. We looked each other over, cataloging changes in hair, weight, height. . . and then I ran away.

oops.

I hope I said that I was going to burn the beans if I didn't hurry. But, I might not have said anything. I was kinda freaked out. I wanted to tell him that I love him. I wanted him to give me a hug. And I wanted a picture of the two of us . . . but I was so shocked at running into him like that. And over the last twenty years he has so rudely avoided me that is just shocking, so I just didn't know what to do. And it was my best chance. And I blew it.

________

"Don't panic sweetie, I'm coming in the door now"

"That's nice Rolf. See ya. "

"Wait wait, what's going on?"

"Oh, I'm just kneeling here on the floor, wrapping Russ and O.C.C.'s wedding present"

"Who's there with you"

"Well, just Daddy, Ronnie (Joy's brand new husband,) Aunt Frankie and Uncle Casey."

"Oh, My, God. You've got to be kidding me. . . "

"Mmm. having a wonderful time. . . wish you were here. . . "

(he cackles on the phone as I hang up and go back to the wrapping job. . . )

________

It never got better. Rolf got there, and we leaned against the fire place, Uncle Casey kept his back toward me at all times intensly interested in anything that Joy's husband might say. Daddy looks like a space cadet - he probably didn't have his hearing aides in. I don't know. Maybe he was just worried about Mama. Aunt Frankie kept saying, over and over again, that if the wedding party didn't arrive soon, that Mama might get there in time for dinner after all.

Mama has diabetes. She'd been on cusp of having it before the cancer, but the cancer drugs have caused her to be in the danger zone. She got a reprieve from chemo therapy, thank God, but a new medicine she just went on caused her sugar level to shoot up to an alarming coma-zone number. So, frightened by that, she had to have an MRI on her spine and liver before her doctor would consider changing the meds.

It was a very nice dinner. Buffet style, I manned the food table, and visited with Rolf and my dad and my sister, my niece, Shannon, and her husband Confederate Flag Buttcrack, who I just adore. oy.

We sat Uncle Casey and Aunt Frankie accross the room with strangers. Fuck-em. But I still tried . . . when I made a fresh pot of coffee, I offered them coffee personally. When Mama got there, about two hours later, she wanted decaf, so I made decaf and went over and offered Uncle Casey and Aunt Frankie decaf. . . Uncle Casey's big smile, did little to hide his disgust because he was being so dismissive you know? ("OH! No thank you," he says brightly as if to the kindest stranger, before looking away.) He and Daddy left early anyway. Old men need to be in bed by eight it seems.

Mama had a broken blood vein in her hand from the MRI. She kept ice on it, because she had a lump the size of a ping pong ball on the top of her hand. I don't remember what it was she was telling me, but I remember being surrounded by a party of happy people, and she was talking just to me near the buffet table, holding ice on her hand, and she was smiling and happy . . . but I could tell that she had been crying. I didn't know why.


to be continued