Just before I went
upstairs after the fabulous lunch I remembered to check the set-up
for dinner, and I am glad I did. I had spent a lot of time on the
seating plan. Ten years ago I learned from the lady who was doing my
dinner that the object of celebration should by no means sit at the
top of the table – which anyone would say was the most appropriate
– but in the middle, because then you were just half as far away
from both ends than if you were sitting at the top. So I had started
there, and I wanted the cousins of matching age to sit together,
because they don't meet as often as I would like them to; and I had
to place a familiar adult beside the youngest children, and then the
usual: alternate gender, don't place spouses together, pay attention
to seniority. I had put a lot of thought into it, and it turned out
there were two tables. Hence I spent most of the time between lunch
and dinner working on a new seating plan. I am sure there is some
clever software for this, but I didn't have time to explore. The
little time left, I admired my festschrift and checked Facebook for
birthday greetings. I know that Facebook prompts friends about
birthdays, but you still need to make an effort of clicking on the
link and writing “Happy birthday”, and most friends wrote more
substantial messages and appended pictures and music. Small tokens of
attention, but oh so much joy.
Then I finally put on the
outfit I had bought for the occasion.
There was another party in
the bar where welcome drinks were served, and I wonder what they
thought when all my children and grandchildren started arriving, and
there were noisy discussions about who wanted what kind of soft drink
and who was old enough to have a taste of the real stuff. Once again,
I had said “No presents”, but the kids had warned me that they
wouldn't listen to this nonsense. So there were some presents, and
there was another big surprise, of which I must tell in detail.
One bunch of
grandchildren was discussing what to give granny for her birthday.
The five-year-old suggested jewellery, blouse, skirt, scarf, shoes,
handbag. The seven-year-old said firmly: “No, Granny wants a
smartphone”. They looked at her with doubt, but she was adamant.
“Have you forgotten? When we went to visit Granny in England, and
she kept looking at the boys' phones and asking what they could do,
and she said she wanted maps and star charts and bus timetables”.
Isn't she a clever kid? The father consulted his little brother (who
had been nagging me for years about a smartphone), and that was
decided. Technical support was promised when Julia and Pontus came to
visit us the next week. Don't misunderstand me. All the other
presents were lovely, each in its own way, but this is such a sweet
story.
The rest was more or less
predictable, but still wonderful. Even the youngest grandchildren
behaved well and enjoyed the special children's meal, and the older
ones realised that they could talk to each other live rather than
through their phones. The family chorus sang the song that Staffan
had written for me, and the two sisters sang “When I am sixty-four”
reading the lyrics from their phones. Between main and dessert we
asked the waitress to take a family photo. Then we retreated to the
bar for postprandials, and the youngest kids started dosing off which
the parents completely ignored. And I thought how clever we were to
stay at the same place where the dinner was. Because when everybody
left we merely had to go upstairs.
To be continued.
To be continued.
No comments:
Post a Comment