26 August 2013
701
R. Linda:
Last week we had a bizarre trip to the old sod we did. We had a funeral, but we also had a coming-out party for a relative (not the kind you think). Indeed a very strange mix. We went over for the funeral on me Da's side of the family. We were told that me cousin Rachel was having a 40th birthday party and coming out party all combined in one, on me Mam's side of the family. Well, this was a bit of a dilemma it was. Rachel had planned the party for months. Me grandda, as always, decided to pass to the great beyond and steal her thunder. Yes, he did, in his typical style and on purpose. We knew he was fading, he's been in and out of hospital for months, and well, as Rachel says, "He knew damn well me big day was coomin' and he waited fur it to coom oop and decided NOW I'll Goo." Yes, that is what she said. And he probably did.
Me grandda had it in for Rachel ever since she was a wee lass of twelve. She had committed the colossal crime of eating the last gooseberry tart he had saved. Yes, me Mam had put up gooseberries (me grandda's favourite) and on a snowy day she made tarts with the last of the gooseberries. Me grandda was out to shovel snow and told her to let his keep he'd have it for a job well done later. And so she left it on the table, but Rachel, who was staying with us while her parents were away and who had already had a tart, got an extreme case of the munchies, and well, she couldn't help herself. Off she made with grandda's gooseberry tart. When he came in, chilled from the snow and looking forward to a hot cuppa and the warm tart, he found it was gone! It was a day I remember because the yelling and cursing filled the house.
At first, no one would admit to having eaten the tart, but as we all stood around the table, his eyes caught a bit of gooseberry on the side of Rachel's mouth. It was all over after that. He never forgave her, no, and he referred to her as the thief of gooseberry tarts. Yes, he did. She for her part, resented he called her out, but she did learn if she was going to filch someone else's confectionery delight, at least wipe her mouth after consuming the precious goods. As she rounded into her teens, she found her voice, and there was never a good word between them.
He, for his part, decided she had a tongue sharp as a razor and a brain that couldn't keep up with the sharpness of her tongue. This he said to HER, to her Mam and Da, and anyone who was within earshot. And to be fair, it was so; she did have a sharp tongue and acted the maggot because, being the fifth child in a house of six, she felt neglected and did some pretty hair-brained things to gain attention and to try and live her old crime down. And she was vindictive. She played all kinds of tricks on the old man because she didn't appreciate it when she and her siblings were introduced to a stranger like this, "Dese be me daughter-in-law's nieces and nephews. Dis 'ere be Kiernan da oldest and brightest, next be Eileen, who be very talented and con sing like a lark, and dis be Janet who can draw pictures like life, and dis be Brian, who is goin' ta grow inta da best footy player Ireland has ever seen, and dis here be Rachel, sharp of tongue, dull of brain, and dis last be Conan da baby who be da apple of his Mam's eye."
Rachel would stare at the old one with narrow eyes, the wee brain grinding inside that head of hers to try to think of some trick to play on him, and they weren't funny. They were always nasty tricks, so it was no wonder he introduced her as he did. This grudge between them over that gooseberry tart was very old, considering grandda was in his late nineties and Rach was about to turn 40.
Did I mention she never got married? That was another thing grandda enjoyed pointing out to strangers and would introduce her as the "spinster niece." Sometimes, the gooseberry tart incident would be aired, and each time it was, the story changed where she said she asked him if she could have it, and he, being of unsound mind, couldn't remember he said yes. Oi!
I always thought it was the attention thing she was all about. She'd be the first at a party to get up and gyrate around the dance floor by herself just so everyone would look at her. Or, she'd jump up out of her chair to throw her arms around the favourite cousin and hang on him until he physically removed her. This not because she loved him, but to make her other cousins jealous she was his favourite. And he, being one Gerard, was older than all of us and a nice-mannered bloke, so he was always gentle about removing her. Me grandda preferred a sharp rebuke if he saw the display of unwanted affection, and of course, that made her angry.
