That horse head up above?

That’s what greeted our guests yesterday, when they approached our door dressed in Kentucky Derby attire (oh, ya. There were hats!) to celebrate the graduation of two kids from a college in Kentucky.

Horse head.

It makes sense, right?

No, seriously, look:

And then there is this:

I don’t even know what that is.

When Mac ran toward me wielding him in HomeGoods, I said ‘no’, because he is not a horse head. He is a zebra.

Or a wHierd donkey.

But, in no way is he a horse head.

She said his name was ‘Stan’.

I said ‘no’ several dozen more times.

Then ‘Stan’ appeared in the middle of the check out line (seriously, people were stepping around him). Mac said he needed a home.

She promised she would use ‘Stan’ again, after the party, when she gets her first apartment.

How do you say no to such a practicality? Recycling a not-quite-a-horse head?

It was so environmentally conscientious of her.

Then, as we were waiting in line, Mac mentioned that I have purchased many props for parties over the years and perhaps I might let go of them, for use in the aforementioned future apartment.

Huh.

This would be interesting, as her decor would be sort of a blend of Kentucky Derby, Mardi Gras, high school graduation (complete with “Yay, Mac you made it!” and graduation cap-shaped “Please park here” signs).

Oh. And Halloween stuff.

So, basically, her first apartment would have a spooky-yet-celebratory Cajun voodoo vibe, complete with disembodied horses and helpful parking signs.

And Stan.

Should be interesting.

But it got me thinking that I do, indeed, house a lot of… well… crap in my basement and assorted storage areas. And I was thinking about how, one day, I will need to rid myself of all that crap.

I was thinking about this yesterday, the party was filling up and getting loud and my niece Courtney’s husband Brendan was suddenly in front of me and talking to Granny and Grampa, who were beside me, chillin’, octogenarian-style.

Brendan said he brought his pick up truck and could take the quilting stuff that Granny wanted Courtney to have.

Granny exclaimed – exclaimed – “Oh thank God!”

And we all kind of laughed because it seemed exceedingly important to her to give this particular stuff to Courtney. But we were also thinking that it was kind of sweet too, because Court is pretty creative and could really do cool things with quilting stuff and wasn’t it nice that Granny was thinking of her, right?

So we were anticipating that the gifted items would probably be a few rubbermaid containers of fabric, and also a pair of scissors or something.

Also, Brendan was taking a rocking chair back for my other Niece, Meighan, because he had the room in his truck.

So that was it. At the end of the day, Brendan would drive away with a rocking chair, fabric, and maybe scissors.

Uh.

No.

What actually happened was that, all during the party, Brendan brought stuff from Granny and Grampa’s side of the basement to his truck.

A lot of stuff.

Here is what I saw him carrying:

One medium-sized plastic container that looked half-filled of various fabrics.

The rocking chair

At least four, large plastic file-type cabinets with two or three drawers in them. Each had one or two or three wheels on the bottom (none had all four wheels).

Also, there was no fabric in any of them.

Or scissors for that matter.

One dusty but perfectly new (tags still on it) piece of rolling luggage.

Completely empty.

One large cardboard mystery box.

This was fascinating.

The woman was not giving away treasured quilting heirlooms…

She was dumping her crap!

Craftily.

So.

Yesterday I had a party.

There were forty people in Derby attire.

There was food, including lamb with mint julep dipping sauce, Kentucky burgoo, bourbon-glazed short ribs, black-eyed pea salad, and very yummy cakes.

The hot tub was heated and was a hit with the youngest, who thought it was a bubbly bathtub.

There was an organized activity (a relay race involving caps, gowns, and proctored tests).

There were prizes for best hats, male and female divisions.

There was a rockin country playlist.

And what are we doing at the end of the party?

Laughing our asses off at poor Brendan, as he drives his truck down the driveway, looking like he’s heading to Sanford and Son’s junkyard!

Later, I got a text from Number-One-Niece-Meighan, who was with Courtney when she opened up the cardboard mystery box.

The box contained dust, an old blanket from Columbia University (given to Granny by Meighan herself, years ago), and a ratty, hole-y, chenille throw with tangled fringe.

That’s it.

I can’t claim to understand it all, but I know we are all smiling about it.

Especially Granny.

She’s been smiling all the do-dah day.

Thanks for readin’.

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