This morning, ThinkThinkThink and Mandy were talking about Christians being persecuted all over the world, when Mandy countered by mentioning the rebirth of Christianity after perestroika and the collapse of the Soviet Empire. Today, the Russian Orthodox church is flourishing.
The longing for traditions, familiarity of Christmas is strong. This story needs to be told.
It was either ’94 or ’95. We had a local little Arts Council in rural Mississippi. Members joined for about $150/year. We dressed up, 5-6 times a year, gathering for an event where “art” or “music” happened. Women donned white gloves and pretended to be civilized. The Bourbon flowed and our husbands looked dashing. The affairs were mostly a social event, and excuse to get together and have a party…… until someone took the idea seriously…….. and the earth shifted on its axis…. just a little bit.
Our local State Senator was Chair of Ways and Means, a powerful guy in the state. Somehow, our little Arts Council landed a grant to pay for several performances of The St. Petersburg State Symphony Orchestra to come to our three-stoplight-town, where they would play for school children as well as perform for the public. Thus, the world renowned Russian orchestra departed their shores and set off on their great southern tour of the USA……. stopping at major cities like Tampa, Charlotte, Atlanta, …… and a virtual backwater in Mississippi.
Understand, the Arts Council was run by blue-blooded elder women. I was, literally, the youngest member and was TOLD what to do. The “committee” decided I would cater a dessert reception, 2500 high end pastries and sweets after the public performance with coffees…….. then, they added the kicker.
Since our state has a reputation for hospitality, the committee decided members of the Council would host symphony members for dinner in their homes. Some members hosted one, or 2-4,….. but the elder ladies decided it was easier for me. I could take the bulk for whom they were unable to obtain commitments. I was assigned 11 Russians.
Additionally, we had a B&B full house of 9 figure, high maintenance multi-millionaires who came in for the performance. I also received a phone call from the school principal, wondering if I could donate 500 cookies and punch for the kids orchestra performance, two days in a row = 1000 cookies. How could I say no? The school was my best customer. We were set up for a busy few days. The schedule was dinner for Russian Symphony members, one school performance, the grand public performance, and another event the following morning for the high school students.
As the days grew closer to the Russians arriving, my ex-husband grew anxious about the dinner. Note, he wasn’t worried about the 2500 time-consuming pastries or the 1000 cookies for the kids. He sputtered incessantly about the menu and fussed over the house. Quite odd for him. It made no sense to me to cook Russian food for Russians (How could I ever hope to compete with “Das Mama” or “Das Grandma”?). I finally threw my hands up and settled on an Italian menu …… cuz everyone loves Italian food. Next, he was worried about the seating. “What the hell?”, I thought, “Go back to work and get out of my dining room.” He even proposed the idea of renting a piano. “Huh? I’m not going to make them sing for their supper.”, I scowled.
A big dinner party was fairly typical for the B&B, at least weekly, and “This is only for 14 people.”, I said. He had a fit….., “What do you mean, 14?” “Well, there are 11 Russians, you, me, and my stepson, 9 years old, Adam.”, I counted them off on my fingers. Again, he shook his head. “Adam cannot attend a formal dinner.”, he stated flatly. I paused, stepped back, and flicked my eyebrows like a squirrel’s tail, “Okay…….Why not?” He had no answer. “Look”, I said, “I don’t care if Adam eats with his fingers….. which he won’t……. but a chance to have dinner with 11 Russian Orchestra members…… Gosh…… It’s too good to pass up.” Right? I was trying to calm him down and doing my best to be persuasive. To me, the primary reason for HOSTING the dinner was FOR Adam……. I thought it would be cool for him. He relented….. but he threatened Adam within an inch of his life if he misbehaved during dinner. Weird. I had no concerns about Adam whatsoever. 
The kitchen was ablaze that week. What happened is kind of a blur. Finally, the Russians arrived at our doorstep, young and beautiful people as well as the conductor. Woohoo, we got the conductor! They presented me with flowers. Hors D’oeuvres and dinner were wonderful, no international incidents. Conversation was excellent. And then came time for dessert……… and the reason for this post. I know, I know…….. I’m getting there.
We took a slight break after dinner for drinks, to mingle, and let the staff set up the table for dessert. When we sat back down, the Russians presented me with a beautifully wrapped gift, thick white paper, with ribbon so exquisite I saved it for my Christmas tree. Inside the package, an intricately engraved solid silver vodka flask. It was beautiful and heavy. A small gift is typical for such an occasion but this….., well…., this was extraordinary.
I wanted to “return” the gift, but had nothing planned. I looked down the table at my ex and said, “I’ll be back in a minute.” Full tilt, I ran to the attic and rummaged for my Christmas ornaments. I’ve been making intricate, pearl/sequin/beaded/lace Christmas ornaments since I was a kid… and got better and better over the years. I have hundreds of them. They were personal, something which I made with my hands, “of me and to them” Frankly, they were inspired by Faberge Eggs. I found a wooden box, lined it with a piece of scrap red velvet, and came back downstairs to present each orchestra member with a Christmas ornament as a token of their visit to America.