In her school years, a transformation came over Rachel as she progressed through the last bit of schooling. She wasn't smart enough for college and had no desire to better herself, so she worked as a shopgirl. She found in school that her behaviour wasn't tolerated by the "in" crowd, so she became this shy, retiring, hardly a word-to-say kind of girl. At least that was what we were told, though I thought she found underhanded ways to get the meanies back or something was very wrong with her. This was a transformation me grandda said was for the better, but he also loudly touted that the "other" lass she used to be was still in there, waiting to jump out. And, he hoped when she did show her "true colours," he'd be dead because he didn't want to be around for the re-emergence of Rachel The Rude, Eater Of Gooseberry Tarts That Didn't Belong To Her.
The last few months, he was fading; he updated his will, made sure Rachel got notta and decided he was tired of waiting her out. But then, as he lay on his deathbed (so we were told), fading in and out of consciousness, he overheard me Mam telling me Da about Rachel's coming out party. The thought of it woke his old self right up, and he asked, "When is da party?" They told his bad self, and for the next few weeks, he rallied, surprising his doctors. He told my father he was hanging on until August, just before Rachel's "big hullabaloo." Me Da knew the old geezer was not kidding.
And that's precisely what he did. He died in just enough time. His funeral would be the same day as the all-paid-for party of Rachel's. I tell ya!
Rachel was in a true dilemma. Either cancel the party and lose her money, or go ahead with it and hope no one noticed.
When told me grandda passed away, off me family set for the funeral, except the two boyos who stayed with Dragon. I knew nothing of Rachel's party, so I was thinking sombre affair, paying our respects, the family getting to see the new addition (our new wee one), doing what we could and then flying home. But that isn't exactly what happened. Upon settling in at me parent's house, I was told all about grandda's last weeks and such, a story or two that gave a laugh or a tear, as you might expect. When all that was said and done, the funeral was set for Saturday. It was also the evening of a particular party that we suddenly found ourselves invited to. Well, all was explained with "What can ye do?" after each sentence about why we all had to go despite the sombre day's activities suddenly being turned into party central.
"Wot coomin' oot?" I said to Mam. "Rachel be gay? I'd a never figured, but might explain why she couldn't find a bloke to marry?"
"Ohhh, nooo, nooo. She has been studyin' belly dance since tree yeas a-goo. And wid her 40th coomin' oop, she's decided it be now or never to debut."
I blinked, the wife blinked, and even the newborn wee one blinked.
"I have only funeral-type clothes . . . " Tonya started to say, but that was not a problem. No, it was shorts and very casual. Oh how I'd like to put the video I took on here, but I don't dare. Let me put it this way, it was the equivalent of a step up from a redneck-type party for those in the States.
"Why not Irish dance?" I asked, still blinking, "Why belly dance?"
"I dunnoo." Mam sighed. "Probably because she gits more attention?"
"Well, dere ya goo," I said realising that be precisely why.
The funeral went off in the morning and into the early afternoon. The day was filled with memories and stories that brought more laughter than tears. The one person we were spared was Uncle Iggy, who was in Dublin down for the count with the gout. I seem to think if he'd been healthy, he'd have been the star of the show, so in a way, he wasn't missed, so me grandda got the due respect.
Mam had a repast afterwards at the house, and we were packed to the rafters. Because of the PARTY that evening, everyone left early because they were invited to it as well as ourselves.
"Wouldn't you think she'd call it off being Grandda O was laid to rest today," Tonya mused.
"Nah, we are tahking Rachel," me Da said with a hint of anger. "But I do know fer sure dat me Da purposely held off dyin' just so he could get sum coom' uppin's on Rachel."
And he did. The party-goers were not in the excited mood Rachel had hoped for. No, they were still talking about grandda and telling stories of his life. There was nothing to be done, so she ignored any reference to the old man and acted like there never had been a funeral that day, HER day, the birthday.
