2012 ZARBO FAMILY
REUNION RECAP
The week
after the reunion is always a sad time. It seems that when we anticipate such a
blast and it always is, the fun seems to last only a few hours then it’s over.
Maybe I can talk the chairperson into a beach weekend or even a weekend at the
Poconos for the next reunion, simply to make it last longer. Just don’t bring
your dogs. Didn’t one get eaten by a coyote that year? Maybe it was a cougar.
Then again maybe one of the matriarchs attacked one of the mid-twenties cousins
and had her way with him. Maybe it wasn’t that kind of cougar… Nor that type of
dog. My mind is going down the path not to be travelled by, so we’ll back up
and call it what it was:
A heck of a
ZFR weekend!
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Backing up
to Thursday, I had to see a doctor over a condition I’d rather not talk about.
It seems the operation I had really may not have healed well, so I had an
appointment to see my original doctor to see what needs to be done. As I left work
at 3:30 pm whom do I see walking from the train station towards my parking
garage but my weekend roommate, Uncle Gib. We walked to my car and he gave me
his luggage, and said either he can come with me and sit in the waiting room
for 3 hours (or however long this specialist took to see me) or he can chill in
the 'burg till I could pick him up. He chose the latter and I was off.
After the
appointment, I was feeling most comfortable (not!), and I found and picked up
Gib. We went home to get situated and hunkered down for a final respite before
the explosion that was the ZFR weekend.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
THE VINNIE JOY MEMORIAL
GOLF TOURNAMENT, 2012
Waking up in
the morning on a Friday made me think I had to go to work. Yet I took the day
off to play golf which meant I’d be in pain for the rest of the 2 years I had
to recover between golf tournaments. Golf takes a lot out of you and the
weather report for the day wasn’t the greatest. Thunderstorms, humidity… yes, I
packed baby powder.
I dropped
off Gib at his friend Marty’s because Gib didn’t feel like feeling hurt all 2
years like I was going to be feeling, and then headed to Manada Golf Course.
It’s a new place to me, but some of the golfers out there were pretty seasoned
on the course itself. Plus it had sand!!!
There were
plenty of players on the course from our family, but not such a large group as
we’ve had in the past… one team was Mikey Mac, Sean Murphy, and Jess Mac… one
team was Kiwi, Jess & Zach, (Mikey Mac’s buddy from Iraq, aka honorary
family member)… One team was Tony, Skip, Nina and Emily… and finally the ragtag
squad of Tre (me), my buddy Marc, Jonny Mac and his neighbor Jerry. Jerry was an elder Army Vet and he happened
to be a heck of a golfer. Yet what’s funny was throughout the day he was
telling me what I was doing wrong and how to improve. Yet clearly what I was
doing wrong was the fact that I was golfing, period...
While the
rest of the field was killing the drives and watching their PGA worthy balls
sail down the course, I was having fun digging in the ground with my wedges and
woods. I think at one point Jerry, whom didn’t know of my driving prowess, was
told to stand in front of the ball because sometimes I have been known to hit
the ball backward. My place clearly is not on the golf course, and I have to
say the most improved award if there was one goes to Jonny Mac. He’s usually my
counterpart in finding balls in the tall grass and forests, but this time on
the golf course he was hitting the ball fairly straight and in the air for some
distance. We used a lot of his chips and drives. Well, ok… more than we used
to...
While my
long game needed clear attention from the coaching department, Jonny Mac, Marc
and Jerry kept us in the game. Their long drives helped me clean up their mess
because what I found out that Friday was I had a clear (good for 3-4 holes)
short game. I even putted in 2 putts for
birdies, and one of the chips I made went too fast but right over the hole. But
when it came to driving, I was lucky if my ball made it to the girls’ tees.
Except one nice drive on I want to say 17... And that one nice drive (meaning
it went forward and in the air) hit a tree.
It was clear
that maybe, just maybe on this day, I should have just watched.
The weather
held off what was supposed to be horrid thunderstorms in the region throughout
the day, and it was beautiful cool weather at the eleven o’clock tee time. But
by around high noon, the sun had come out to bake off the morning dew and the
humidity decided to take a bite out of the day. The sun was beaming hot which
made for a more rushed golf game to go literally chill out in the club house
for some time.
When the
round was finally over, it was learned that the golf we played was actually
quite good for any amateur and rarely-play-ever golfers team (-4). But the
heroes of the day were the team of Sean, Mikey Mac & Jess Mac with a score
of -5. Kiwi’s threesome did well at 8+, and Tony, Emily, Nina and Skip came in
last. And my teammates Marc and Jerry received achievement awards individually
for longest drive (Marc eclipsed Sean by literally a foot) and Jerry hit
closest to the pin.