Presentations made and into dessert, I looked down the table and noticed the first violinist, a beautiful young blond woman, was crying. She was choked up, couldn’t help it, could not stop, and the situation was unavoidable at the table. She told us why……
She was holding her Christmas Ornament, looking over every angle, turning it around, dangling it by the hanger, as light from the chandelier reflected off rhinestones and shot rainbows around the walls of the room. She was a spectacularly beautiful woman and I recall trying to decide if the ornament or she was more perfect at that particular moment. She turned to me and said, “May God Bless You.”, and she said it such an eerie and serious way, everyone at the table became quiet.
She explained to us, since “The Revolution” and throughout the Cold War, her family was dispersed all over the Soviet Bloc countries. Most of her family were professional musicians, highly trained, rigorous schedules at an early age, and in demand by her government. Others around the table nodded in agreement, giving me the impression they had similar experiences…… eerie….. something an American could never understand. She continued. They kept up with each other over the generations but never were together for Christmas or Easter, to share traditions, food, and play music together as a family. She wove a story for us, of her various uncles, her mother, cousins, all in different cities, like a timeline of Russian classical music, but quite personal to her. I was spellbound. For the first time, this year, the churches were open. They were free to worship and travel. Her extended family planned to all be together, finally…… She sobbed uncontrollably and we waited for her to compose herself ……. It would be their first Christmas tree in almost 80 years…….. and mine would be her first ornament on the tree.
…….. speechless.
She hit me with a truckload of emotion. The tears rose from the base of my spine and came out through my eyes. I had no idea of the importance of Christmas to her. How could I have known? As Americans, we so often take for granted our freedoms. I was frozen to my chair and it took a moment to recover. She arose to hug me and I was unsteady, still in a stupor. I looked over her shoulder…..even my ex-husband was wiping a tear. It was a profoundly moving experience.
But the story has a strange twist, for Adam….
That evening, my ex-husband and I were talking to the conductor. We checked up and the younger members of the orchestra were missing…. along with Adam. We located them in the library, playing a simple American video game on our office computer. Foreshadowing of things to come? Adam made “friends” with the Russians. Time to face facts, they were closer in age and interests.
The next day after the school performance, the teachers held a “kids reception” where the school kids could talk to the orchestra members. Apparently, Adam was the big man on campus that day…. as he knew so many of the Russians…….. cuz they were at his house the previous evening. Instead of being polite and mentor-like, the orchestra members hugged Adam when they saw him. It further cemented the relationship. As I catered the evening performance, Adam ran into his Russian buddies again, at the reception.
Suddenly, Adam was interested in anything Russian…… art, the Russian Orthodox Church, history, wars, political systems….. and the world got a whole lot smaller in our house. Adam talked about Russia like it was Florida, and where we would go for spring break. He didn’t understand why we couldn’t go and visit…….. just like we would go to grandma’s. In his mind, there was no difference.
Flash forward six months.
My ex-husband and Adam were at morning coffee one day, where the “men” meet and discuss business of the town. One hardware store owner, Kenny (also a member of the Arts Council who hosted a Russian Symphony member), was quite active in his church and had recently returned from a Russian church mission. He took a local optometrist, along with hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of optometry equipment and eyeglasses. Kenny was whining and complaining because Russian “customs” confiscated his equipment for days and he had to call our Senator to get it “out of hock”. He was telling his harrowing story when young Adam piped up at the table.
According to my ex-husband, Adam BLASTED Mr. Kenny for disparaging “his Russian friends”. Adam was the quiet and passive kid, totally unlike Gunner. He was 9yrs old but defending those he perceived as buddies, “I have a LOT of Russian friends……..They’re NOT bad people……Don’t you ever say anything bad about my friends again…..We like the same games….. the same food (the meal I served was Adam’s favorite)……… and we both love Christmas……” or words to that effect. Ex-husband was mortified and made Adam apologize, of course… but Adam sulked, still angry.
Ahhhhh, the mind of a child……… we’re really not that different after all, food, a longing for connection to family, time worn traditions, the magic of Christmas, curiosity for new computer games, and Adam knew it…….., at least as much as he could understand. Similar Christian based ethics? Who knows…..
Detente? Maybe?
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

After making it through July 4th weekend, Big T and I decided to outfit the cottage in Boston in more appropriate housewares. Our neighborhood was somewhat swanky, and Big T had clients to the house quite often. Pretty clear, we needed to upgrade. We shopped retail furniture stores, as Big T only ever shopped retail. I frowned. It was all too expensive. Didn’t matter how much money he had, it was almost sinful to waste it. We tried flea markets and garage sales but that wasn’t working either. I bought one small chaise lounge, perfect for 4 girls, but a Boston upholsterer wanted to charge me $700 to recover the piece + fabric. Nope, not working.