The party was held in the local hall, there was a DJ, and the food was being put out by the caterer. There was a pink tiger-striped high-heeled shoe on each table filled with chocolate kisses and a pink champagne glass filled with pink peppermint breath mints. Such a combination. There was a cash bar, which we all needed, and served drinks at the equivalent of what would be $6.00 a drink. Tips accepted.
The DJ was a transplant from Brixton over in London, and he had a voice and laugh like the bloke who does the Old Spice Commercials. You've seen him on the white horse, I'm sure. This DJ was dressed to lady kill, I'll tell ya that much. He spun out some tunes that gave me pause. But let's face it, the birthday girl was turning 40, so the tunes were probably the ones she grew up on. We had a lot of YMCA and the Village People, I'm A Scatman, Play That Funky Music White Boy, Funky Town, even Elvis's Blue Hawaii, and several tunes from Grease and the Bee Gees. The music got louder as the evening wore on, and I think I be still a bit deaf from it.
I noticed that me relatives from the west of the country are so used to Irish dance they'd try dancing to say the Bee Gee's Staying Alive, making the whole session on the floor look quite a bit bizarre. I wanted to shout to me cousin Sean to just "STOP IT, STOP IT NOW, you look the right arse, ye can't Irish dance to disco." But I let him go on, he wasn't the only one making a fool out of themselves.
I could kick meself because the beefy among us got up to do a dance. I'd never seen this unusual dance they sort of attempted before. I was told it was something called the Electric Slide. Everyone had a different step and sometimes would come together in sync, but more oft than not, they were doing their own thing until finally, the DJ got out there and had them follow him, and then we had something going. I tell ya! I took a video, but it was too painful to watch, so I deleted it. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have and just sent it to you for a laugh.
While the music played, and most danced, the rest went to the buffet or the bar, or both, as in me own case. Our immediate side of the family refrained from dancing out of respect for Grandda's memory. The rest were up and down, in step, out of step and basically all with left feet. And the baby was passed around from one table to the next. At one point, I didn't know where he was. It was becoming more HIS party than Rachel's.
As the evening wore on, we had made it up to the song, I Like to Move It, Move It, and Wolfie's all-time most detestable song, I heard Blurred Lines. These two were played after every other song. They kept being requested and I found out later by Aunt Eugenie, Uncle Iggy's ex-wife. WHY I want to know she's nearly 100 years old! I thought Mozart might be more her style, but apparently, no, she likes Robin Thicke. Who knew?
The big reveal finally came. Rachel's belly dance instructor would dance with her to calm her nerves. We were taking bets all night on whether a heavy-set, dark-haired woman was the instructor. I will say she could wiggle and move her hips like no one else, so we were convinced, but no, it was the buxom blond in the long black dress! There was a twitter of excitement as that woman and Rachel left to change. I was thinking disaster waiting to happen, but at least the instructor could dance surely. And let's face it, who wants to see their cousin half-dressed, gyrating around the room in a come hither fashion? Not this guy. I was ready to poke me eyes out.
The Middle Eastern music began that throbbing beat. First, the tall instructor came all veiled, moving sensually to the front of the room, followed by me short cousin, also with a veil but not moving sensually, more like skipping along behind her. Oi!
The instructor started to dance, and after some very halting moves, Rachel got the hang of it. A second song came in on the last strains of the first, and she got a bit better and less inhibited. My Da got the instructor's breasts rubbed down the back of his head; he was smiling, but Mam looked horrified. Then, the music changed from Middle Eastern to Bollywood. You know, that high-pitched singing that is a lot faster. It was surreal. Even the disco ball changed to colours and the place was awash in darting coloured lights as people were encouraged to come up and try to dance along with the belly dancers. It was chaos! Our table stayed put, eyes wide as saucers watching Aunt Kathleen shimmy and shake her 80-year-old self and Uncle Jack wiggling his hips, his hands in the air making small circles as he moved around me cousin Miriam, who is near 40 herself, doing some kind of belly rolls that were just bloody dreadful. She looked like she was about to hurl. I mean, really!
