IronOnline Bash 01

Sunday, July 15, 2001

Fay, Og, Doc Ray, Jamie & Len, Dave, Laree, Guy M, Dan M and Bill Frazee
Photographer: Henrik, The House — Place: Rosa's for Sunday brunch

Sunday morning we woke to dismal skies and I immediately -- immediately! -- noticed and thanked God for the most beautiful Bash day before. The fog didn't really break all day, as I recall, but I remember it being kind of nice in a restful sort of way. No energy was required or generated by the sun, so we moved in sort of half-time all day. Casual and nice.

I can't remember exactly why, but we went to the gym before going to our good-bye lunch. Good thing, too, because we saw a few people who had to head out and wouldn't be lunching with us. Said goodbye to John O, I remember, and oh no! why didn't I write this down two weeks ago??! Who else was there? Shoot! I distinctly remember at least two other people who were heading to the airport and missed lunch. Write in and remind me if it was you, would you?

Lunch was scheduled for a very casual place above the Santa Cruz Yacht Harbor. We arrived right at opening, so for a while we had the place to ourselves: Guy Miller and his brother, Dan, Bill Frazee, Len and Jamie, Dave and me, Henrik, Og/Dave and Fay, Doc... think that's all. We shoved a couple of tables together and bopped around to Jimmy Buffet and some other island music that was very pleasant on this foggy day. Food was some sort of surf-Mexican-island variety -- excellent quality, good stuff. We chattered about Bash day and had a great time.

About an hour into lunch, Og stood and announced quite loudly that he and Doc were having a beer. Since we'd had a freezer full of ice cream the day before, I don't think any of us had any idea why the announcement, but I supposed we had the necessary applause, and they enjoyed a brew.

The lunch was planned so that people who were still in town could say good-bye before heading out, but when it came right down to it, we still weren't ready.

Hmmm, guess that leaves dinner. We rounded up everyone we had seen that day, plus a call to Mike and Linda Nichols, who live nearby. (Let me very quickly add an apology to anyone we may have missed. Those at lunch or at the gym mid-afternoon were remembered; if you were around and we missed you, our apologies in advance. Or retrospect, I suppose, is more appropriate.)

Suddenly we're having thirteen people for dinner. It's mid-afternoon, and, after the week past our house is a shambles. BBQ gear is scattered throughout the house, deck and drive. And there's no food to prepare. Cleaning and shopping is in order, and now. Dave and Fay are to move to Kevin's (The Ragtop, who's still unexpectedly Down Under and has missed the Bash much to my dismay, even though it allows Og and Fay to stay in an apartment overlooking the Pacific Garden Mall -- an unparalleled vacation hideaway). It's 'round about 3pm and there are no Ragtop house keys in sight. It's Sunday, and there's also no weekend phone number and no place to find said keys.

We four stand on the sidewalk in front of Kev's and after a few short minutes, realize there's no solution. We've got to shop -- now -- and we've got to clean, soon. Since Dave and Fay have been agreeably going with the flow for a couple of days (lost credit card translates to no car rental, for starters), Dave and I shift gears and, with company in tow, head for the store and home to display our liveable chaos.

Within minutes of arrival at the junk heap we normally call home, we get the call: The keys are at the gym. Fay and I jump up and down in excitement; the guys are a bit more controlled, but not that much, really, and we get back to housecleaning, potato washing, steak seasoning and bbq trash hiding.

Fay's run the vacuum around the house, which works wonders, and people arrive in a flood. There're the thirteen of us, steaks are sizzling on the gas bbq (did I tell you to get one? I think I did. It's magic.). Uhoh, again. No place to sit. Jamie's made the green salad, Fay's potatoes have baked and Og's steaks are just about perfect. Scatter, guys, and figure out where we're eating!

Patiently awaiting dinner on the Draper deck
Og, Doc Ray, Dan Miller, Bill F, Mike Nichols

Minutes later the couches have been hauled out of the living room. The kitchen table (a long job that Dave made out of a slab of bowling alley lane, or whatever you call it) and the picnic table are connected in the middle of the room and we're styling.

Five or six hours pass and we're still lounging around this thrown-together table setup, listening to Mike describe his longevity clinic plans, watching Doc demonstrate a one-arm getup and mostly just laughing the night away. No one wants it to end, so we keep sitting there with grimy plates in front of us because we all know that when the cleanup starts, the night begins to end.

The witching hour is midnight, but only, I think, because of the airplanes and Doc's bus that leave in a few short hours. Another fabulous day for the memory bank.

Laree

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