When Big T was back in Mississippi, I showed him the “House Bible” I put together for the B&B. Big T is a man’s man. He doesn’t care about matching drapes, and couches, but he does care about cost and comfort. Fluffy things like upholstery was NOT his wheelhouse. Sounds reasonable, right? It’s the same way I used to think as well. I explained.
I have several undergrad degrees but they are all business related. I was finishing up another accounting degree (at 31) when I thought the sale for the B&B would go through. On a lark, I took a senior level class for interior designers on “Period Architecture and Interiors”. I knew I was out of my element with period furnishings and at least wanted to know enough to sound intelligent and not be taken advantage of financially. You see, I thought the interior design majors were fluff queens, the ones who couldn’t make it in Chemistry, Mathematics, Accounting, etc. Well, I begged for a “C” in that class, and getting through it damn near killed me. My preconceived notion about interior designers was shattered, but the class saved me hundreds of thousands of dollars when it came to outfitting the B&B. One thing they taught me was to keep the “House Bible”, which is measurements, fabric swatches, pics, of each room, by tab. Keep it in the trunk of your car. Sure, it helped me figure out what to buy, but surprisingly…… and most importantly, it helped me to NOT buy things and make costly mistakes.
Big T was impressed with the House Bible ( a plan, organized, he liked it) and understood the concept, “Go for it, babe!” He left the decoration of the cottage up to me. We agreed on a budget, which I thought was lavish – but he was thinking retail. I had another idea. I had resources.
Grandpa came to Mississippi in 1961, one of three guys, to start a furniture factory. Throughout my life, cousins, uncles, even my parents in 1978, ordered a large quantity of furniture from the factory, under grandpa’s tutelage, and had the pieces delivered in the factory truck with familiar blue logo. When I bought the B&B in 1994, I needed antiques, and the factory only made modern furniture, so I couldn’t use them…… but for the cottage….. it would work. The factory had an outlet, and even though Grandpa passed away in ’87, I still carried his discounts. Time to explore the options. I had a hard time with the layout of the cottage, however, and hit a brick wall.
The cottage was built by hand by the former owners. Downstairs was originally a kitchen, small dining room, living, side door and stair. The house HAD a 10′ wide porch on the west and north, which had been enclosed. So, when you opened the door to the current house, you entered a room that was 40′ long but only 10′ wide. It looked like a bowling alley. At the entry, turn right and enter the kitchen. I noticed the kitchen actually had an exterior door. I was obviously the original entry to the home. I took the door off. No need.
Kitchen was a U-shape, with a terrific peninsula into a small dining room with cute windows overlooking the neighborhood and a side porch. Perfect for a mom who spent time in the kitchen but had to keep track of kids running up and down the street. The dining room had a door to the basement, in the living room, the stairs to go up to bedrooms. The living room was small, but the north wall was knocked out, posts remaining, so the room “appeared bigger. A hole in the west wall of the living room, obviously a former window to the west porch, served as a passthrough to the bowling alley. Awkward……… perfect place for a picture.
The enclosed north porch stretched the width of the house, but again, only 10′ deep x 35′ wide, the north galley. It looked odd. Wrapping around the house, a new exterior door on the east side led to the side porch. Upstairs, smaller footprint, sans the addition of the porches. Master bedroom ran the width of the north and looked out to the bay, with a sitting room. One small bathroom, two more bedrooms.
Clearly, the biggest problem would be the bowling alley and the north galleyway. I played with the floorplan endlessly, until Gunner gave me an idea. Back in Mississippi, he and a buddy built a fort in his back hallway (10’x15′) instead of in his room (16’x16′). I asked him why he didn’t build it in his room. His response, at 6yrs old, “It’s too big in my room.” Lightbulb went on. Space is bigger from a child’s eyes. Perfect solution, from the mouth of a babe. Time to divide up the alleyways into different spaces.
We needed an entry, with 5 kids, which was rugged enough for snow boots and beach sand.  Big tube Tv’s were going out of style and we scored a 6′ entertainment center with doors for a big tv, retrofitted the interior with hooks for coats, shelves underneath to stack shoes/boots. A big commercial cookie sheet with a welcome mat inside was PERFECT for snow boots and saved the wooden floors. On the left, a solid wood dresser with six drawers was ideal, with a drawer for each kid and one for Big T and me. The entertainment center visually divided the bowling alley.
On the back of the entertainment center, another entertainment center was retrofitted for Big T’s home office, computer, homework space. On the back side of his “office” a bookshelf and extra chair. Moving on down the bowling alley…..