Later, when the belly dancing stopped, the chaos subsided to the usual suspects on the floor dancing, if you can call it that, to the Bee Gees singing, Tragedy, which it was.
"I notice that here, like when we were on the tour of Ireland, all you hear is American music," Tonya said. "Except for Blurred Lines."
"I know. What can I say? I don't know why it is, maybe because there are so many Irish who moved to America that when they come back, they bring the American ways back with them." But she was right; it was almost like being back home except for the accents.
Before the night was out Tonya did get up and dance with our new wee one. She looks very well for having a baby two weeks ago, I will say. And as for Rachel, well, the evening might now have been all hers that me Grandda wasn't discussed about the room. She finally danced publicly for the first time, and though I think she needs to stick to her lessons, she overcame this so-called shyness. Oh yes, she did. Once it was over and everyone was out on the floor, she didn't want to change out of her costume. No, she was enjoying the attention. The more she was asked to bust a move or do this or that, the more relaxed and animated she became.
Because we were knackered about it and had finally got the baby back, we were the first ones to leave. I have to wonder about Rachel. She was afraid she had rented the hall for 100 people and thought no more than 20 would come (that is how most of us were talked into attending). There were 100, if not more, who came (and that was only because they had come to the funeral), and while I wondered who would throw themselves a birthday party plus dance debut, I did notice Rachel's set of wheels. It is a supercharged Audi TT roadster, a bright red convertible with two black racing stripes from bonnet to boot. Not bad for a shop girl, which I found out she isn't, she manages a chain of stores now. Shy me arse. I think that was a ploy to get grandda off her arse.
She isn't as brain sparse as grandda thought after all. Nothing had really changed but the face she put to me side of the family just to keep the unwanted kind of attention off the crazy stuff she was doing all along.
For us, it was a trip like no other. Who goes to a funeral and a party all in one day? We do because we like to move it, move it, move it!
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Last week we had a bizarre trip to the old sod we did. We had a funeral, but we also had a coming-out party for a relative (not the kind you think). Indeed a very strange mix. We went over for the funeral on me Da's side of the family. We were told that me cousin Rachel was having a 40th birthday party and coming out party all combined in one, on me Mam's side of the family. Well, this was a bit of a dilemma it was. Rachel had planned the party for months. Me grandda, as always, decided to pass to the great beyond and steal her thunder. Yes, he did, in his typical style and on purpose. We knew he was fading, he's been in and out of hospital for months, and well, as Rachel says, "He knew damn well me big day was coomin' and he waited fur it to coom oop and decided NOW I'll Goo." Yes, that is what she said. And he probably did.
Me grandda had it in for Rachel ever since she was a wee lass of twelve. She had committed the colossal crime of eating the last gooseberry tart he had saved. Yes, me Mam had put up gooseberries (me grandda's favourite) and on a snowy day she made tarts with the last of the gooseberries. Me grandda was out to shovel snow and told her to let his keep he'd have it for a job well done later. And so she left it on the table, but Rachel, who was staying with us while her parents were away and who had already had a tart, got an extreme case of the munchies, and well, she couldn't help herself. Off she made with grandda's gooseberry tart. When he came in, chilled from the snow and looking forward to a hot cuppa and the warm tart, he found it was gone! It was a day I remember because the yelling and cursing filled the house.
At first, no one would admit to having eaten the tart, but as we all stood around the table, his eyes caught a bit of gooseberry on the side of Rachel's mouth. It was all over after that. He never forgave her, no, and he referred to her as the thief of gooseberry tarts. Yes, he did. She for her part, resented he called her out, but she did learn if she was going to filch someone else's confectionery delight, at least wipe her mouth after consuming the precious goods. As she rounded into her teens, she found her voice, and there was never a good word between them.
