This week there is a ground-breaking aspect to this essay in that it is being dictated before breakfast. Of the nearly 700 essays that I have written, this is the first one to be dictated without anything in my stomach. More than anything else, this essay is to commemorate the birthday party that was given to me and attended by me on August 4th, 2012. I wish to dictate this essay before it is lost to the memory of man. If things go favorably, I will even attempt to explain the title.
As happens on many occasions, August follows July. On some occasions, August gives us the fourth day, which is the birthday of Barack Obama, as well as my own. I must observe that having the same birthday as Mr. Obama does not make me a president. But in 2012, the stars were aligned in proper order and on this August 4th, there was a party to celebrate my 90th birthday. This is something to be celebrated in view of the fact that I never expected to see my 21st birthday, my 22nd birthday, or my 23rd birthday. So you could say that I am gambling on the casino’s money.
As the date approached, we were having the house painted, not in celebration of my birthday but because the painter, whom we have known for quite a while, had to leave this country on or about August 1st. Somehow or another, Manuel, the painter, had failed to file the proper immigration papers with the United States government and he had reached the territory where he was going to be “self-deported.” I like to use the term self-deported because it shows that I am a devotee of Mitt Romney, who originated this wonderful phrase. Every day as we approached the first of August, I listened outside to determine whether Manny was here or whether he was being deported by the U.S. government or by the self-deportation system.
Manny got the house done eventually and the stage was set for the grand celebration of my 90th birthday.
The attendees were, of course, my wife, Miss Chicka, and even myself. Also in attendance was my daughter from New York, Palm Beach, and some place in Connecticut who attended with her husband, Walter Nollmann. Maureen is usually called Blondie by me.
The second daughter is called in these circles Spooky Suze, a derivation of Suzanne. She attended with her husband Carl Shepherd, the king of the IPOs.
Then there were the five grandchildren. There are two who currently live in San Francisco. They are called Connor and Kevin. Working further east, another grandson, Andrew, attends Southern Methodist University(SMU) in Dallas. Andrew and I had a lot of catching up to do on the New York Mets baseball team. Naturally there was William, whom you may recall from an essay called “Will Yam” of some years ago. William intends to attend SMU this fall.
Then we have John Eamonn VIII, who generally presides over the proceedings. You may recall that the Anglican Church was founded by the King of England who was known as Henry VIII. It has always seemed to me that John Eamonn deserves a title such as “the eighth.” I hope that takes care of any questions about the title of this monumental essay.
There were also two girlfriends who attended. There is a girl from Florida who attends Southern Methodist and she is very friendly with Andrew. The other attendee who was visiting in New Jersey appeared to know Kevin from attendance at Northwestern University.
The meal was cooked by Paulo*, who brought three assistants who served the meal. Paulo is a good friend of mine and Judy, and is considered largely as a member of the family. He comes from Brazil, with whom we have always had friendly relations.
Well, that is the cast of characters who attended the grand affair. We had several champagne toasts, which drew great praise from Paulo because he and the kitchen staff were included in them. Paulo said that he was especially flattered to be included with the family. I would have it no other way than to include Paulo and the people in the kitchen. When I drink champagne, everyone around me also drinks champagne. Everyone deserves a drink of champagne now and then.
As the event preceded, Miss Chicka, my wife, commanded the attention of the attendees to announce that I was going to make a small speech. This came as great news to me, and I could hardly wait to hear what I would say. First I thanked everyone for traveling all this distance just to have dinner with me. Then I called attention that on this day, August 4, the remnants of the WWII raid on Ploesti were finally gathered together. In 1943, I was one of those remnants.
I went forward to proclaim that I was especially proud that none of my descendants have ever succumbed to the ignorance and hide-bound bureaucracy of organized religion. I think at this point, there was another champagne toast to the non-religious nature of this gathering. Finally, I closed my speech with the thought that my descendants are well-educated and doing quite well. In that circumstance, I urged all of my descendants to reach down and help those who are struggling. I believe that to help someone who is struggling is a noble undertaking.
My speech probably took only seven minutes or so and with that the drinking and eating started.
Under the rules of Irish conduct, a grand gathering such as this one is the occasion for at least two or three fistfights. But this was a peaceful assembly who made so much noise in talking to each other that there was a din that must have been noticed by the neighbors. But it was all in a good cause.
One of the high points in the proceedings had to do with grandsons Kevin and Connor who arrived at JFK Airport. Apparently a car was sent to pick them up but the driver had instructions to avoid tolls at all cost. We became anxious about their non-appearance. A tweet was broadcast. They said that they were crossing the George Washington Bridge. In my will, I am going to give these two grandsons my globe, which will demonstrate that going through Manhattan, their driver took them about 60 miles out of their way. Now both of these grandsons are college graduates with all sorts of academic credentials. Apparently none of those credentials had to do with geography.
So at last the celebration of my 90th year drew to a close. I must say that from my standpoint it was an enjoyable occasion. It was good to see my children, their husbands, our grandchildren and their girlfriends. Now I am beginning to feel a little mellow about this occasion, which is unlike me.
You should also know that on August 1st of this year, John Eamonn reached his 15th year. So Jack as he is called and I really shared this celebration. It gives me great pleasure to announce that this affair is named after John Eamonn VIII who is our youngest grandson. I suspect that I had better quit this dictation because the young lovely women might tend to write me off as an old codger. Of course, we can’t have any such designations in the family of Carr.
E. E. CARR
August 20, 2012
Essay 685
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Kevin’s commentary:
*Names outside of my family redacted. Any family members previously unaware of this website will be made aware of it by later today, so they can yell at me if they’d like and I’ll take em down, though candidly I see no reason for them to do that.
Cab shenanigans aside, Pop’s birthday was basically awesome. Shepherd-Nollmann bickering levels were actually shockingly low, because over the years the grandchildren have gradually become better and better at stopping their parents from attempting to discuss politics. This is for the best.
One of the funnier moments for me that wasn’t mentioned here was when Pop discovered that Jen was partially of Welsh descent. He immediately played her an old Welsh poem/hymn which, while undeniably pretty, made the trainwreck music from this post seem positively cheery. He did this without much warning and watching the expressions of everyone in the room change to try to figure out what was happening was pretty priceless.
Also, I come away from this post with two new nicknames for my particular parents, which I very much enjoy. I certainly hope that this is not the first time “Spooky Suze” has been used.