We needed an extra fridge, space for kid’s healthy snacks, veg/cheese/meat trays we kept replenishing all summer, and cold drinks… kept the kids out of the kitchen. Self-serve! Across and down from the fridge, from the factory outlet, we bought a high table for a bar, and two lux bar chairs, another dresser converted to a bar, drawers for grill tools, outdoor serving pieces. Doors to the deck were right there. Gorgeous view and a perfect spot for morning coffee and the paper.
Rounding the corner, a new dining set from factory outlet, with enough chairs for us all. It was cramped with only 10′, but we could shove the table against the wall easily on felt gliders. A half bookcase served as our china hutch and provided a visual “end” of the dining space. Another half bookcase, back-to-back provided a small sitting space/library for the little kids and a few toys. Big T’s $1 beastly couch was recovered in Boston (I could have bought a used car for less), tucked into the corner by the side porch door, with another entertainment center and an old tube TV. A huge overstuffed chair was added with an ottoman. We called it “sport’s corner”, the place where guys went to check the score of the game, and the kids bastion for cartoons and slumber parties.
The living room received two new couches, a few slipper chairs, end tables, coffee tables, nicer lamps. The former dining room was turned into a sitting room. Couch and comfy chairs, big enough for two kids, and stools for the bartop. Heck, everyone gathers in the kitchen anyway, right? Might as well make it friendly.
Upstairs, more couches for a large sitting room in the master. Big T couldn’t understand why the upstairs sitting room was so important to me. I explained, with 5 kids, four of them being girls, there would be a lot of drama. The sitting room would become the place for them to plead their case, be disciplined, cry, or tattle on one another. It would become the quiet space or the bargaining space. He got it, immediately.
New rugs, short pile, same but different color as we had in the B&B. If this carpet could hold up under B&B traffic, it would handle 5 kids and their friends. Colors were cream base, predominant light blue, a rose, and a gold. Same rugs all through the house…… cuz it was a little house. The mix of color hides a stain easily and Big T was allergic (not really) to a vacuum cleaner. Done.
Problem was, all the furniture, dressers, couches, entertainment centers, artwork, lamps, rugs, etc., were purchased and sitting in Mississippi.
The furniture factory outlet was run by a guy named Tony, displaced from Long Island to Mississippi. He knew and loved my grandfather. I was spending Big T’s money and we weren’t married yet, so I as a little cautious. I took him shopping at the outlet. He sat on couches to see if he liked the “feel”. He said, “That’s the ugliest damn couch I’ve ever seen…… and it doesn’t match that couch… or that chair.” “Don’t worry honey, don’t look at the color, we’re recovering to match.”, I said. He was confused. We were shopping for high quality, solid wood, furniture that would last, but the fabric didn’t matter, the prices were extraordinary. Fabric can change easily and …… he hadn’t yet met Fred, my magic upholstery guy.
Fred, was a black guy who dressed like a classic pimp and wore $800 dollar ostrich boots. Can’t remember a time without Fred in my life. Somehow, I met him through a couple of buddies who have a place outside of town, who retrofit Lear Jets. Fred and his team can do ANYTHING with upholstery. I once bought two matching, solid maple bedroom chairs in a garage sale for $1/each. They didn’t even have cushions but the frames were perfect. Fred fixed them, and they now sit in our most expensive B&B guest room. I took Big T to meet Fred and the sight was extraordinary. Big T the Boston lawyer and Fred, talking about fabric….. and fringe…… and welting…… hilarious.
Of course, I also had a source for wholesale fabric – the good stuff, to-the-trade-only, and close-outs as well. One by one, the couches/chairs went from the Tony’s outlet, to Fred the Upholsterer, and back to Tony for shipping. Fred made us pillows, valance boards for windows, everything we needed. The entertainment centers came to us, one by one, were retrofitted, painted or stained, and delivered back to Tony. As the months passed, we had a section of Tony’s warehouse which was “Daughn’s”. I met Tony at the warehouse and added a few more things to the truck delivery. The factory had their own fleet for delivery. Thank heaven.
All in all, we came in at 43% of Big T’s budget, including delivery and the cost for the beastly couch being recovered in Boston. The accountant in me was satisfied. T was amazed……… no more retail for him.
The weekend before Thanksgiving, the familiar truck, the royal blue logo I’ve known all my life, Grandpa’s logo, arrived at our cottage in Boston. I teared up when I saw the truck coming up our narrow street. It was as if Grandpa was an angel, still sending me furniture….. his legacy continued through one more generation. There was snow on the ground, and it was about 8:00pm on a Saturday night.
The truck driver, who looked like a member of the band Alabama, had driven the load all the way from my hometown. The factory is a half mile from my current home. Clearly, he thought he was making a commercial delivery, to a company, with docks and warehouse people to unload. He wasn’t supposed to help us unload…… at all.  He thought he was at the wrong location and could barely get the semi up the street. He wasn’t too happy.