He, for his part, decided she had a tongue sharp as a razor and a brain that couldn't keep up with the sharpness of her tongue. This he said to HER, to her Mam and Da, and anyone who was within earshot. And to be fair, it was so; she did have a sharp tongue and acted the maggot because, being the fifth child in a house of six, she felt neglected and did some pretty hair-brained things to gain attention and to try and live her old crime down. And she was vindictive. She played all kinds of tricks on the old man because she didn't appreciate it when she and her siblings were introduced to a stranger like this, "Dese be me daughter-in-law's nieces and nephews. Dis 'ere be Kiernan da oldest and brightest, next be Eileen, who be very talented and con sing like a lark, and dis be Janet who can draw pictures like life, and dis be Brian, who is goin' ta grow inta da best footy player Ireland has ever seen, and dis here be Rachel, sharp of tongue, dull of brain, and dis last be Conan da baby who be da apple of his Mam's eye."
Rachel would stare at the old one with narrow eyes, the wee brain grinding inside that head of hers to try to think of some trick to play on him, and they weren't funny. They were always nasty tricks, so it was no wonder he introduced her as he did. This grudge between them over that gooseberry tart was very old, considering grandda was in his late nineties and Rach was about to turn 40.
Did I mention she never got married? That was another thing grandda enjoyed pointing out to strangers and would introduce her as the "spinster niece." Sometimes, the gooseberry tart incident would be aired, and each time it was, the story changed where she said she asked him if she could have it, and he, being of unsound mind, couldn't remember he said yes. Oi!
I always thought it was the attention thing she was all about. She'd be the first at a party to get up and gyrate around the dance floor by herself just so everyone would look at her. Or, she'd jump up out of her chair to throw her arms around the favourite cousin and hang on him until he physically removed her. This not because she loved him, but to make her other cousins jealous she was his favourite. And he, being one Gerard, was older than all of us and a nice-mannered bloke, so he was always gentle about removing her. Me grandda preferred a sharp rebuke if he saw the display of unwanted affection, and of course, that made her angry.
In her school years, a transformation came over Rachel as she progressed through the last bit of schooling. She wasn't smart enough for college and had no desire to better herself, so she worked as a shopgirl. She found in school that her behaviour wasn't tolerated by the "in" crowd, so she became this shy, retiring, hardly a word-to-say kind of girl. At least that was what we were told, though I thought she found underhanded ways to get the meanies back or something was very wrong with her. This was a transformation me grandda said was for the better, but he also loudly touted that the "other" lass she used to be was still in there, waiting to jump out. And, he hoped when she did show her "true colours," he'd be dead because he didn't want to be around for the re-emergence of Rachel The Rude, Eater Of Gooseberry Tarts That Didn't Belong To Her.
The last few months, he was fading; he updated his will, made sure Rachel got notta and decided he was tired of waiting her out. But then, as he lay on his deathbed (so we were told), fading in and out of consciousness, he overheard me Mam telling me Da about Rachel's coming out party. The thought of it woke his old self right up, and he asked, "When is da party?" They told his bad self, and for the next few weeks, he rallied, surprising his doctors. He told my father he was hanging on until August, just before Rachel's "big hullabaloo." Me Da knew the old geezer was not kidding.
And that's precisely what he did. He died in just enough time. His funeral would be the same day as the all-paid-for party of Rachel's. I tell ya!
Rachel was in a true dilemma. Either cancel the party and lose her money, or go ahead with it and hope no one noticed.
When told me grandda passed away, off me family set for the funeral, except the two boyos who stayed with Dragon. I knew nothing of Rachel's party, so I was thinking sombre affair, paying our respects, the family getting to see the new addition (our new wee one), doing what we could and then flying home. But that isn't exactly what happened. Upon settling in at me parent's house, I was told all about grandda's last weeks and such, a story or two that gave a laugh or a tear, as you might expect. When all that was said and done, the funeral was set for Saturday. It was also the evening of a particular party that we suddenly found ourselves invited to. Well, all was explained with "What can ye do?" after each sentence about why we all had to go despite the sombre day's activities suddenly being turned into party central.
