Partying on the precarious line

We were invited to an annual overnight backyard party on the outskirts of town on Saturday night!

John and Sue’s back yard is big yet cozy because it’s got all these nooks and crannies and seating areas. There’s a greenhouse that they built themselves, and gardens and benches and ponds and hammocks and all kinds of stuff.

The focal point is a stage built into a tree in the centre of the yard. John and Sue are both musically talented, and they have a lot of musically talented friends who come together for this event, along with people like me who don’t actually possess any musical talent of our own, but who appreciate it in others.

Julie kicked things off. She needed to belt out a few tunes after her Terrible Awful Day, which included, among other things, a household invasion of stinging insects.

She was followed by Cam and Geoff and Rysard and Chuck, and before long the stage was alive with a variety of musicians and instruments all jamming together in intriguing combinations.

I am so impressed by the range and depth of talent among people I know.

Take Pat, for example. She’s a bartender at Irene’s Pub and she is freakishly quick-witted. She can deliver a brilliant, hilarious and completely original monologue off the top of her head, anywhere, anytime. Last night I discovered she can do it to music too, just making it up as she goes along.

I’d love to set her up to do a daily five-minute podcast. It would take her literally five minutes a day, since she wouldn’t need to write it down or practice it or even think about it in advance. She’d just open her mouth and out it would come, a fresh, fully-formed, five-minute work of pure comedic genius.

Speaking of talent and genius, have you ever noticed that musically talented people often have an abundance of other creative talents too? Why do you suppose that is?

Anyway, GC and I left the party around 11:00, just as things were really starting to rock. That’s because I’ve had to temporarily give up my anti-inflammatory meds because of the surgery, and, as a result, I’ve had to double my painkiller intake. Under such circumstances, I suspect there’s a precariously thin line between being pain-free and being unconscious.

When I was younger I might have had some fun figuring out exactly where that line is drawn, but not so much anymore. These days I’m a very cautious party-goer. I study labels, warnings and side effects, and I feel like I’m living dangerously if I wash down a painkiller with a beer. A single yawn sends me scurrying home to the safety of my bed.