On the other hand, I was so happy to see THAT truck and THAT logo, I was overwhelmed. I threw my arms around Daniel, the truck driver, and hugged him so hard I almost tackled him. I was barely able to contain the tears. The cottage was a long project, and yes, I worked on it, half-blinded by the distance from Boston to Mississippi. Yet, 3-4 months and 1683 miles later, Daniel was at my doorstep. Once he figured out who I was, “How the hell did YOU get all the way up here, to Boston?”, his attitude completely changed. Even through his heavy beard, Daniel had a smile that could light up a room.
He helped us unload quickly, as we had the street blocked. With the truck empty, Big T followed him as he drove the truck to an empty corner of a grocery store parking lot. Big T brought the driver back to spend the night with us. I insisted. No need for Daniel to spend the night in a truck stop when he could stretch out in a comfy bed and get a good meal….. a few good meals.
The next morning, I made a huge breakfast. Gunner, who slept through the whole thing, woke up, wandered into the bathroom to pee, and ran slap into the truck driver in the shower. Awkward. Gunner came running downstairs, confused. Daniel had 5 kids at home, didn’t bother him at all.
Daniel stayed with us through Monday morning. He and Big T watched football all day, drank beer, hung pictures, and moved furniture. I made bread and a big pot of chili and gave him a big batch to take back home to Mississippi. What a godsend Daniel was…..a good man…. from home.
And we glided into Thanksgiving…….. humbled and duly thankful.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

I met Big T during the process of my divorce. Heck, both of us were in the midst of long and testy divorces. Re-marrying was the furthest thing from my mind. Surely, at 40 yrs old, I was destined to play in the garden and wait on grandchildren….. alone. Yet, we met by accident and have been together ever since…. like it was meant to be.
Big T, in Boston, lived with his sister and then another friend, after he separated from his wife. Looking for something more permanent, I begged him to spend a little bit more and find a great house, something appealing, so his four daughters would enjoy spending weekends with him.
He found a magical house, named “Bay Breeze”, which was a summer cottage (winterized and insulated) on the south shore of Boston. From the enormous windows and across the bay, the Boston skyline loomed in the distance. To the right, a long stretch of beach and the Atlantic Ocean. The view was spectacular but the house was tiny, barely 1800 sq ft. We had three bedrooms, one bath (upstairs only), a decent kitchen but no dishwasher……. and almost no furniture. He leased the house on July 1st and July 4th was our first big weekend…… in Boston……. a major holiday……
Perfect for the Housewarming Party, right?
In Southern Culture, a Housewarming Party is mandatory proper protocol. Neighbors are curious about who you are, your children, and your extended family. In the south, neighbors are nosy. The Housewarming gets the awkwardness and curiosity out of the way, and allows the neighbors to get used to your family, ask questions… you know…… bond. Traditionally, the neighbors bring a small gift, like a welcome mat, a plant, or a cooking utensil…… something for a new house. New neighbors understand if you’re still unpacking. If you make friends, they might lend a hand moving a couch.
If you DON’T have a housewarming party, the neighbors would be curious about your family, gossip, and shun your children. This could go on for decades. It’s simply inconceivable to NOT have a Housewarming Party…… or so I thought.
Of course, as a southern woman, I thought about the Housewarming Party immediately, but a little uneasy on how northern women did it in Boston. I knew my future husband, “our” daughters, and Gunner, would have to fit into the neighborhood and first impressions are everything. Bit T was rattled and shocked. “What do you mean?”, he started. “We have to throw a party immediately?”, he said, anxiety rising. He and ex-wife hadn’t had anyone in their home to entertain in at least 15yrs. He was nervous, I could tell. Clash of culture? Or was it because his ex was anti-social? I explained the plan….. and he warmed up a little bit. Whether it was love or lust, we’ll never know, but he allowed me to run with the idea. I do love that man. To his credit, he enthusiastically signed on……. which meant a LOT of work in the ensuing days.
The owners allowed him to move in on June 27th. He took pics of the rooms and sent them to me. I noticed a BIG flagpole out front. Bit T explained an Army vet built the home. I made a mental note. Back in Mississippi, I had a full staff and we swung into action. With all the stuff at the B&B, truth is, I could probably outfit several homes and barely notice anything missing. We immediately packed items to outfit a kitchen, anything else I could think of, and sent him boxes, Fedex. I also packed July 4th decor fabric/napkins/bunting, everything I could find with ribbon/our treasured 9’x5′ American flag from the USS Saratoga/glueguns/floral pins, everything I needed for a party. I sent a suitcase with fireworks, USPS, two day mail….. which was illegal…. unknown to me… and he was a lawyer…. and he had a heart attack about it. Oops.
Gunner and I arrived on June 30th. Bit T already had beds set up but no linen yet. Kind of like camping out, but we were happy. Boxes I sent arrived early on the 30th and he had begun to unpack the kitchen by the time we got there. The house was DARLING, a perfect choice. Something about the sea makes all the tension ooze out of your body. Yes, I decided. I would LOVE this house and we would build our family, here.
