The Longest Christmas Letter Ever, Part 2

JoAnna and I host what must be our 12th annual Bastille Day party

Thursday, July 12
Today marks the start of a four-day vacation for JoAnna. Even though she didn’t join me on a morning walk today, she got out of bed at least 15 minutes before I did. I hit the snooze alarm twice before finding the energy to move more than my right arm.
When I left the house, JoAnna was sitting on our new upholstered chair and reading the newspaper, her feet stretched out on the ottoman. She looked very comfortable. By the time I returned, though, she was busily working away in the kitchen, mixing the batter for chocolate tortes

My work schedule didn’t allow me to take off the entire day. And this happens every year right before our big party. The Dane County librarians always meet on the second Thursday of every odd-numbered month. It’s not as if going to work today required a huge sacrifice on my party. The way that JoAnna and I have organized and streamlined the planning for Bastille Day, there’s no longer a need for us to have every minute of Thursday and Friday reserved for party planning.

For example, I used to wait until Saturday morning to buy the soda, water, and beer, but the first two beverages are already taken care of. (Almost. And we always purchase the wine way in advance.) It wasn’t that long ago when from early Thursday morning through late Saturday afternoon seemed like a rush of nonstop, hellbent motion. We could barely settle ourselves down for a good night’s sleep.

Practice makes perfect, as they say.

Friday, July 13.

Yesterday seemed like one of the longest days of my life – but in a very positive sense. Leisurely, productive, rewarding.

On the drive home from my series of meetings, I stopped at Target to buy four 12-packs of soda – 2 diet Coke, 1 Coke, and 1 Fresca – to add to our current inventory. Sierra Mist is the only other offering on the menu. Up until two years ago, we used to have up to 10 varieties of soda on hand. It became too much of a chore for the bartenders (Larry, Andy, and Eddie) when the coolers needed to be organized. And the more choices you offer to people, the longest it takes them to make a decision.

Same with the beer. I used to purchase as many Canadian and French beers as I could get my hands on. (And believe me, it’s not easy to find French beer!) As of last year, we limit the number of choices to two: Sleeman’s and Labatt’s Blue. (Three, if you separate Labatt’s Blue regular from Labatt’s Blue light.)
I also stopped at Johansen’s, now our preferred nursery for buying plants, and bought a flat of begonias for $10. The pansies we planted in containers – or in the ground, for that matter – haven’t done well at all. We used to have rotten luck with petunias, but this year they’re thriving with big, beautiful purple and white blooms.
JoAnna parents arrived around 6:00 yesterday. An hour later, we enjoyed a family meal – the boys included, of course – on the patio. The main entrée was marinated flank steak on the grill. The two large slabs of meat I had purchased earlier in the day proved to be just enough for the six of us. With perfect weather and no bugs to harass us, we stayed outside until dusk.

Later in the day

I spent an hour and a half shopping for beer this morning. One brand. Sleeman’s Honey Brown lager.

Last year at this time, I discovered that this Canadian “craft beer” is not available in as many liquor stores as it used to be.

“We don’t carry it anymore,” clerks would reply when I asked for this specific brand. “It didn’t sell that well,” they all added.

Can I be the only person in the Madison area who buys this beer? I asked myself.

Because of its clean, zesty, slightly sweet taste, I refer to it as “the nectar of the gods.”

I would have been better off had I reversed my course. I drove all the way to the UW-Madison campus area, making a total of four stops, before visiting the two most likely locations, both of them located near West Towne Mall. At Apollo Liquors, part of Cub Foods, I bought all the Sleeman’s they had available: 6 six-packs. At Woodman’s, I grabbed another 6 six-packs, leaving just one on the refrigerated shelf. (It won’t be a problem if we have any leftovers!
This extended search might be seen as a wasteful effort in light of current gas prices -- $3.29 in the Madison area. But it gave me a chance to listen to two chapters of an audiobook. Lately I’ve been in a nonfiction mood. Earlier this week I finished True North, which attempts to set the record straight regarding the controversy over who was the first to reach the North Pole. Robert Peary, on whom the honor was initially bestowed, comes across as an insufferable egomaniac who worked relentlessly to discredit his rival, Frederick Cook. Based on historical documents now available to researchers, Cook is now considered to be the true discoverer. =

I’m currently listening to Mayflower, which is not about the street on which we live. It tells the story – minus all the mythology that has developed through the centuries – of the voyage of the Mayflower in 1620 and the settling of Plymouth colony.

