Believing - grief - small town life

You know it’s a party when the cops show up.

December 11, 2003 - By 

Just a quick entry before I take off for California (to deal with Patrick’s two storage units). The Birthday Party was a wild success — everyone came, they ate almost all of the Ham As Big As Montana, they drank everything, and fun was had by all. Robert-the-Painter made three cakes — a tray of carrot cake cupcakes, a flourless chocolate cake, and a lovely lemon curd and blueberry tart. Jim and Geri and Tim and Linnea gave me a rhinestone tiara, which I may never take off. There was champagne.

And then there was Julie, who I have known since we were in our early 20s, and her big mommy-bag full of fireworks. We’re not talking firecrackers here — although there was a lovely string of firecrackers — we’re talking fireworks. Rockets that go way way up and explode in a shower of red stars. Spinners that make a great noise and also shower red sparks. Many many fireworks which she and I shot off with glee in the backyard.

Which is, of course, why the cops showed up. The first time, I played all innocent birthday girl. “Oh I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know about the ordinance.” The cop clearly looked relieved that we were all geezers and away he went.

Then Julie snuck out into the backyard and blew off another barrage.

Which is why, when we were loading her car, and before Gary walked her over to the Murray Hotel (Julie lives in Bozeman, and sensibly decided that an icy pass and a birthday party were not a good combo), the cop showed up again, asking “Why am I back here?” We assured him the party was really over this time and away he went.

So, it was great fun. A good party. And a good party was one of the things my brother loved, and was good at, and while we all missed him last night, we kept it festive.

I'm a writer and editor based in Livingston, Montana. I moved to Livingston from the San Francisco Bay area in 2002 in search of affordable housing and a small community with a vibrant arts community. I found both. LivingSmall details my experience buying and renovating a house, building a garden, becoming a part of this community. It also chronicles my efforts to rebuild my life after the sudden death of my younger brother, and closest companion, Patrick in a car wreck.

6 Comments on “You know it’s a party when the cops show up.”

  1. I’ve been reading your blog for a while. I like your writing style and hearing about life in Livingston. I was saddened to hear about the tragic accident with your brother. I wished I lived in a place with such a sense of community like you do. You are blessed. But now I’m really jealous. You know Tim Cahill? I’ve been reading his stories since “Outside” was “Mariah” magazine. I could go on about what a fan I am of his writing, but that would just be boring. It sounds like you had a good party. Happy Birthday!

  3. Many happy returns of the day to you-it sounds like a great party!

    Mine is coming up (I’m a Christmas Eve baby), and I generally wear a tiara all day, taking it off only to go to church.

  4. Sounds like you had a wonderful time-I’m so glad to hear it. The tiara sounds fabulous, I wouldn’t take it off either!

  5. Woo, a tiara! What a super fabuloso idea. I’ll be putting that one on my own wish list in a couple of years when another big round number’s due. Your party sounded perfect, and the cops only iced the memory cake for you. *AND*, “almost all” means you’ve still got soup-makings left! Stay warm, inside and out, Charlotte. Good firends and good times will get you through the sad spots.

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