I began this post as a party downstairs was in full swing. Most of this is a contemporaneous account, almost as a diary. At the end I offer a postscript.
Dart Board in the Rec Room
The Party in Progress
As I write this, there is a party going on in my basement. I'm counting the moments until 12:00 AM. That's the curfew. Everyone goes home then. If not they will see my aged head peeking over the banister and telling them to leave.
My granddaughter is home from college. I love it. Nineteen years old and full of enthusiasm. Completely unaware of consequences.
I agreed to this party. Twenty people. My granddaughter spent the week preparing for the party. I helped her to pay for it and to shop for it. I even vacuumed the basement stairs.
Stairs Leading to the Rec Room
When we bought this house, a short time ago, we promised my granddaughter the rec room in the basement would be hers. To entertain friends.
Her idea of entertaining and mine do not coincide exactly.
When the night began, I was determined to ignore the party. I would wait upstairs until it was over, and I'd watch the cat. The cat and I would stay in my office.
The cat was OK for a while. Then it got restless and looked for ways to escape.
Eli (the Cat) Looking for a Way Out
When we planned the party, I thought, maybe I'll hear music and happy voices. I was looking forward to that. Then people started to arrive. At first a few, then more.
The number began to grow and I was certain the twenty threshold had long been passed. How many were there? It was getting very noisy. We have a noise curfew in the town--10:00 PM on weekdays, including Fridays.
My daughter is in charge of the happenings. She reports more than twenty guests. Maybe more than thirty guests. It's a small basement.
A Long View of the Basement (on the Morning After)
Are things getting out of hand?
Then my daughter texts, "God help me."
Time for me to take my head out of the sand and go downstairs. I've been a mother of teenagers and a teacher of high school students. There are instincts developed you never lose.
First I run into one boy waiting outside the bathroom. I introduce myself. Poor boy. Doesn't know what to do. I ask him if he has a grandmother. He says, "Yes". Tell him I'm concerned about the party.
I start to go downstairs. My granddaughter stops me. She's embarrassed. Of course she's embarrassed: the power of age and Grandma.
The poor boy outside the bathroom escapes by going inside. But, someone else comes out. I introduce myself. This boy must have heard the conversation through the door. He is less nonplussed than the first had been.
He chats with me and tells me he will eject anyone from the party who is misbehaving.
Power of age and Grandma?
Two girls leave. It gets quieter. My daughter reports that things have calmed down.
Still... the clock ticks slowly as I write this. Thirty-two minutes left.
I'll let you know how it turns out.
A few pictures of the cat while I wait.
Eli Still Trying to Get Out
Examining the Doorknob, Trying to Figure if That Will Work
Getting into Mischief, Leaping
Seven minutes to curfew. Who will enforce this? My daughter?
Curfew: down to less than ten people.
Postscript
It took another half hour for the last stragglers to leave. The cat was freed at last. We all went to bed, relieved and exhausted. I guess, as college-age parties go, this was tame. But it didn't feel that way.
Bridging generations is great, but takes a bit of adjustment. I think she (granddaughter), and we (grandparents) will be making adjustments as time passes.
Hand Sanitizer, a Surprisingly Practical Addition to the Supplies
Music?
Snack Corner
Club Effect?
Fallen Candy Canes
Posters
