Brilliant Sunday

So Sunday was Momma's Day.  I had plans to spend the day - not with my mother who lives 1000 miles away, but cleaning out my closets and weeding the wardrobe.  I started the morning with coffee and storage containers full of summer clothes.  I always forget what I have in the months between seasons and so it is a little like shopping - without going broke.

So I opened the containers eager to see what I had forgotten.  As I laid out each item, covering every surface in my bedroom, I realized I HATE my summer wardrobe.  It was depressing to see the explosion of multicolored fabric draped throughout the room and not see anything I was excited about. 

Just as I was about to retrieve some lawn and leaf sized garbage bags, the phone rang.  It was a very sleepy (and maybe hungover) M, my son, on the other end wanting to have lunch together. So, I left the mess in my room, closed the door on my wardrobe woes and ran off to a little English pub for some mid-afternoon ale*  with the son and future daughter-in-law. 

We met up at the tiny little pub that was surprisingly packed with thirty-something aparent orphans listening to live music and downing bloody marys where M presented me with a card in which he had written, "To my ultra-chic mother, have a wonderful Mother's Day!"  He obviously hadn't seen the contents of my summer closet.

Anyway, the three of us drank up a couple of cocktails and rolled out for some Thai food.  We started with some saki, drank some wine, ate some tofu and discussed all sorts of things.  Toward the end of our meal, I got on my soapbox about the state of the western meat-and-preservative-laden diet.  Of course I discussed this between bites of coconut cake topped with a five year old marischino cherry.  Ha! 

Then we went down to the river front and sat in the warm sun to discuss our next destination.  Just after we sat down, an old tug boat pulled in to dock.  The boat was filled with partiers - inebriated partiers - tooting horns, shouting, waving arms and whatnot over the side railings. 

As the revelers began to disembark, a 200 year old horse-drawn hearse clicked up and stopped in front of us.  The hearse was outfitted with glass, black plumes, a metal cross spire, and a red cadaver bed.  Driving the carriage was the grim reaper.  The reaper beckoned from his seat to one of the boat people.  Evidently, we had an "over-the-hill" party gag unfolding before us.

The birthday boy was loaded into the carriage to lie-in-state as the revelers began to form lines behind the hearse.  The whole party then pulled out and ambled down the brick street in a very noisy funeral procession.  I wish I had my camera on me as it was quite a to-do.

Watching the whole scene must have made M's fiance, B, nostalgic for horse carriages because she suggested that we take a carriage ride through the city.  M was quite opposed to the idea.  Although he didn't say it, I know him well-enough to know he was thinking that he would die a thousand deaths if anyone he knew saw him riding in a tourist carriage through the city streets.

After much begging from B, he agreed and we climbed aboard the white carriage and listened to the driver's spiel laced with bits of history, bits of fantasy, and lots of architectual information. The tour guide seemed particularly fascinated with tales of the courting practices and sexual morrays of antebellum society.  He tried to pass them off as being so gentile and proper.  He pontificated on the rash of teen-pregnacies today and that it was unheard of in those times.  I, not being able to resist the temptation to point out the fallacy, pointed out that girls were often married off at 14 and 15 in those days in the South.  And that teen pregnancies were in fact quite common.  He tried to contradict me - but recognized that I was right and dropped the subject quickly moving on to tales of accepted marital infidelity common among both sexes..  

I actually learned alot about the construction and history of my little town.  Even the very reluctant M was enthusiastic about the trip after it was over.  I thourouly recommend that you play tourist for a day in your city as it really opens your eyes to all the beautiful things you miss as you rocket around the city trying to accomplish the tasks of daily life.

After we left the carriage, we ambled down to a biker bar for a couple of beers and a discussion of the musical genius that is Kid Rock.  Yeah yeah yeah - did I mention that we had had a bit to drink by this point?

The last stop of our day ended up being a tiny little hookah joint where we smoked God knows what.  Thankfully, the hookah place serves no alcohol.  An actress, Sophia Bush I think - or someone Sophia Bush-like, came in and took a hit from our hookah before deciding to have what we were smoking.  She seemed very laid back and friendly.  Her companions, on the otherhand, were absolute douchebags.  While she tried to enjoy the collective conversation, they wanted to turn their noses up at everything and talk about money and how much each had made on this "deal" or that "deal" or who lost how much in Vegas.  How tedious for her! 

Also in the joint were some rasta kids. They were cleanish and friendly and such wide-eyed innocents.  It was quite the eclectic mix of people.  

We left well after midnight.  And I came home - to my destroyed bedroom and collapsed on top of my bed full of clothes.  What a perfect mother's day.  Just my speed.  Just my style.  Perfect.

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*So Sug and I were playing Scattergories the other day.  The category was Things found in the refridgerator.  The letter was "A."  My answer was "ale."  Sug thought that was uproariously funny and began taunting me asking, "Who the hell says 'ale' anymore?  K!  Can you put the ale  in the fridge; it is getting warm!"  So  I just had to prove that "ale" is a word used in modern vernacular - even if I was the one that had to use it.