Party time

Left-to-right: Debbie (my niece), her father Jerry (my brother-in-law), Christina (Debbie’s daughter, hidden), Carol (Jerry’s first wife), and Jerry (Debbie’s boyfriend). (Photo by BobbaLew.)

My deceased wife’s brother has been here over the past weekend, Wednesday night (July 8th) through Sunday afternoon (July 12th).
He was her only sibling, and two years older than her. He lives in FL.
My wife died over three years ago. He came up here to -a) see how I am, and -b) go with me to help decide how I should treat my prostate cancer.
My prostate cancer is another blog; I’ll get to it eventually.
My prostate cancer is worth worrying about, although it can be easily treated. I still feel fine.
It’s serious enough to remove my prostate, although I was told that was the best way to treat it, if I expected to be around a while.
My father also had prostate cancer, but was treated with radiation — which was what they did back then. He died at 79, but mainly from Parkinson’s disease. —Radiation is good for about 10 years.
My brother-in-law’s visit was a chance for him to see his Rochester (NY) relatives, mainly his daughter by his first wife.
His daughter is now 46, and has a daughter by her first husband, who she divorced.
That daughter lives with her mother, who is now 73.
That daughter also has a boyfriend.
I don’t pass judgment on all this, except I don’t want Debbie (the daughter) to encounter depressing madness.
We all ate Thursday night (or was it Friday) at a restaurant in Rochester, and decided to hold a picnic at my house Sunday afternoon. —The daughter, her daughter, daughter’s boyfriend, plus her mother and father and me.
Fortunately they brought paraphernalia to hold a picnic. I say that because I don’t have anything, and am still a bit wonky after my wife’s death.
Included was a giant canopy, which was erected with great drama. Boyfriend became testy with my niece who wasn’t erecting it properly. “We’ll go to the hairdresser and dye your hair blonde,” he said.
I had to bring chairs out of my house, and use my finest china because we didn’t have paper-plates.
Our napkins were Christmas.
Boyfriend had brought his grill, and we roasted hotdogs.
My dog was inside the fence, and our canopy outside. This was to keep the dog from stealing hotdogs.
We ate and then began shooting the breeze.
“One thing I’ve learned after 71 years on this planet is to not discuss politics and religion,” I said.
Boyfriend commented about Donald Trump: “It’s about time we had a businessman as president.”
I didn’t say anything, nor did anyone else. His comment fell on deaf ears.
Yet boyfriend and I are both car-guys. A car-show was being held up the street.
We watched in awe as an unmuffled ’55 Chevy drag-car blasted by, loudly serenading the neighborhood.
“That guy drove that thing all the way out here just for that car-show?” I said.
Boyfriend then shared a hotrod magazine. 89 bazilyun ads for complete steel frames and car-bodies. People manufacturing things the car-makers once made — that became hot-rodding icons, like the ’55 Chevy and the ’32 and ’34 Fords.
Finally we wrapped up. I went inside to start loading my dishwasher, and the canopy was taken down.
Back to normal; you’d never know we held a picnic.
Was it pleasant? Yes. People had to keep moving to avoid the sun.