All in all a
fine round of golf for the remembrance of Uncle Vinny Joy. There were no
complaints, except of course for the heat. It was, for lack of a better choice of words, treacherously hot.
Afterwards,
I picked up Gibby and headed back to Mechanicsburg for a shower, nap, and
preparation for an evening at the Elk’s club.
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KARAOKE AT THE ELK’S
CLUB, 2012
Last time I
was at the Elk’s club it was for the same occurrence. Superfuntime karaoke. Yet
it was actually today (July 30th 2 years ago) at 11:07 pm that the
Wambachs’ lost their matriarch, and it was announced at the Elk’s Club when it
happened. So I had some inner demons to suppress as I walked in the club. So
many good memories, yet so many sad ones too… As much as I miss my grandma, we
weren’t there that day to bring back memories of the past but, rather to make
new ones for the future… and do that we did.
I saw some
familiar faces in the club as Gib and I walked in fashionably late. Songs were
being sung as if it was 10 years ago at Mr. G’s. Everyone seemed to be having a
fun time and libations were making the rounds of reunionites. I ordered the
standard pitcher of water and sat with Emily and Tony. We discussed couponing
among few other things, and then Magdalena got up to sing.
Lina (or
apparently I have been spelling it wrong on all her cards for 12 years) Lena
Murphy sang her little heart out full of Journey with a little help from Kiwi
during the songfest that evening, and I have to say I am happy I moved up to
watch her do her thing. It was magnificent,
and if it weren’t for the once again pitch-perfect and beautifully vibrato’d Manu
(ya couldn’t have let Lena take this one, could ya? You’re so loud and
competitive! Unreal!), she’d have stolen the show. Magdalena brought a tear to
my eye and I could see her proud mama sitting off to the right so I gave ReRe
a thumbs up as I walked by her.
As I mingled
I saw this stick figure walking around and to my amazement, it was a real
human. She strolled to my side and gave me a hug. When my palms hit my elbows I
had no idea who she could be, but the voice hasn’t changed at all. I picked up my jaw from the floor and
attempted to speak to her but my jaw kept landing on the floor. The
transformation from one hot dog sales lady to this teenie weenie, err, “ooooh
hoooo… witchy woman” was incredible. Like a caterpillar to a butterfly, Madame
Jean Cofer (“hot dog” be gone!!) sprouted wings and looked light as a feather. I-I-I-I
was speechless. I’d say Mr. Cofer is a very, very lucky man before but now he’d
better watch out. Hmm I wonder if he knows what chloroform smells like…? Yet as
usual, all the hot chicks I know are related to me. It’s a sad truth.
Yet there
was one more major score I had to settle with this club, and it was with that
of the darned pool table. The last time I was there was pretty much the last
time I played and it was awful. I brought a shaper with me this time though and
it was up to Tony and Carlo to figure out who was going to play me. I didn’t
bring my A+ game, but I’d say I brought my B- game, and it was satisfying
enough to forget all the golf miscues I had earlier in the day. I had a few
good runs on the table and I was happy with my performance. I played Tony,
Carlo, Mikey Mac, and all the while I was getting coached by a young man whom
didn’t even speak English. I asked him which ball he wanted me to put in the
pocket, and I did my best to perform his request. His name was Frank, he was
maybe seven years old, and if he was 4 feet tall by then I’d be surprised. For
the most part the balls dropped in the appropriate holes and his grandfather Frank
seemed happy about my keeping him busy instead of shooing him away from the
table. I could see him laughing with us in seeing his grandson’s enjoyment of
the game, and honestly even at seven years old he was a great coach. He saw a
lot of shots I didn’t see and challenged me more than I ever would have on my
own. I eventually played Frank Sr and got crushed, but still it was fun times
for their whole family. As I gave up the table the very Greek Frank Sr said “in
a year he’ll be speaking English fluently” and I retorted “Great! In a year
I’ll know not a lick of Greek so that works for me!” But Sr thanked me for
being so kind and patient with his grandson. (If he only knew what kind of
patience I had for children -0- he’d probably kill me, on the other hand I was
playing my game at a satisfactory level so I couldn’t complain.)