"Wot coomin' oot?" I said to Mam. "Rachel be gay? I'd a never figured, but might explain why she couldn't find a bloke to marry?"
"Ohhh, nooo, nooo. She has been studyin' belly dance since tree yeas a-goo. And wid her 40th coomin' oop, she's decided it be now or never to debut."
I blinked, the wife blinked, and even the newborn wee one blinked.
"I have only funeral-type clothes . . . " Tonya started to say, but that was not a problem. No, it was shorts and very casual. Oh how I'd like to put the video I took on here, but I don't dare. Let me put it this way, it was the equivalent of a step up from a redneck-type party for those in the States.
"Why not Irish dance?" I asked, still blinking, "Why belly dance?"
"I dunnoo." Mam sighed. "Probably because she gits more attention?"
"Well, dere ya goo," I said realising that be precisely why.
The funeral went off in the morning and into the early afternoon. The day was filled with memories and stories that brought more laughter than tears. The one person we were spared was Uncle Iggy, who was in Dublin down for the count with the gout. I seem to think if he'd been healthy, he'd have been the star of the show, so in a way, he wasn't missed, so me grandda got the due respect.
Mam had a repast afterwards at the house, and we were packed to the rafters. Because of the PARTY that evening, everyone left early because they were invited to it as well as ourselves.
"Wouldn't you think she'd call it off being Grandda O was laid to rest today," Tonya mused.
"Nah, we are tahking Rachel," me Da said with a hint of anger. "But I do know fer sure dat me Da purposely held off dyin' just so he could get sum coom' uppin's on Rachel."
And he did. The party-goers were not in the excited mood Rachel had hoped for. No, they were still talking about grandda and telling stories of his life. There was nothing to be done, so she ignored any reference to the old man and acted like there never had been a funeral that day, HER day, the birthday.
The party was held in the local hall, there was a DJ, and the food was being put out by the caterer. There was a pink tiger-striped high-heeled shoe on each table filled with chocolate kisses and a pink champagne glass filled with pink peppermint breath mints. Such a combination. There was a cash bar, which we all needed, and served drinks at the equivalent of what would be $6.00 a drink. Tips accepted.
The DJ was a transplant from Brixton over in London, and he had a voice and laugh like the bloke who does the Old Spice Commercials. You've seen him on the white horse, I'm sure. This DJ was dressed to lady kill, I'll tell ya that much. He spun out some tunes that gave me pause. But let's face it, the birthday girl was turning 40, so the tunes were probably the ones she grew up on. We had a lot of YMCA and the Village People, I'm A Scatman, Play That Funky Music White Boy, Funky Town, even Elvis's Blue Hawaii, and several tunes from Grease and the Bee Gees. The music got louder as the evening wore on, and I think I be still a bit deaf from it.
I noticed that me relatives from the west of the country are so used to Irish dance they'd try dancing to say the Bee Gee's Staying Alive, making the whole session on the floor look quite a bit bizarre. I wanted to shout to me cousin Sean to just "STOP IT, STOP IT NOW, you look the right arse, ye can't Irish dance to disco." But I let him go on, he wasn't the only one making a fool out of themselves.
I could kick meself because the beefy among us got up to do a dance. I'd never seen this unusual dance they sort of attempted before. I was told it was something called the Electric Slide. Everyone had a different step and sometimes would come together in sync, but more oft than not, they were doing their own thing until finally, the DJ got out there and had them follow him, and then we had something going. I tell ya! I took a video, but it was too painful to watch, so I deleted it. In hindsight, I probably shouldn't have and just sent it to you for a laugh.
While the music played, and most danced, the rest went to the buffet or the bar, or both, as in me own case. Our immediate side of the family refrained from dancing out of respect for Grandda's memory. The rest were up and down, in step, out of step and basically all with left feet. And the baby was passed around from one table to the next. At one point, I didn't know where he was. It was becoming more HIS party than Rachel's.