The two most interesting pieces of information so far?

The Pilgrims had been given title to land near the mouth of the Hudson River. Massachusetts was not their destination.

Since none of the Pilgrims knew how to sail, they hired a ship and crew for their Atlantic passage. (I don’t know why I would have assumed it was just the Pilgrims on the boat.) The sailors who accompanied the Pilgrims on this arduous journey were a profane and unsympathetic lot.

Needless to say, the book reaffirms the fact that what is taught about the Pilgrims in grade school is primarily fiction, right down to Plymouth Rock itself.

Sunday, July 15
The party’s over, but there’s still more clean-up to be done this afternoon. The largest and the messiest tasks, though, have been taken care of, and I’m just in the mood for a little downtime.

At 6:30, I was the first to get out of bed this morning. By the time Larry made an appearance, I had cleared most of the area under the 20' x 20' canopy tent that we rent. He then helped me dismantle it. By 9:30, I had loaded the Matrix with the two 8' x 30" tables, 30 folding chairs, and the three bags holding the stakes, poles, and tent itself. Using a borrowed truck, I made a second trip to A to Z Rent-Alls to return four 60" round tables.

When I returned home the second time, JoAnna’s aunts (Marie and Shirley) and cousin (Mary) had joined the kitchen crew, cleaning most of the stuff that Shirley had missed the previous evening. In a way, this year’s Bastille Day party proved to be a mini Richard reunion as nearly a dozen relatives made an appearance, most of them for the first time.

The party itself continued our very successful tradition. We had perfect weather – a temperature of 80º at 5 o’clock, with a gentle breeze and not a single bug the entire evening. Our guests included the usual eclectic mix of people. Even though we had provided seating for 70, we still had to scrounge up a couple of seats at 6:15. Nobody kept count, but I’d guess the total number of guests exceeded 100. No surprise then that most of the food disappeared well before 9:00. We also went through 24 bottles of wine, not to mention 4 cases of beer. As usual, I just nibbled on a few things, spending most of my time greeting our guests and making the rounds

of all the seating areas. It’s by far my favorite evening of the summer, if not the year.

So many people tell us that they consider our Bastille Day event “the party of the year”.

JoAnna is a bit indisposed, if you will, today. She had a little bit too much “fun” last night. Around 9:30-10:00, while I was talking with the Hellenbrands (across-the-street neighbors), the Novinskis (parents of Tyler and Garrett, who are our boys’ ages) and Kathy Farrell (Drew’s mom), we heard continuous peals of raucous laughter coming from under the canopy. JoAnna and Cindy were holding forth with a group of mainly DWD folks. I wouldn’t be surprised if most of this group is also nursing a hangover today.

As for me, I limited my consumption to six bottle of Sleeman’s (Golden Honey Lager) over a period of six hours. The risk for me was drinking on a mostly empty stomach, but three aspirin and a glass of cold water helped me to wake up feeling refreshed this morning.

Monday, July 16
Bastille Day follow-up.

I neglected to mention a highly charged incident – in more ways than one – that took play on Saturday afternoon, less than an hour before the start of our party.

At the time, I was enjoying a “calm-before-the-storm” moment with JoAnna’s dad, as he completed the final preparations for the bar area. All of a sudden, we heard my name called out – rather loudly and urgently – from the utility room door. Once I reached the kitchen, JoAnna greeted me with the bad news.

“We blew a fuse,” she announced with some distress. “The oven’s not working,” she added.

And here I thought we were going to avoid this crisis.

Early last week, I called Steve Parks, an electrician who’s done quite a bit of work for us, for some advice. Last year we experienced blown fuses twice – at the beginning of Andy’s graduation party and our Bastille Day party. We solved the problem by putting the three Nesco roasters on different circuits. (Note that it took us two sessions to learn the lesson.) Steve’s short-term advice was to do what we had already done. His long-term recommendation is to upgrade our electrical system to 200 amps, which, in retrospect, we should have done in conjunction with the kitchen remodel.

(Shouldawouldacoulda.)