The night
wound down at about 12:30 am, and as some were deciding where to continue
drinking and eating, I decided against it and drove our getting elderly butts
home to Mechanicsburg. It had been a long day. Gib and I weren’t up much later
before we crashed out awaiting the biggest party celebrating the family to be
had.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
ZARBO FAMILY REUNION,
2012
***We’d been
using the same venue for some time. I even remembered the name this year for
the GPS (really I had Hannah’s email printed), but nonetheless I was expecting
to hit the exit off i81 to get right there. At the last minute though there was
a change in venues due to some kind of mix-up with the place err whatever, so
we were reissued a pavilioned establishment not unlike our usual digs. Cibort Park
was awesome, it even had an outdoor stage and kitchen. There were bleachers for
the softball game watchers and all cars no matter where you were parked were
really close. The playground worked out for the kids… It was spectacular. The
only complaint I had all day: it was humidly end-of-July hot. If we didn’t know
air conditioning could have been part of any family reunion it would probably
serve as a permanent location. On the other hand, it proves what you can
accomplish in looking for a 100-200 person reunion venue in less than a week.
If they had a Carnegie Hall for this, I would at least expect a plaque in Hannah,
Kiwi and the rest of the 2012 committee’s honor there.***
SOOOOOOOOOOO…
Gib and I worked our way out of bed and headed to the new place. It took some
finessing in the GPS but we made it and got there again fashionably late. We
were just in time to watch the lunch food be put away slowly and be part of the
makeshift softball game to be had.
Our usual
captains of Timmy and Nate couldn’t make it to the reunion. Nate had his new
excuse for not seeing him for some time, yet there are plenty of weddings and
family happenings beyond holidays coming to meet the new cousin. I’m beyond
excited to meet the baby and Grandma Cissy says the new addition is “wonderful,
just fabulous”… no shock there… she wrote the book on three-syllabled uplifting
adjectives. A math teacher… Go figure.
And Timmy
Hill is on the other side of the continent keeping up with the Joneses and
doing whatever the newest of Mexicans do for a thrill. Yet as fun it is to have
them as our usual captains, I can say they were sorely missed.
So Kiwi and
Sean it was, as the new civil war within family that is the family reunion
softball game was about to be picked. And boy was it hot. I was on the “Heat
Exhaustion” team and we played against “the Dehydration” team.
In the
middle of the game, we must have been close to an airport because a few planes
were flying close to the ground. I figure one of them got close enough to see
who or why the Nutzis were playing in this extensive heat. For the 3 seconds it passed over us, we were
riveted to the low flying plane, and oddly enough it was so close we could see
the plane’s rivets as well.
As our team
took the field in the final inning, I shouted “last inning” halfway to be funny
and halfway because I was on the heat exhaustion team and I knew the hot,
tingly feeling I was starting to experience wasn’t a good one. So either way, after
this last half of an inning in the outfield, if they finished this long hard
game we started without me that was fine, I was headed to the coolers to get
some cold water. And yet, oddly enough, at the end of the second inning, it was
over. It wasn’t just me who suffered from the heat, apparently it was everyone.
Who won? Like
the Civil War, who cares? We had fun. It was Civil. And 2 innings made it
unofficial anyway. Uncle Chris needed a shower, or maybe to try a new laundry
detergent. Because as Sal mentioned later, he was more of a belly itcher than a
pitcher. Kiwi also needs to understand that even when you are playing catcher
for the other team to let the ball bobble a bit when tagging out your own teammate.
That way it looks like you made an effort while secretly letting Tony score a
run for YOUR team… and to continue the tradition of the Masciulli’s at slow
pitch, Nina (like her brother the reunion before her) struck out.
After the
game I asked Aunt Rita for some food because I decided to stupidly play
softball first when Gib and I arrived. I snagged a few pieces of chicken and
salad from the fridge and sat by myself in the middle of the pavilion so the
smokers didn’t bother me and I didn’t bother them. I have an odd allergy, and I
call it odd because I smoked for YEARS. But I guess overexposure made me
allergic to it now. Oh well. I was doing fine and who sits next to me but Aunt
Carm and Nina and Skip. They all immediately lit up and I thought “smoked chicken
and phlegm it is”! I couldn’t get away from it most of the day and its fine.
For one sniffley day I could deal with the smokers. It’s family, so it was
cool.
