Anniversary

As my life passes before me, without me being involved, I do try and jump in it occasionally. Sadly, many times I'm not very successful at it.

Case in point: Last week was my father's 25th wedding anniversary. They wanted to return to the hotel and restaurant they visited that night so many years ago. I was warned ahead of time that it was expensive. I'm currently struggling through a serious cash flow problem (it's flowing out, but not in), but I tell myself to enjoy myself this one night. It's not about me, it's about my parents. It's their night.

The usual confusion occurred. It's a simple question. One that should have been communicated from the first utterance of the get together: "What time?"

Me, I'm traveling 3 hours to have dinner with my family, whom I saw just LAST week. But, this is their night, it's not about me I repeat to my self.

Driving up the mighty Interstate 5, I start getting the phone calls, "What time were you told to be there? Who told you? And when did they tell you?" Not wanting to play the telephone game, I just called the source; my dad.

"Seven-thirty, I think. I was supposed to get a reservation for 7:45, but you know me... I forgot." He says. Looking at my watch, it's now 7:10. I'm not going to be on time. I let him know that I have to stop at my sisters and change clothes, and we'll be there as soon as possible. In case you haven't guessed, I was told eight o'clock, several times.

Turns out, he hasn't arrived at the hotel yet either. So, they still have to check in, get dressed, and get down to the restaurant. TURNS OUT that they're on the same freeway I am, about 3 miles in front of me. And my sister, my sister is about 2 miles in front of them! THAT, my friends my family communicating at its finest.

My sister, brother-in-law, and I arrive at the restaurant at just after eight o'clock (I'm secretly proud that I would have been all of 4 minutes late!). My other two sisters were already situated, albeit just before us. The guests of honor are the last to arrive.

And, I am so glad we had reservations, as we were the only patrons in the place. Yes, eight o'clock in downtown Portland on a Thursday night, and we were the only patrons.

I felt like a hillbilly, but I ordered a beer in this posh place. But, I look at it this way; there was no one there to see me do it! So, in the grand scheme of things, did it really happen?

Being the odd man out (No wife; no date) I'm stuck at the end of the table without a place setting. Now, I would like to add, that two of my female friends would have joined me, but it was a Thursday night. So this isn't designed to be a sad, woe is me, tale. Just a bad flip of the Girls Gone Wild calendar.

Looking at the menu I realize that I'm about to have my first fifty dollar steak. The only thing cheaper on the menu was a dinner salad, the soup* ("The soup's fuckin' ten dollars!"), or a caramelized chicken breast. If I'm going to drop the price of a tank of gas on a piece of meat, it's going to be a decent slab of broiled excellence. I pony up the extra two bucks and get the 11 oz. New York Steak. Could have had the 8 oz. Filet, but no... gimme that extra 3 oz. of artery choking goodness!

I love steak. I really do. But, I'm not a connoisseur. To me, this was the same steak I could get at Applebee's for fourteen bucks. We definitely weren't paying for the great service, nor for the wonderful ambiance. There was neither. What I paid for, was a tasty steak, mixing wine, beer, and champagne, and dinner with my family.

Twice I received the "Quote of the Night" award, but I'll be damned if I can remember what they were now. To me, they were throw away lines but had they been drinking milk, it would have come up through their noses.

The night ends with one sister worried that another has had too much to drink. To me, the fact that someone was worried about that is both endearing and annoying at the same time. It was a snide remark that didn't need to be said aloud. It doesn't matter, she wasn't driving. It was a celebration.

Even two days later, both my dad and his wife (I've never called her "mom") say how perfect their anniversary party was. It was exactly what they wanted to do, where they wanted to be, and who they wanted to be with. It makes my original crankiness about having to drive 3 hours to have dinner an embarrassment.

I still could have filled up the gas tank of my car for the price of that piece of meat. That still bothers me. But, just not as much anymore.

*= A well worn line from "The Blues Brothers".