Last night, I did karaoke at a friend's housewarming party. I sang a
tune that has become part of my repertoire at the American Legion, as it is always greeted with enthusiasm by the predominantly country music crowd. I'm known as the "Rock Star" by the KJ there, and I suspect the others regard me as such also.
AnyWHO, others were singing at my chef friend's gathering, and I was even singing along on "Seven Bridges Road". So, as others were requesting that the host pull up songs for them to sing, I did, too. You know, being part of the crowd, participating, right? I had wanted to share a fun song with them, so I requested "Squeeze Box", a song right in keeping with the double entendre tunes of the evening... and, oddly, no one but the host seemed to know it. So they didn't get it. And
justthatfast, I realized: I was no longer part of this group. I had thought I was, but I was definitely mistaken. I might still have a link to the host, and maybe to Cassadi's mom, but that was it.
Once upon a time, I was seeing these folks once a week, sometimes more often. Then a friend died and we still tried to hang together, but it wasn't the same. The linchpin which had held me to this group had fallen away, and, as will happen, I drifted. The others were firmly linked and held fast.
Sure, in the three years since our friend's death, I've invited them to events in my new circles and I have occasionally traveled in their circles and been there to share some special events. The little girl's birthdays. A few dinners with the girl's mom. The chef's graduation. The odd karaoke night out at a local corral.
I'm not sure how I ended up on the chef's guest list for tonight. I'm not sure how I even ended up going. No, wait, I take that back. I went because I hadn't seen him since his graduation and I am only too aware of how quickly someone can leave this world for another too far distant.
I did not want this opportunity to be lost.
So I went, bearing gifts to please the palate and the ear:
panforte margherita from Italy and tales of creating Italian cuisine for a lunch and a dinner in Siena. I also brought
ajvar, a versatile roasted pepper concoction from a kickstarter chef.
I'll be curious to see what he fashions using that! Maybe I'll even merit a taste of any new creation... maybe?
Earlier, I had briefly attended the Bastille Day party of some other friends. I had lost track of them - rather, they had lost track of me - since the divorce. We had all met through the trivia evenings my ex had hosted fifteen years ago at Fink's Deli, an eatery long gone from Liberty and replaced by a pizza chain. So, maybe you could say they were more his friends than mine for the first year or so, but surely not any later than that.
After our marriage ended, I still was part of the group. Birthday parties and baptisms for the children. Pool parties of all types, whether saltwater or the regular every-other-Tuesday session with cue sticks and colorful balls. Barbeques and holiday gatherings.
Then, that was over. A misunderstanding about my presence at the Tuesday pool nights, "drinking beer with other women's husbands", led to a horrific rift. Apparently, they forgot who I was and thought I had become someone else. Not the guys. They knew I was the same person I had ever been, just "one of the boys", so to speak. But one of their wives forgot and false accusations were made. In an attempt to salvage some shred of a relationship with this woman and her family, I allowed myself to be banished from billiards. And, even though some made an effort to continue a friendship with me, all of the children played together and I, of course, had no children to be invited to parties.
Last year, that started to change a little. A birthday party for the son at a state park. News of the daughter's winning essay on being fearless. An invite to the post-production play for Operation Rescue at the church. And you better believe I went every time I was invited.
The Bastille Day party invite went out Friday evening and I didn't read it until yester morn... but I worked it into my schedule for the day. You better believe that! This had been one of the summer events I had loved, hanging out with the friends and their growing children, playing in the pool and the yard, waiting for the burgers and dogs to come off the grill. Oh, yes!
I was greeted as if I had never left their company. How wonderful! The dog even seemed to remember who I was, though I am sure it has been at least two years since I was there. The world traveler shared her pictures of Denmark, as well as the tales and food she had brought back. She also had frozen whiskey sours for all - very nice. I wish I could have stayed longer, but I already had the chef's party on my agenda.
Still, life is looking brighter for the renewal of those friendships. I will hope for constructing a new harmony with the world traveler and her family. I'm not sure whether the others may lend their voices; perhaps so.
After leaving the chef's condo, I felt the urge to go somewhere, somewhere... but where? The beach? The marshmallow roasting? The new square over the parking garage? I decided on karaoke, as I was sure I would know at least one person there: the zombie friend. He's the KJ at the "Best Karaoke" joint in town, as well as being a longtime friend. So, off I went, planning to maybe do a few tunes and find my voice.
But I never did sing. Rather, I never did sing on the stage. I had a pocket full of songs I like, I had others on my phone, but I found myself preferring to enjoy the mini-concerts of others. One I sang along with a couple of fellows nearby, all of us belting out "Build Me Up, Buttercup" and hamming it up. For some other tunes, I sang along and noted them for the Rock Star audience. Amazingly, some songs I didn't even know, like "Ol' Red". Now, that's a country song I might do one day!
All in all, a nice night in the company of zombie and others.
Maybe I'll go again tonight and actually sing... Hopefully, in key.
