Sunday, September 23, 2007

Ruby's 80th Birthday Bash

We went to an 80th birthday party my Aunt Ruby yesterday. Ruby was married to my late father’s late brother. She and another aunt-in-law are the last two standing of that generation on my father’s side.

The party was held at her nephew Bubba’s house on the very exclusively street Paces Ferry Road, near the Chattahoochee River, in the exclusively section of Atlanta – the governor’s mansion is just down the road. I wonder if Bubba ever gets Governor Sonny’s mail by mistake. Bubba? Sonny? I could see how the first names might confuse a carrier.

When we arrived a uniformed Atlanta policeman was there to direct you into their driveway. Their was a sign saying “Valet Parking”. During my meager frugal existence I have always tried to avoid valet parking. It always seemed an unnecessary expense. I saw nothing wrong with walking a ways to save a couple of bucks.

I told the cop we were going to park our own car. With his directions and holding up traffic drove down a long hill towards the river maybe 2/10ths or a quarter of a mile to find a place on the side of the road. Anna was furious. I made a bad decision.

Well, it was a quick decision. Plenty of my quick decisions are bad decisions. I don’t have a chance to weigh the pros and cons.

The house was very posh and plush. There was a staff of people fluttering around that were cooking, walking around with serving trays handing it out in front of you to take one, two manned bars – the food was very nice. Food food all over at many stations to get a little plate, about the same size as a saucer, and get you a helping of shrimp, crab cakes, barbecue pork, - have another lady slice you off some rare roast beef or well done – I chose the rare.

Then a couple of other guys walked around picking up dirty plates and drinks.


Four or five of my cousins were there. We sat under a tent in the driveway with them after we made a tour of the house and wished Ruby a happy birthday.

There is a book I am reading called “Paper Boy” by Pete Wood. He grew up with Ruby in Smyrna and my sister recognized him when he and his wife came. I couldn’t resist myself – I had to go up to him and tell him how much I am enjoying his book. He seemed grateful I did, and we talked about some of the Hunter boys (my uncles) that he knew.

Pete Wood lived in downtown Smyrna and was a paperboy in downtown Smyrna. In the book he takes each house in town and gives the genealogy of the house of who owned and who owned it after that, and where they came from, their children's names and what they grew up to be and who their children's children married... about 500 pages worth.

A first cousin David and his wife Nancy were leaving. Nancy told us group of cousins that they were leaving early to go to south Georgia to her cousin’s new land (or farm maybe) he just bought. They were going to skeet shoot.

She also came up and introduced herself to me as if we haven’t ever met. Well, we have many times, over their 35 year or so marriage – in fact their son and our son is the same age - born within a week of each other and we have even mentioned that. See how forgettable I am?

I was wondering how we were going to gracefully exit – walking up the driveway when other people were having their cars delivered to them. And then my sister said it was time she was going. Hah! We could ride out with her! And she could take us to our where we parked.

Which we did, but I was the one that tipped the valet deliverer instead of my sister.

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Blogger Jean said...

That reminds me.... Oh, you reminded me of many things. Suffice it to say, I always thought people shot skeet because they couldn't afford REAL birds to shoot, dress, cook and eat. Quail abound this fall. We don't shoot them, so people around us look longingly toward our fields. During nearby dove hunts, the birds know they can flit over here and sit on the power lines, laughing.

6:51 AM  
Blogger ET said...

I'm sure if I was shooting at skeet or birds, people would have to lie down like an air-raid - Chaney is not the only one who can shoot wildly.

7:34 AM  
Blogger Jean said...

My son has a fav story about dove hunting with family. "The birds came in sight, Dad shot: Blam! Blam! Blam! The birds flew on. Uncle James shot: Blam! Blam! Blam! The birds flew on. Great Uncle Jake fired: Blam! Two birds fell."

Jake was from the days when every shell counted and what you killed was supper and was a great role model for adolescent hunters.

12:22 PM  
Blogger ET said...

That would put more thought into it.

12:59 PM  
Blogger Adam said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

5:41 PM  
Blogger ET said...

This comment has been removed by the author.

5:45 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

My Paternal Grandmother had a celebration like that once that i will never forget. I was probably 6 or 7. They had all kinds of classy people mingling around.

I love swanky affairs!

1:10 AM  
Blogger ET said...

I love swanky affairs too. But I always feel like I should be one of the ones serving and picking up trash. Which reminds me, every time I saw the servers with the trays approach a door I jumped up to open it for him or her.

5:30 AM  
Anonymous Anna said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

9:29 AM  
Blogger Suzanne said...

That sounds like quite the soirée.

6:47 AM  
Blogger ET said...

We found out later Bubba is the CEO of a rather aggressive company. I wish I had know that then.

9:18 AM  

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