As the evening wore on, we had made it up to the song, I Like to Move It, Move It, and Wolfie's all-time most detestable song, I heard Blurred Lines. These two were played after every other song. They kept being requested and I found out later by Aunt Eugenie, Uncle Iggy's ex-wife. WHY I want to know she's nearly 100 years old! I thought Mozart might be more her style, but apparently, no, she likes Robin Thicke. Who knew?
The big reveal finally came. Rachel's belly dance instructor would dance with her to calm her nerves. We were taking bets all night on whether a heavy-set, dark-haired woman was the instructor. I will say she could wiggle and move her hips like no one else, so we were convinced, but no, it was the buxom blond in the long black dress! There was a twitter of excitement as that woman and Rachel left to change. I was thinking disaster waiting to happen, but at least the instructor could dance surely. And let's face it, who wants to see their cousin half-dressed, gyrating around the room in a come hither fashion? Not this guy. I was ready to poke me eyes out.
The Middle Eastern music began that throbbing beat. First, the tall instructor came all veiled, moving sensually to the front of the room, followed by me short cousin, also with a veil but not moving sensually, more like skipping along behind her. Oi!
The instructor started to dance, and after some very halting moves, Rachel got the hang of it. A second song came in on the last strains of the first, and she got a bit better and less inhibited. My Da got the instructor's breasts rubbed down the back of his head; he was smiling, but Mam looked horrified. Then, the music changed from Middle Eastern to Bollywood. You know, that high-pitched singing that is a lot faster. It was surreal. Even the disco ball changed to colours and the place was awash in darting coloured lights as people were encouraged to come up and try to dance along with the belly dancers. It was chaos! Our table stayed put, eyes wide as saucers watching Aunt Kathleen shimmy and shake her 80-year-old self and Uncle Jack wiggling his hips, his hands in the air making small circles as he moved around me cousin Miriam, who is near 40 herself, doing some kind of belly rolls that were just bloody dreadful. She looked like she was about to hurl. I mean, really!
Later, when the belly dancing stopped, the chaos subsided to the usual suspects on the floor dancing, if you can call it that, to the Bee Gees singing, Tragedy, which it was.
"I notice that here, like when we were on the tour of Ireland, all you hear is American music," Tonya said. "Except for Blurred Lines."
"I know. What can I say? I don't know why it is, maybe because there are so many Irish who moved to America that when they come back, they bring the American ways back with them." But she was right; it was almost like being back home except for the accents.
Before the night was out Tonya did get up and dance with our new wee one. She looks very well for having a baby two weeks ago, I will say. And as for Rachel, well, the evening might now have been all hers that me Grandda wasn't discussed about the room. She finally danced publicly for the first time, and though I think she needs to stick to her lessons, she overcame this so-called shyness. Oh yes, she did. Once it was over and everyone was out on the floor, she didn't want to change out of her costume. No, she was enjoying the attention. The more she was asked to bust a move or do this or that, the more relaxed and animated she became.
Because we were knackered about it and had finally got the baby back, we were the first ones to leave. I have to wonder about Rachel. She was afraid she had rented the hall for 100 people and thought no more than 20 would come (that is how most of us were talked into attending). There were 100, if not more, who came (and that was only because they had come to the funeral), and while I wondered who would throw themselves a birthday party plus dance debut, I did notice Rachel's set of wheels. It is a supercharged Audi TT roadster, a bright red convertible with two black racing stripes from bonnet to boot. Not bad for a shop girl, which I found out she isn't, she manages a chain of stores now. Shy me arse. I think that was a ploy to get grandda off her arse.
She isn't as brain sparse as grandda thought after all. Nothing had really changed but the face she put to me side of the family just to keep the unwanted kind of attention off the crazy stuff she was doing all along.
For us, it was a trip like no other. Who goes to a funeral and a party all in one day? We do because we like to move it, move it, move it!
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
