At long last, I'm recording the doings of this summer's block party on 1500 Norwood. Epic, they were.
The overview:
The theme: the Olympic Games
The duration: 9am until after midnight
The weather: thankfully glorious
The aftermath: Eamon and I slept all day Sunday, and only crept out in the evening to grill some brats and blow off the last of our fireworks with the neighbors
But clearly, no simple overview could capture the splendor. So here, I will try, with my humble skills, to paint in words all that transpired. God help me.
Morning starts early for the 1500 Norwood block party. By 9am, families began to emerge, here and there, wiping sleep from their eyes, blinking dazedly in the morning sun. Donuts and coffee were our first repast, supplied by Nancy (our former nun), the charming 80-something couple Manny and Lucille Eckert, and the now famous Delores McDermott.
As I strode toward the donut table, I was greeted by a cheerful if incoherent hello from young Gavin Calto, nearly two years old, who was hailing the entire block from his upstairs bedroom window. I waved back.
But although donuts were consumed, the block party could not truly be said to begin until the opening ceremonies. Mind you, we don't usually have opening ceremonies, but this year's being an Olympic-themed party, ceremonies there must be. And, of course, Eamon must be in charge.
Rather than try to describe the amazing display that followed, I will direct your attention to his video recording of the event, made on my brand-new digital camera. Some things to note:
* A number of my neighbors seem not to realize that I am filming, and try to stop me to chat as I chase Eamon up the street.
* I am new to video technology, and at one point, I seem to think that I can simply turn the camera on its side to better capture the vertical splendor. If you listen carefully, you can almost hear the gears turning in my head, as I think, "Wait, that won't work ...!"
* Eamon's splendiferous toga is my sole contribution to the opening ceremonies. The night before, my weary boy sighed noisily, and said he couldn't go to bed until he had created his toga. To which I replied, "What create?" He indicated that his understanding was that togas were time-intensive affairs that required much in the way of complicated stitchery. To which I replied, "Do you have a sheet? Do you have a belt? Then you have a toga." Apparently, Eamon hails from the post-post-Animal House era during which high school students no longer had toga parties at the drop of a hat, and so did not fully grasp the rudimentary nature of toga construction. He's so lucky he married me.
Once the ceremonies had dazzled the masses, the block reconvened to pursue a wide variety of activities -- most, at this point, geared to the five-and-under crowd. These included:
* Riding every conceivable form of vehicle up and down the street. That is, in the street. THE STREET, I TELLS YA!!!!! If you don't understand what a mind-blowing experience this is, then you haven't been four years old in awhile.
* Decorating aforementioned vehicles at the "bike decoration station." Mainly, that means streamers of crepe paper taped to the handlebars.
* Creating FLAGS OF ALL NATIONS at the flag-decorating station. Megan -- she who gets thirsty -- worked her fingers down to very nubs creating blank banners to be decorated by, ahem, the children. You should have seen mine. It depicted a freeform sunrise. You know, as a pun on "Daly." Like, "Daily." Get it?
* Snake petting. You heard me, snake petting. Our neighbor Gretchen has many pets. Strange, strange pets. Including a snake. So we petted it. At one point, said snake heeded the call of nature, there, on the Calto's lawn. We grownups all stared, shocked. "I guess I knew snakes did that," quoth one adult, "but I just never pictured it."
* Pint-sized sports -- including soccer and basketball. This devolved into madness as Eamon and our neighbor Chris turned it into a battle to see who could make baskets using the most absurd approach. I think Chris on the tricycle won, but I'm sure Eamon will have something to say about that.
Did I mention that many households chose to participate in the family flag "contest" (it being a contest only in the sense that we created entries; not in the sense that we did any judging or gave any awards. We just got too tired)? The idea was: the Olympics involves many countries. Countries have flags. Our block has many families. Families ... have ... flags? Or they could. And should. And for one glorious day, did.
But what, you ask, adorned the Daly family flag. As you can see, we decided to commemorate a dominating theme of family life here at casa del Daly. So if you're in the neighborhood, be sure not to peek in the windows. You've been warned.
At lunchtime, we desisted our fun-having to eat a delicious smorgasbord of hot dogs, donated by the Patio Beef stand on the corner, chips, and sody pop.
Afterwards, the small boys of the block disappeared. I got a tip that they were sequestered in the "train room" of our kitty-corner neighbors, the Burtogs. A train room is, just like it sounds, a room dedicated to a remarkably intricate model train. And if you are a 4-year-old boy, you chant "go, Thomas, go!" just to ensure the train keeps moving.
The train room was topped only by a visit from a real-live fire truck, attended by real-live firemen. They offered opportunities to swarm all over the truck and spray water all over the street, and occasionally, on others.
Me, I was more interested in the firemen. Eamon did not agree.
The firetruck visit was so exicting that we all retired for naps. I awoke to find that Eamon had prepared the back yard for our contribution to the evening entertainment... but more on that later...
Naptime was followed by happy hour, potluck din din, and a performance by my a cappella group, Faces for Radio. We were delightfully well received, especially by some of our youngest audience members, who provided a tribute of fabulous dance moves, as recorded here. Keep your eye on the small blond boy.
After our performance, there was more eating, and the playing of adult games. These included Ruth and Kevin's brew bottle toss, a polo match involving small inflatable horses (hosted by the O'Connors), and the Keyes' watermelon seed spitting contest (both distance and accuracy were factors).
Sadly, I have no photos of these events as I was busy documenting our entry into the games category. The Mexican Triathalon.
Dubbed by some a collection of the most pervasive Mexican stereotypes, the Mexican Triathalon consisted of, naturally, three events. First up was the Mexican Hat Dance, in which contestants were required to improvise a dance of their choice around a sombrero, while staying within a border of 5 flags arranged in a circle. Points were awarded by judges.
Next up was the Margarita Dash. Using contestants had to fill a pitcher with water from an ice chest located at one corner of our yard. Then, they would dash to a table covered in plastic margarita glasses, fill the glasses, and take as many as possible to a third table, and pour said glasses into a vase. Repeat. It was a timed trial; contestants were judged according to the amount of liquid they were able to transport.
The third and final event was the adult pinata. Eamon purchased four pinatas -- the numbers 1 5 0 0 in honor of our block -- and we filled them with adult treats, including beef jerky, shot glasses, mini bottles of liquor, and alka selzer. Contestants each took several swipes. When a definitive blow was made, all contestants would make the mad dash to collect the items, and earned points for each.
Several observations:
* Liquor bottles, even plastic ones, tend to shatter when hit with a broomstick. Ooops. Thankfully, there were no casualties.
* A few of the bottles were glasses, and I had carefully entombed them in bubblewrap. This turned out to be a good things, since even though these bottles did shatter, their bubbly casings tended to hold the shards together.
* John O'Connor, the winner of the pinata event, got a serious and even frightening amount of air as he leapt to smash the pinatas. Alarming.
* Contestant Ann Casey spent much of the competition on the ground. But maybe that was because she and her husband Jim hosted their own competition, which involved tasting several bottles of wine and trying to identify the country of origin. Mayhap Ann undertook too many demonstrations.
After the triathalon, I had to miss some of the other games (described above) as I was busy reviewing entries for the "When They Were Olympians" competition. Using submissions from various and sundry of the block, I constructed a poster full of baby photos, numbered but otherwise unidentified. The object was to identify the latter-day neighbor according to the baby pic. Hilarity.
The evening ended the traditional way, with much drinking in the middle of the street, and a special innovation: closing ceremonies, orchestrated (naturally) by Eamon. The great state of Wisconsin (where fireworks can be purchased) is to be thanked for its star-spangled glory.
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