(I DID have some heirloom ring jewelry re-created - by a real jeweler. I mention this b/c a) it wasn't mine, 2) I'm clueless in this arena and 3) it meant a lot to the little girl-recipients to have something - besides me - that can be legitimately labeled an "antiquity". In fact, whilst entertaining myself with the aforementioned activities, I've also been delving into the history/potential value of some "antiquities" which have been in my possession but either forgotten or ignored for years until "the Economy" became such a hot issue.)
You know, I was truly surprised at the high temps on ole Beantown when we flew up for Mia's party. Of course the tykes felt nothing but wet joy, and we hydrated them often, but they jumped in that plastic sauna for at least 4 hrs. Ah,
youth and energy and that elusive ability to sustain arduous activities for extended periods of time. Even more stunning was the recovery made by The Recliner, once home again, with wrenched back-that-he-does-not-need-evaluated, who, knowing the "R"-word party was upon us, rallied after a mere six days, rising quite early on THE day, running - metaphorically - errands, tending to medical review reports, answering correspondence, well, obviously a tad anxious. But when the children - ours - arrived to fetch us, they were glowing, SO excited and obviously anxious to get going because they had arranged for - TA-DAH! - BOB. This gentleman, along - actually beside - his limo - awaited us in our driveway. Photo-op extraordinaire. Bob was great - @ pictures, music, stocked bar. Bob was The Man and, thank fully, The Recliner actually seemed to relax as we S-L-O-W-L-Y made our way to a quaint, ocean side, restaurant where, upstairs, the "Party Room" - where the stunning view of the ocean and loving friends and colleagues waited to greet - and HONOR - him. That it was deserving is a given. That they got him there will go down as the most memorable accomplishment in the history of his Emergency Medicine
group.
(This grouping of antiquities to which I referred includes a pair of caduceus-shaped, black, Civil War-era andirons. They were given to me many years ago by a close, VERY Southern, friend. She told me that they'd belonged to her great-grandmother. It seems that when this gentile lady got word that General Sherman was a-marchin' South, she kept her wits about her and post-haste buried them - the andirons - in the back yard - along with the family silver. Needless to say, yours truly has been all about researching this noble tale. More specifically, the research has focused on andirons - "firedogs" to you historians - Civil War decorative architecture, iron art and the like. As I relayed to KD via email today - you'll be saddened to know she thinks she's losing her hearing. Naturally, this awareness makes me use 20 pt. type and bold fonts when I write to her - like she'll better get the message - because I just KNOW she'll be able to either encourage my pursuit OR see through the hyperbole of Some Southern women and tell me that most likely great granny's tail remained seated in the wake of this hysterical rumor.)
So many stories were told about so many personal, moving exchanges with OUR doctor on the occasion of his "R"-word party that I hesitate to begin lest I repeat the cry-fest that it occasioned. It was at the same time moving and sad for him. But. The kids carried the night - again - re: moving. You see, when the last of us were outside again, in the circular driveway, - of all things, talking about the movie "What About Bob?" - I looked beyond one of the kids and saw a white, shining, 1910, mint-condition Rolls Royce with - seated behind a steering wheel that had been installed on the wrong side of the vehicle - BOB, "at-our-service." Naturally I shouted - to no one, "That's the way WE roll!" - only to be silenced by happy nods in blissful affirmation. The doc was overwhelmed. More pictures. TRES twenties posing, seated on fenders, standing on bumpers, leaning from running boards. Absolutely exquisite stuff. And then the S-L-O-W ride home with BOB instructing us on how to waive to the peasants! Great fun on a night that COULD have tumbled into melancholy.
(I 'd like to think that - knowing Ivey - her great-grandmother DID indeed clutch at her hooped skirt, petticoats be damned and plunge through the gahden to stealthily secret the Family Treasures - AND her husband's tribute to his noble, honored and well-executed medical profession. Else why even speak of such a fuss?)
Fortunately, the fussing went on here - what with the FOURTH B-day of yet another curly-haired grandpeep/princess. Emma was royally hospitable to her invited subjects and a GRAND time was had by all the following weekend at HER fete. I DO wish you could have seen her "retired" grand Dads lapping up the cake and ice cream - and beginning to enjoy the BREAK and the change. Later, Lorane. . . . .