On Saturday we set up the Nescos on the separate-circuit plan without incident. Unintentionally, of course, Cindy trumped our efforts by plugging two Fry Daddy deep fryers into the same outlet. The zap occurred as soon as the second cord was plugged in. We reset a circuit breaker and checked the fuses, which I coded according to room and appliance, but nothing we did brought back power to three of the four outlets along the north wall of the kitchen. We were amazed that the stove was the only thing affected. Curiously, the microwave, which is positioned directly above the stove, continued to operate.

The stove, of course, was being used to heat up some of the entrees – the tortiere (French meat pie) tortes and the crawfish turnovers.

“Check with Karen and Dave,” I suggested to JoAnna.

“I’m sure they’d be willing to help us out.”

(Last year they stayed an hour after the party to help us clean up the kitchen.)

Luckily for us, they had just returned home after being away all day. At first, JoAnna hesitated but then quickly realized she had no other immediate options.

I escorted her cousin Mary, carrying a baking pan filled with 48 tortes, across the street, where Karen was waiting for us at her front door.

Once I was back in the kitchen, we moved the stove away from the wall so we could plug the cord in another outlet. As a result, we were without the services of the oven for just 10 minutes – a very significant gap, nonetheless, right before the start of the party.

This evening, when I opened the oven door to place a meatball casserole on the rack, I made a surprising discovery. There sat two baking pans filled with crawfish turnovers – nearly 60 of them. Ironically, there weren’t even missed as we had about a dozen left over in a chafing dish at the end of the party. I guess this is a recipe that JoAnna didn’t need to double – which is what she did this year.

“And last year we ran out of them,” JoAnna recalled.

Monday, July 23

At 10:00 this morning, JoAnna finally followed through on a suggestion that I had repeatedly made to her.

“Why don’t you call Al and find out where they are?”

I think she was holding out for her brother to call first, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen.

“In that way, we don’t have to sit around all day wondering when they’re going to show up.” I added.

It would have been a long wait.

“Where are you?” JoAnna greeted her brother.

When she knit her eyebrows, I immediately assumed that we shouldn’t expect them for lunch. In fact, they’ll be lucky to get here in time for dinner.

Al’s answer to JoAnna’s question?

“Ohio.”

Wednesday, July 25

Albert & family arrived in Middleton at 5 o’clock on Monday afternoon, sooner than expected. They had left Maryland at 2 a.m. (1 a.m. our time). In spite of the 16 hours on the road, Albert and Cyndi said the trip went very smoothly. Julianna – or “Jules” as they now refer to her – and Joseph slept until they reached Ohio, and then were content to watch movies for most of the rest of the trip. Albert provided their new Honda Pilot with a store-bought video system, i.e., not one that originally came with the vehicle as an option.

How traveling with young children has changed – even in our experience as parents.

We spent most of Monday evening on the patio, enjoying the perfect summer weather. JoAnna prepared a mini Bastille Day meal: jambalaya and Cajun sausage bread. (We forgot about the crawfish balls in the freezer.) Andy and Gretchen spent the entire evening with us, not running off after the meal as they usually do. Gretchen and Cyndi seemed to hit it off quite well actually.

Julianna is much less unrestrained in her behavior that she used to be. Eddie, especially, had become very annoyed with her intense physicality – hitting, punching, running headlong into a person. It sounds as though Albert and Cyndi have been able to channel Julianna’s high energy level into constructive activities: swimming, golf, tennis, dance. As a result, Cyndi has to provide extensive taxi service.

At three years old, Joseph is a very sharp and talkative little boy – very articulate for his age. And an adorable little snuggle bunny, to boot. Even though he has rarely seen us – except for JoAnna, maybe twice in his young life – he warmed up to the four of us immediately. Although he usually refers to me as “Unca Paul”, he slipped up once or twice – accidentally on purpose? – and called me “G’ampa”, which, of course, brought no end of amusement to JoAnna.

“Just remember. That makes you G’amma,” I said with a wink.

Yesterday our original plan was to visit one of the waterparks in the Wisconsin Dells. By the time we reached Baraboo, though, the sky had become overcast and offered the threat of rain. As a result, we went with our alternative plan: Circus World Museum.