Then, I rounded the kitchen to the living room. A black Oriental rug, full of cat hair, laid in the middle of the floor, covering gorgeous, wide-plank chestnut hardwood, cut from the original owners farmland. The rug……….. one last gift from his ex-wife. Gently, I suggested we throw it away. Black floral oriental would never work in a beach house anyway. It was a bit cathartic for Big T. That afternoon we cleaned the house, steel wool to get the paint specks off those gorgeous floors, a hose-down of the enormous deck and side porch, little bit of weeding in the front garden, a scrubbing of the kitchen and bathroom……….. and a master list of what we needed, four pages on a legal pad.
By the next morning, the girls arrived. First time the kids met. Gunner was thrilled at the prospect of siblings, but they didn’t give a damn about him. It was funny. Trial by fire, thrown into a rough and tumble world, where he had to fight for attention… instead of being the only one. It was GOOD for him. The house would be perfect for the kids, we just needed a few things. After breakfast, I had the kids deliver fliers, invitations I printed up for the Housewarming, to neighbors. I was planning on about 75 people…..or so I thought, for noon on July 4th.  Big T and I took off for Lowe’s with 3 of little kids, while the bigger girls put up the bunting on the front fence and played with the July 4th decor.
We blew into Lowe’s like a Nor’easter. I stopped at the desk and asked for a Manager. I had a long list and waved my credit card. I was there to spend money, in a hurry, and asked for several people to follow us around and take items to commercial checkout. I wanted SERVICE. Big T was watching me, in awe. He had never seen anything like that before…. To this day, he says, it was the moment he knew made the right decision to pick me. We moved through the store swiftly, making deals for items on the spot. I drove a hard bargain, Big T was even better, but we had a willing manager with authority to cut prices. It was a blast. Midway through, we realized we needed a delivery truck. I handed over my credit card, and the truck was loaded. We were checked out by the time we were done. Big T went home in the delivery truck with Gunner. The girls and I moved onto Bed, Bath, and Beyond for small appliances, housewares, and linens. It was July 1st. 
By sunset, we unpacked a complete big dining set for the back deck, sitting area with another umbrella, firepit, outdoor rugs, outdoor bar, and plants. With our new lawnmower, Big T and Gunner tended to the lawn, tiki torches for the sea wall, and set up lawn games and a junior croquet field. We had a grill and propane with a fancy set of grill tools for Big T. All men love good grill tools. The guys put up a new ceiling fan and light kit. The girls and I set up the side porch with fluffy outdoor wicker couches, bookshelves, potted plants for each step and all over, a sports equipment rack, another rug, and a boombox/CD player………. with Sinatra and Dean Martin wafting over the neighborhood. Perfect. Together, we raised the USS Saratoga Flag and I topped it with 75yards of yellow ribbon in an enormous 360 degree bow. It was a gorgeous sight to see the huge flag unfurl over our new home.
Inside, the sheets, dust ruffles, mattress pads, 200 bar wipe towels for the kitchen, and bath towels, were all washed. One of the girls learned to starch and iron pillowcases that day!!!!!!!!! Shampoos, soaps, towel racks, even toothbrushes and a candle, and the bathroom was set. New rugs down in the entry, kitchen, dining area, and a new rug for the living room. We still needed furniture but we slept in our own beds that night.
July 2nd: Big T made breakfast (Have I told you how much I love that man?). I was outside, surveying the entry. The bunting was up, but it was missing something. I made big yellow bows for each peak and the fence gate, and tied a yellow bow to the outdoor light. Found some old frames in the basement, cut July 4th fabric to fit, stapled it to the backside of the frame and hung it on the front door, another one for the side porch door, and another for behind the couch. Cheap, but it worked for the weekend.
It was HOT that day and cottage had no AC (put a window unit on the list). I was whirling around in a bikini top and a pair of shorts, praying for a break in the weather before the party. While I hung the yellow bows, a retired Boston cop wandered by, walking his dog. He stopped to speak to me, apparently one of the kids had delivered him an invitation.
“Sure is a hot one today”, he said. I laughed and replied, “Oh, it’s not so bad. It’s not hot until you see the heat moving on the pavement.”  “Are you that woman from Mississippi?”, he queried. Hmmm, I thought, word must be out already. I nodded. “Where did you get all the bunting?”, he asked. Apparently, everyone in Boston decorates like crazy for July 4th, and 6′ wide bunting is hard to find. I was defensive but responded, “I brought it from home. We have a big front porch, and this is what I use at home.” He frowned but said, “Hmpf, I didn’t know you celebrated July 4th ………. down there.” I stopped and cocked my hip, “It is still the same country, ……..ya’ know.” He didn’t mean to be offensive, just poorly worded, and backed off, adding……, “You know, the neighborhood has a prize for best decorated house. “Yeah (with contempt), you’ll probably win this year.” I raised an eyebrow, “A prize, you say? For decorating? Bet your ass I will win!” He asked about our flag, the last flag to fly over the USS Saratoga, and I told him the story of it. He decided I was okay. We became great friends…….
