Birthday Boy

By Shirley Kealey (his mom)  

Son Monte had a birthday party at my house, 7:30 pm. Tuesday, November 22, 2011, born 42 years ago that day.

Present were me, Uncle Rod, his sister Shan, his fiancee, J'aime, friends Noreen and George with their dog whom I shall name Little Miss Piggy.

I'd unearthed a few of my son's belongings that still remained with me: his little cutlery set, a drawing from his childhood that I had laminated, and a salmon tin he'd decorated in school. We'd used it to hold matches.

I put them in a bag & signed a card which included a cheque - postdated for Nov. 30 (just to be safe.)

Monte built a roaring fire in our fireplace & was busy carrying in bundles of wood while a heavy rainstorm pelted relentlessly down, beating on the pavement and drowning the vegetation. Gusts of wind shook the trees but lights were on inside. We were happy and cozy, blessed with a sturdy house, loving friends, family, and food.

Monte had requested pie rather than cake, so J'aime knocked herself out that day, making lemon and pecan pies. She prepared them at work; left them on the counter. When she heard her co-workers exclaim, "Hey, there's food in here!" she ran to the staffroom just in time. Dave was holding a knife aloft and about to slice into them with his friends gathered 'round ready to partake.

At home, guests arrived with gifts while we seated ourselves around the table: Monte at one end with J'aime beside him and Uncle Rod at the other. I sat next to Monte with Noreen by me and George beside Rod. Shan was almost directly across from me and next to J'aime, while the dog roamed under the table looking for crumbs and a spot to settle.

As for the gifts: Imax tickets from George, (the Climbing of Mount Everest), Purdy's chocolates from Uncle Rod, a sizable cheque from his sister, a smaller cheque from me, a lottery ticket for possibly $20,000 from Noreen and many good things from J'aime, including a large tin of Bassett's Licorice Allsorts and 3 sets of DVD's that he'd long been wishing for. He was now quite overcome, saying it was the best birthday he'd ever had, thanking us, then getting up and running out to bring in more wood. When he returned, he quietly lit a candle and I realized there had been no birthday candles on the pies for him to blow out, thereby signaling the singing of Happy Birthday. So I chose a note, nodded to Shan and we all joined in with cheers and a clapping finale.

Shan made a big pot of tea; I brought out the dessert plates and Monte sliced the pies with most of us requesting a sample of each.

More tea, more stories as we shared our memories. We cleared the table and sat by the fire. Miss Piggy was lapping up something by the front door. I couldn't see her so I asked George what was she about? He shrugged and said she was washing herself.

The party was over. Guests zipped up their coats and I heard J'aime scream, "What's happened to my pies??!!" Noreen had placed them, the pies we hadn't eaten, uncovered by the front door and George's dog had lapped all the meringue off the tops. What a chow-hound! J'aime was ready to faint. Monte had looked forward to having those leftover pies and she'd made them for him with LOVE. J'aime had rescued them from her co-workers but now had been done in by a dog. George did nothing except to look rather embarrassed so I took it upon myself to scold and wag my finger at that *!!!*  little critter who DID appear a wee bit worried. Probably because she couldn't understand what I was talking about. (I think I shall speak to George about it. Perhaps he DID apologize.) I called J'aime the next day and left a message promising to bake 2 lemon pies on the very next occasion. (Don't tell anyone but Shan told me quietly that J'aime's lemon pies are good but MINE are the best!)

J'aime left the licked-upon pies in my kitchen and was helped out to the car. When they'd gone, George, obviously loyal and defending his pet, pointed out that HALF of one pie was as yet untouched; (the dog being too small to reach the back of it.) Also, I could see that she hadn't liked the flavour of lemon.

"Just get a knife," he said, "and cut it from here to there."

"I will, I told him, and we'll have it for breakfast." But no, we didn't.

I tossed them in the garbage.

George returned with a card and a promise of more pies and Monte came by so full of recriminations that I had to remind him that it wasn't MY dog. J'aime says that he is like a little pit-bull regarding her safety and she smiled a big smile. I am naming her, "Sunshine."