The last time JoAnna and I visited this location was during the summer of 1991, when Barb was living with us. Eddie doesn’t remember a thing about this day, of course, but Andy says he has a few memories of it. Unfortunately, he had no chance to rekindle them as he worked from 7:30 until 2:00 yesterday. Eddie stayed behind, too, as he has four days of “pre-preseason” football practice this week.

We spent four hours at Circus World, a state historical site that attempts to preserve the colorful history of the circus in America in spite of what appears to be increasing public indifference. Maybe they draw bigger crowds on the weekends, but the three shows we saw – Acrobats of Circus China, Razzle Dazzle Review, and KidsWorld Circus – were sparsely attended. Less than half the venue’s capacity of 500. (Definitely a far cry from the circus’ heyday, in the early 20th century when 10,000 people could be seated under a sprawling canvas tent.

When we emerged from the Hippodrome, a semi-enclosed, conical-shaped “Big Top”, after the first show, we nearly had second thoughts about our choice of activity. The sky had turned a clear blue, and the sun bore down on us without mercy – the perfect kind of weather for a waterpark. Fortunately, Julianna and Joseph were completely entranced by what Circus World had to offer.

The Chinese acrobats were definitely the highlight of our visit. All but one of the group of 15 or so looked to be under 20 years old. They kept the audience thoroughly entertained during a fast-paced, hour-long show. The oldest member of the company, who looked old enough to be every else’s father, put on a show-stopping routine by balancing, flipping, and spinning on his head a series of three colorful vases, each one larger and heavier than the last. At first, there seemed to be some skepticism as to where his act was going – comic relief, perhaps? – but the audience rewarded him with a huge ovation as he took his bows.

From Baraboo we drove the short distance to Wisconsin Dells to take a ride on one of the original Ducks, the World War II era vehicles that can travel by land or by water. I know that I’ve taken this hour-long excursion at least once before, but for the life of me, I can’t recall when. None of you would recognize the Dells from your previous visits here. What used to be a cheesy little summertime resort town, home to nearly 100 mom-and-pop motels constructed in the 1950s and 1960s, is now a year-round destination that contains the world’s largest conglomeration of outdoor and indoor waterparks. Just a 4-hour drive from both the Chicago and Twin Cities metro areas, the Dells is well-positioned to remain a travel choice no matter how high the gas prices or however tenuous the economic conditions.

We finished up the day on the patio at home. Instead of using the grill, we broiled two flank steaks and a pork tenderloin in the oven. Along a long day of sun and fun (and driving), the grill chef wanted to take the easy way out, and JoAnna offered no objections. We didn’t linger very long after this meal. Andy and Gretchen headed off to her house, and most everyone else adjourned to the family room to watch Flicka – seems like all that Hollywood can manage nowadays is remakes and do-overs – while I cleaned up the kitchen.

At the end of our visit to Circus World, I felt eager to read a detailed history of the circus in America. A timeline with photographs and other illustrations, displayed along a wall inside of one of the huge “barns” that housed part of a collection of old-time wagons, provided a starting point. At one point in time, well before my childhood and even a little bit before yours, Mom, the circus was one of the premiere, most eagerly anticipated, entertainment events just about everywhere. Traveling circuses – the train being the preferred mode of transportation – criss-crossed much of the United States. By 1909, more than 100 different shows, large and small, were in operation. The major-league, deep-pocket operations of the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey circuses set the standard. World War I accelerated a decline in the circus’s cultural impact, which even the go-go years of the Roaring Twenties couldn’t reverse. By the 1950s and 1960s, the last-gasp years for most of the remaining operators, canvas tents gave way to municipal arenas. When we first moved to Warren, the circus used to set up at the airport on the West End. (In the 3rd or 4th grade, I remember seeing slides or photographs – or maybe it was even home movies – that someone’s dad had taken and brought to school for Show and Tell.) I also recall a traveling carnival spending a few days on the land where the Holly Apartments now sit. I know I made at least one visit there, but whether it was with family, friends, or on my own is long forgotten. Back in the day when I rode my bike from one end of Warren to the other, it wouldn’t surprise me if I had just taken off on my own. And without saying a word as to where I was going.

Outside of Circus World, the only opportunity to catch this type of entertainment in the Madison area is the Shrine Circus’s annual visit to the Alliant Center every February. I took Andy one year, probably when he was 2 or 3, and remember his being too scared to take a ride on an elephant.