It was time to start cooking. The girls had never seen a KitchenAid mixer before but they were great help. I brought everything with me for the gumbo but it needed a day to settle. Big T had to go into Boston to the office for a while but took Gunner with him. I asked if they could stop by the farmer’s market and gave them a list of the fresh vegetables, fruit, and antipasto I needed for the long spill. They were back by noon. Gumbo was done, 28 quart stock pot 20lbs of shrimp, filled to the brim. I had no place to put it. Back to Lowe’s for another refrigerator? And a window AC unit?
The windows were open while we cooked in the kitchen and you know….. the smell of onions and sassafras leaves……. and Cajun spice……. and boiling the shrimp…… we had several visitors from the neighborhood. A guy named Louie stopped by. He was the head of the neighborhood parade, held on the morning of July 4th, at 10:00am. He asked about my flag and wanted to borrow it for the parade. Put it on the one fire truck at the beginning. I was honored, of course. I thought to myself……… omg, there’s a parade at 10:00. I learned there was a ceremony, rededication, veterans presentation at 11:00 at the park around the corner……… and our housewarming is at noon. OMG!!!!!!!!! Everyone will end up at our house after the parade. What am I going to do?
Another guy stopped by who owned the house across the street, we’ll call him Dave. He was Chair of Finance Dept at Harvard. He smelled food and wiggled his way into my kitchen to sample. He offered his fridge to hold the gumbo. His wife, a kooky psychiatrist never cooked anyway. He and Big T became HUGE friends. I was happy with the offer.
Big T came home and off we went with a BIG grocery list. Home again. I took the kitchen with the girls. Big T and Gunner went out to find furniture. He looked at me like I lost my mind. “Please….., honey……., don’t give me furniture. I’ll never find the right stuff to make you happy.” I kissed him on the cheek, “You make me happy. It will be okay. I trust you.” We had a rough list of what we needed. What he didn’t know was, in one of the boxes I sent, I had a dozen patriotic-type quilts and afghans. For a decade, whenever I saw one at a garage sale, I bought it. We used them all the time at the B&B for summer holidays. Whatever he bought, if it was really – truly – horrible, I could cover it and make it work.
He came home with a great tan sectional, $200. He did well. As a bonus, however, he stopped at a garage sale on the side of the road, and bought a couch…… for $1. I laughed and he laughed. It was hideous, bright orange-gold, mid-century modern, but it was solid as a rock and LONG enough to take a nap. He loved it and that was all that mattered. We put some quilts on it for the day and it was perfect. He found three old televisions, a few end tables, and some beastly lamps. We were going to be fine. I bought 9 folding card tables ($15/each) from Lowe’s for buffet, bar, and odd places – easy to cover with July 4th fabric from the B&B. We had about 30 white plastic chairs. Six coolers, sodas, water, and kids drinks on the side porch, beer and wine at the back deck. The kids tacked rope lights under the railings for deck and side porch, around the front door, and inside the fenceline……. in case the party went late.
The retired Greek opera singer at the end of the street sent me an enormous flower arrangement for the buffet. Wow, have to love Euro-etiquette! Big T had been warned about the guy next door……. as in….. he was mean. He was older, had a voice box which he covered with a dirty scarf. I smiled and waved and made sure the kids were nice to him. Gunner loved him cuz the girls were mean. Suddenly, I noticed we had a newspaper delivered, Boston Globe and the Wall St Journal….. but Big T never ordered one. They were laid perfectly on the top step, every morning. How odd. The paper guy would have thrown them, right? We figured out….., Voice Box John walked early in the morning, stole someone else’s paper, and brought it to us. Major breakthrough for him. He became like an uncle to the kids. I loved John.
I don’t like fat-laden-grisley BBQ. We do a 10-11lb pork loin, trim it all up, soak it in a special sauce, and put it in a turkey cooker (steam roaster) for about 18 hours on low. The meat rests and falls apart with a spoon. Then, we add about a cup of the marinade, then chill. I get about 30 sandwiches out of one loin and can cook 6 loins at a time = 180 sandwiches. We put the BBQ on and the smell drifted all over the neighborhood. Sauerkraut, fresh. Standard 6′ fruit spill with the anti-pasto on the card tables. Lots of dips and chip stuff brought out in succession, not all at one time, on a hot day. I made up 150 hamburgers, and real Boston baked beans (had never done that one before). The new fridge was delivered early on July 3rd, along with a window AC unit (surprise), and we bought a LOAD of frozen cool pops for the kids….. and tied the scissors to snip the end to the freezer. Three kinds of cookies for dessert, no cakes. Lovely neighbor, Martha, brought us the prettiest apple pie.
