Looking out my Backdoor: Threw a party

It was not the usual party. Bear with me while I paint a picture for you of the background that led to this strange, but not unfamiliar, party.

First thing, Baby Marley, my great-granddaughter, who spent the winter in the hospital NICU in Billings, who is still fighting the effects, came down with COVID. Oh, yes, the whole family fell ill, one by one, like a standing-on-edge row of dominoes.

Every morning I’d check in. How is Marley? How are Kyla, Leilani, Tate, Jessica and Damon? How is Grandma? Whew!

The whole week I lived in a cloud of worry. That fog dominated my senses. I knew I wasn’t thinking straight. But I couldn’t seem to shift gears.

I even managed to work myself up into a couple days of my own minor illness, mirroring my family’s symptoms without benefit of COVID.

During this time, three of my friends, three of the other homeowners here, flew in for various periods of time. Every day they were off gadding about, doing fun things. I succumbed to a tinge of envy.

Now, these three women have known each other all their lives. Two of them are here for a short period of time, will be back come winter. It is only normal that they would cram in every minute of fun that they can.

Of course, they don’t invite me. They know I am saving every peso for truck rental when I move, maybe in two or three months. I turn down every invitation.

Doesn’t matter that I wouldn’t go with them. Doesn’t matter that “no, thanks” would be my decision. I still felt left out. Feelings are so weird, not to be always trusted, eh? I didn’t say this was going to be a pretty party.

Then, while purging and packing a cupboard, sorting through posters from plays I’d been in or had directed, I caught a bad case of the “remember whens?” and that, on top of the aforementioned, led me to my degeneration into a pity party, one lone party pooper attendant, my own self.

To have a really good down-in-the-dirt pity party, one must feed it. What better food than comparing one’s insides to other people’s outsides. I always come out of this comparison feeling “less than”. If you have a need to feel badly, I guarantee this method works.

Fortunately for me, I felt myself hit bottom. Whoa. Hold your horses, woman. Let’s turn this team around. We don’t really want to stay at this party.

I would love to tell you that we left the party at a gallop. Party over! Well, it didn’t work that way.

For a good hour, I had to self-talk my way back out of my slump. It was hard work. There is something in my mind that gets a payback from a little self-pity and it didn’t want to let me go.

What I can tell you is that once I got my Tigger-bouncy mind calmed down, I was able to take that pity party in a strong grip, gather all my energy, plant my feet firmly, knees flexed, windmill my arm in my very best caricature of a baseball pitcher, and throw that party as far away from me as I could fling it. I think it flew over the mountains plop into the ocean.

That’s how I threw a party.

My family is in various stages of sick and getting better.

Baby Marley is still snuffly but has the “energy of a horse.”

My friends are packing their days full of adventures.

My mind has settled down to appreciating the wonders of the day.

Mangos are in full ripe juiciness. Life is good again.

Invitation to a party? Uh, no thanks. I’m partied out.

——

Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].