Carm asked
me about where I was living now and how I liked it. I told her Mechanicsburg… “The
white shore is a pain in the butt. Things get done right and immediately. If
there’s a pothole, it’s gone by the end of the day. Anything you put out there
for the trash gets taken. ANYTHING. And there’s few ethnic people. Why? I
dunno. I like some pepper mixed in with my salt and comparatively to Harrisburg
City, Mechanicsburg is a Morton’s factory. You can leave your bike on the front
lawn and 20 minutes later it’ll still be there. I want to steal a bike out of
spite to show these kids this ‘Leave it to Beaver’ lifestyle is a dream!!! But
to me it’s a nightmare. Plus with everything running so smoothly, I needed to
move back to my city. I need a reason to be pissed with my government!” [to
loosely quote Jeannie Bueller in Ferris
Bueller’s Day Off: “If you say [Linda Thompson], you lose a testicle…”]
Aunt Carm
told me she is living over by the Inn of the Dove and she likes it a lot but
the animal population over there is outrageous. She had been on her seat in the
garage smoking a cigarette and what did she see running under the car but a
skunk. She said they’ve had a few instances of them now, and she screamed for Carlo
to get it out luckily without being sprayed. But overall, they like their new
house and are happy to have moved there.
I finished
eating lunch as I walked and mingled around with my clothes now superglued to
my sweat covered body, I found my way around and saw an old (young) favorite of
mine. She’s my biggest fan and has asked me repeatedly to write a book. (If she
read my blog, she’d have known just coming up with a title is a pain in the
butt!) Christine Stanisec (you spell it… the hot one that isn’t Uncle Chip)
said “Hey you! You remember your cousin –dammit I wanna say Joe but I think its
Chris… we’ll go with Chris—Chris right? [edit: it's Chip] And he now has a fiancée {insert
beautiful redhead name here}!”
Firstly I
did the middle aged adult thing: “Man I remember you when you were this tall –
(hand about hip-height or so) – and looking at {beautiful redhead name escapes
me} I can see no reason why he wouldn’t marry you!” She was stunning, and as
usual, all the hot chicks I know are family. And she wouldn’t marry me. I
couldn’t even remember her name 2 minutes after meeting her, let alone (now) 2
weeks from then.
Working my
way around I saw Amber and Frank Lopez, their children, and again I saw this
beautiful redhead. “Hey didn’t I just meet you over there?”
“No,” she snarled…
“I’m Ivy!” Great. She’s only been in the family for 20 years, you’d think I’d
know who she was married in with but no, she’s part of the Jeff Josh or John
crew, and I think it is Ivy and John or Jeff… I’m going with John this time,
which means I need to get to know my family better. But if she knew the
compliment I was giving her confusing her with the 20 year old redhead beauty I
had seen a minute before, she’d be 100% fine with it. I gotta remember in 2
years, Ivy is the one with the reddish
grey hair. Maybe she was tired of
getting confused with the hot redhead. Or the anticipation of a long ride… John
and Ivy were headed to the Outer Banks, NC that same day.
Names were
not my strong suit that Saturday… I called cousins their brother’s name (sorry
Christopher, or Philip, or whoever you are, but thanks for telling me you did
the same thing…), screwed up with people I haven’t seen for 2 years, and was
happy I recognized faces at least. Just don’t make me talk to you.
Continued
mingling allowed me to gain a small amount of access to a prized member of the
family whom I hadn’t met before. And as we can see so far my remembrance of
names in the family is squat. So I associate my newest met family member with
the large store on Grayson Road in Harrisburg. He is the Walmart of the clan of
Masciulli’s. And his name is Grayson. He’s the perfect mix of the beauty of Emily
and the curly hair of Tony. I even think
I saw a grey in his long curly afro. But he’s adorable and a seemingly fun kid
to have around. I figure I’ll see him again at the next reunion.
As I mingled
more I got away from a few folks and studied banners I hadn’t seen before, and
one of them were for the Sanner clan. It may have been up for years, but isn’t
as memorable as, say, the Hill Banner. And as I looked more there was one super
small one that may have been the most artistic effort put into any banner as of
yet.
The post-its
spelled out the word “epic” and in fact I believe it was. Hopefully someone
saved it. It was made by Ethan Wadsworth (of Jacque Hill fame), Alyssa Rose (of
Chris Wambach fame) and others I presume. But mainly the artwork seemed so
simple but naming everything and the thought that went into each post-it note
was amazing. The kids’ creativity blew me away. I can’t seem to do anything in
life, and these kids are brilliant artists. I even commissioned Ethan to come
up with a new logo for the 2014 reunion, and he’s all for it.
Finally
getting to the end of the pavilion I saw Tug Sanner, Hayden McClain, and the
guy whose wife said he needed to run around more. They were playing Frisbee and
adjusted their game to play with the travelling shade. It was brilliant, so I
joined in… It was mentioned to go to the softball field, but it was too hot for
humid Frisbee. We didn’t do too bad, but I was disappointed I wasn’t my old
self at the tossing game. I used to play on just about a weekly basis and
didn’t have to move when throwing or catching. But it had been some years and
the rust had shone through.