Teri and Ellie showed up the afternoon of July 3rd. My kitchen was a wreck and I was a little bit nervous by the chaos. The were dragging a wagon behind them….. with boxes of liquor. “We didn’t know what you drink, so we brought everything.” Ellie became a second grandmother to Gunner and Terri became an ordained minister…….. just so she could finally marry the two of us. Good friends.
Across from our little cottage was an empty lot, then up a slight hill was Toby and Dot’s house. Dot stopped by my kitchen to coordinate food for the day. She was having about 20 people at her house, some from the neighborhood, some family, and didn’t want to show up with 20 add-ons. We worked it out well because our house had the view and the cool breeze. In fact, we just made the party bigger. People flowed from her house, to the field games, and then to our house all day long…. like we planned it that way.
We had couple of failures over those few days. Dave the Harvard Chair could not wait until July 4th for Gumbo. He decided to warm it up on his stove, the evening of July 3rd, so he could gorge on Gumbo, before everyone else got to it. He scalded the bottom and ruined the gumbo. I was sick about it. Poor guy…… he was just hungry….. his wife never feeds him.
Late that same night, I was putting together a bean salad and cooked 5lbs of fresh, French cut green beans with a sauce. The beans were one ingredient, PART of the bean salad. Bit T was helping me, peeling potatoes for potato salad, and I was working on other beans to build the bean salad. Dave was sitting at the kitchen bar, talking to me while I cooked. The two of them ate all 5lbs of fresh green beans. FIVE POUNDS of them. I turned around and couldn’t find the green beans. They looked like little kids, caught with hands in the cookie jar. Dave said, “I’m sorry….., I just……. I couldn’t stop. They were so good. They were like lemon candy…..” He was so embarrassed, no way to fake that kind of a reaction. A green bean? Like candy? I wondered when was the last time he had a good meal. What does he eat, I thought? Poor fella. At least he wouldn’t be constipated.
July 4th: The parade that morning was a perfect picture of America. Louie and the other Marines led the parade, full presentation flags. Then, the fire truck with our Saratoga flag at the back. Ellie, in her convertible Mercedes was the grand marshall that year. Followed by a bunch of kids who dressed up their bikes and scooters. Parents, babies in strollers, little kids in wagons, everyone wearing red, white, and blue, waving flags. I wanted to cry, it was so beautiful. Big T and the kids were in the parade, while I manned the house and did last minute chores.
Presentation at the little park was heartwarming. Everyone said the pledge, sang the national anthem, history of founding fathers, short presentation by the vets in the neighborhood, presentation of colors, and a closing prayer. It was 2004…….., still praying in Boston.
And then……, everyone came to our house.
We had one neighbor who was a bitch, next door to us. No one in the neighborhood liked her. She was a lesbian who ran an NGO. She redid her house and spent almost a million on it. She was a snob, thought she was better than anyone else. As the day wore on, she drank too much. Late that night, she was eating a blueberry muffin sitting on my porch step. I sat down next to her to try to make a friend. She cried like a baby….. on my shoulder……. about Italy. Yep, she was weird but needed a friend that night. She was alone.
No telling how many people were at our little home that day, but the house was happy and handled it well. Everyone helped, contributed willfully. Many hands make light work. Neighbors helped me wash dishes as the day went along. Other men helped Big T on the grill and organized games for the kids. A young woman down the street ran a local bakery, and brought the biggest sheet cake I’ve ever seen……… half the size of a twin bed…… and it was exquisite. An ARMY of kids, roving bands of them, went in and out. A football game broke out at the lot across the street. The opera singer sang for us. The old Italian guy from down he street started a heckuva poker game in the dining room. An antique car collector from around the corner brought fabulous Scotch whiskey and cigars…… the guys had a good time with that one. I watched Big T from across the crowd and he was having fun. He needed guy friends. The neighborhood would be good for him. Older folks settled on the side porch with Sinatra…… and danced like they were young again….. Does it get any better?
About dusk time, the tide went out and the men slipped off the sea wall into the muck to shoot off the “illegal Mississippi” fireworks in the bay. It was perfect. We laughed and played together. We ate like kings, sans Gumbo.
About 3:00am, we said goodnight to our last guest and blew out the tiki torches and remaining candles. I went to check on the kids who had long since collapsed. Littlest girl, sound asleep, still clutching a flag……. Gunner, with a blue tongue and moustache from Cool Pops, sleeping together in the same bunk bed. Middle girl, sprawled and snoring. Eldest girls, still dressed, sound asleep, feet to head, head to feet.
Big T and I crawled into bed. The house was a wreck but well christened. We could clean it up in the morning. We knew we were home and among friends.
For July 4th, no difference in cultures at all, we were all Americans. Our little cottage would be perfect for us.