The Block Party

Years ago, before I moved to the farm and when my parents still lived there, the neighbor across the street gave a block party. A block in my neighborhood is not like a block in a city. Let me descibe the guest list to you guys. I will not use real names so I do not get myself in trouble.

My mom and step father were there. He was a prison minister/farmer and she was a poet/retired nurse. I was the newly divorced daughter.

The neighbor from the corner lot and his wfe showed up. He was a cattle rancher that was semi retired. He jogs every morning in his shortie shorts. The wife is a doctor. Rumor has it that he inherited and she told him the only way she would live here is if her home looked like a picture postcard. She has a yellow mansion surrounded by a white fence. Beautiful.

The next guest was the alcoholic neighbor that bought ten acres off my step father years ago. He had already been drinking.

The hostess and her farm hand aka lover were there as well.

She had out done herself. We had the party outside in her pasture. She had hired a chuck wagon and a country band. She had also tols my mother she could read some poetry. Oh my …

My mother and step father drove me over in the Caddy. My mother had on her party suit; boots, western skirt, western shirt with silver colar and tons of turquoise oh and did I mention the silver concho belt and the blue felt cowgirl hat. She was something. She had my step father pull the cadillac up to the center of where everyone was seated. He said no but she insisted because she was handicapped. Oh My…

We got out of the car and proceeded to get food and drinks. Everything was great until I realized I was seated next to the alcoholic. He was every bit of 80 years old. He said he heard I was single and offered to  “take me in”. No thank you sir. My mother told me I missed the opportunity to get my step father’s 10 acres back. Oh My…

So my mother took the center stage for her poetry reading when the band took a break. She knows her words by heart and is very dramatic. She is a good poet. .. but not everyone likes poetry. She kept on and on and on. Oh my….

Our hostess took me aside and told me I had to get Mom off the stage. The hostess was paying good money for the band. Oh my… I had to hurt my mothers feelings.

Mom was horrified. We packed ourselves in that Cadillac and high tailed it back home. Oh my.