Nana's in town, I am a teen-ager & she's turning 80.
We've been shopping and for her birthday, she bought herself some white thigh-high boots to match the black ones I'd worn to Van Halen the night before. She had also purchased a Cross-Your-Heart underwire bra. Her new boots, like mine, were 'our secret.'
I always kept mine folded over & scrunched down until I left the house. She kept hers hidden in the trunk of the car. Popdaddy, her hubby & my Grand-father, had already shunned both of us for the bra, proclaiming that it took what belonged around her waist & launched it into two pads creating what he called 'torpedos.' The boots would be too much for him to bear.
Fixing her curly blonde hair, she asked what my Saturday night plans were, as I watched her milky blue eyes dance in the mirror. "I don't know, probably just hang out, maybe, with the guys."
The guys ... my friends, my purely platonic band of about 5 boyfriends, young men that I spent every available hour with over the previous 5 years.
Nana always encouraged me to date, date one of them or at least kiss them. 'Don't dive in' she'd say,'but get your toes wet...kissing is too much fun & it doesn't have to mean too much. Kiss them. Find one that kisses good & kiss him again.' I never did, they're my friends & most of them I still keep up with, probably because I didn't.
Anyway, she went on to say 'Let's all go out together ...me, you & the guys,for my birthday. I'd love to be surrounded by a bunch of young, fit bachelors for my birthday.' I knew she couldn't wait to wear her new bra & boots.
I laughed & called the guys.
Flamingo Joe's was a local watering hole that would serve me. So at about 7, we piled into the car and drove around the corner. We stopped. She & I both jumped out, giggling like the girls we were. She put on her new boots & I re-arranged mine. The guys were cracking up.
At Flamingo Joes, we ordered muchies & cocktails, plugged quarters into the jukebox and commenced to celebrating Nana, torpedo ta-ta's, go-go boots & all.
Nana stole a sip of my Week-at-the-Beach & loved it much better than her usual...Vodka/OJ or whiskey on the rocks. The name tickled her & brought back fond memories, as we always tried to spend a week at the beach together each summer.
Week-at-the-Beach... The name. The drink. The times. She loved it all & her love was infectious.
Entranced by alcohol & her contagious spirit, she had the guys orbitting around her every word & every move. They were in her world now.
She told them about our last week at the beach. She told them about how she hoped that I had snuck out to attend a bonfire party. I didn't. She said I needed more balls. She said I had cupid lips, kissable lips, lips like Scarlett O'Hara, lips that needed to be kissed & often. Emarassed slightly, I laughingly said 'Nana, maybe you should have Sex-on-the-Beach!'
Eyes on fire & no trace of a blushing, 'Oh I would Love that! That's wonderful! You all should do that at least once!' I think it was Brian who said "Let's do it!' and ordered a round of Sex-0n-the-Beach for the birthday party.
Now, if the name WEEK-at-the-Beach entertained her...you can only imagine what SEX-on-the-Beach did. The stories flowed as quick as the booze.
Before you knew it we were drinking shots of all kinds...buttery nipples, slippery nipples, even screaming orgasms, and then later flaming orgasms. Sugary-sweet alcohol based reminders of 80 years. Eighty years of love & lust, patience & pain, commitment & timing, believing & doing, sacrifice & sanctity, family, friends, fruition...eighty years of living, loving & learning. Wisdom shared between sugar sweet sips, knowing glances & moments on the dancefloor.
She was the world.
Her eyes, her words, her spirit, her very being nurtured us, kept us pulled in close to her, urged us to grasp life with all ten fingers and a smile, encouraged us to embrace our youth & look forward to aging.
Suddenly, 'A Hula-Hoop! Owwhh, I love Hula Hoops' squealed out of Nana just as our server zoomed by. The server, called back over her shoulder. 'Yes, we're going to have a hula-hoop contest!' Nana was dancing in her seat.
The server went to the make-shift stage with her arms weighed down by hula-hoops & the bartender turned DJ, announced for folks to come to the front & ease her burden. He said, 'When the music starts, go! Last one spinning wins 25 bucks off their tab tonight!'
Needless to say Nana was the first one up there ... Laughing, spinning, clapping her hands, winking, blowing kisses & loving every minute of it...now the whole bar was part of her world. Men ran up, a little late in the game, to join her in the hula-hoop showdown. Everyone was entranced, entertained & inspired.
When she finally returned to the table, she had her 25 dollar gift certificate.
Undoubtedly, we knew that all her words were true, we knew all her thoughts were precious, all of her actions to be admired and one day perhaps , we, too, could have a week-at-the-beach with hula hoops, go-go boots & torpedo ta-ta's.
Embrace the day & age with gusto.
3 months ago