Tug happened
to be wearing a Chevrolet hat so I questioned his reasoning and he said he
happened to like Nascar. (Say 14?) He told me a story that I have told almost
word for word about how he got into Nascar. (say 14?) Someone said if you watch
the rednecks, you have to pick a driver. (SAY 14!) So he picked Jimmy Johnson. (That’s
48…L) And
as all his fans say “He was still a rookie when I got into him”… blah blah blah
make room on the wagon… So I explained my story which was again, if you watch
the rednecks you have to pick a driver, and I liked the color orange, so I
picked Tony Stewart. (Then 20, now 14)… They called him “Big Orange” and the
following year he won the championship. So naturally I was hooked. Plus his
mouth back then was legendary, trashing his sponsors among other things, so I
enjoyed every minute of him. Nowadays he’s tamed down though. I think it’s the
sponsor change too. You can piss off a carpenter all you want at Home Depot,
just don’t mess with the secretaries at the Office Depot.
(Goofing
aside, I got his email address to get in on a fantasy league of Nascar. Then I
introduced him to Gibby (a fellow 48’er) and Patchy (a Harvick #29 fan) so there’s
a little more fun in the family… when a race comes to town we oughta hook up
and go.)
After
Frisbee I ran to my car to grab my hacky sack. As I did so, I sauntered past
the “Gone But Not Forgotten” table. I’m an emotional person and to be honest I did
really well there. Until I saw the awesome happy looking picture of Uncle Mike
Comitz. I couldn’t hold it together
anymore, and I had to let it out for 3 minutes at my car. Luckily though I
don’t think anyone saw me, and I pulled myself together again to play some
hacky sack.
I rounded up
Tony Masciulli, Patty Mac Daddy, and Skip. No no we’re all older than 30
playing hacky sack as if we were 18 again. Skip was worried he wasn’t good
enough to play with us until he saw us play and realized he was probably better
than we were. Well, except for Patty Mac Daddy. He may have cut his hair, but
the flippy hippy is still in there.
After a
while they started setting up drums on the stage so naturally we lost Patty
Mac. And soon the circle broke up. I
stopped back at my car and took a powder bath. I felt like a chinchilla taking
a dust bath. And wow it felt great just to be dry-ish.
And if you
were at that end of the pavilion around that time you may have been run over by
the new sensation sweeping the playground: full contact, obstacle course bocce
ball...
Dinner was
served with such flare and mastery it was amazing, and it was over before it
started. And food was tremendous. Yeah sure spaghetti and meatballs may not
sound like a four course meal to you, but when you are having such a good time
with family I would have been happy with just about anything. So why not keep it Italian? Luckily though
none of the meatballs were Zarbos. (sour balls)
But then
something odd happened. A breeze filtered through. It was nice, really nice.
But with that breeze and humidity came a Eurythmics lyric: Here comes the rain again / Falling on my
head like a memory / Falling on my head like a new emotion… Then CCR: I wanna
know / Have you ever seen the rain / Comin down on a sunny day… Then childhood:
RAIN RAIN GO AWAY! COME ON BACK ANOTHER DAY!
Did it rain?
Nah, I wouldn’t call it that. I’d say a water tower lost its floor somewhere in
the sky and all the water came rushing down and slammed our little party.
People rushed to get the felt banners down and luckily they didn’t get so wet
just yet. But I thought about building an ark. There were plenty of wooden
picnic tables to start with.
Since the
deluge was on, anyone hoping to hand out family awards had better get their pipes
clean. And clean them she did.
The birthday
girl Cissy had just celebrated her 70th with us, and now her voice
was put to the test. I overheard her saying she was worried about using a PA
system in the rain. (I figured she would have been more worried about who was
handing out the brown acid. Calm down elders, it’s on the announcements of the
1969 Woodstock albums, a.k.a. the real one… and that festival didn’t stop for
the rain either…) So she made her hands into a bullhorn and all were happy to
have been sitting near. She handed out
awards to those people in the family who inspire us to do better, people in the
family who did well for themselves, those who kept a pledge to lose weight, and
even those people in our family who were married in and are better sour balls
than the blood-sour ones.
Hannah, who
needs no bullhorn, stepped in and gave a touching speech about Aunt Jean and
what the 2012 gift was and how we all got one. She mentioned how hard the
reunion is to put on, and the monumental effort it takes to pull it off. It’s a
chicken with your head cut off kinda feeling and as much fun as it is to do and
be a part of, it is also uncomfortably difficult. So as she gave Aunt Jean the “You’re Awesome”
award, the skies cleared and a rainbow appeared. It seems the matriarchs and
patriarch of the Zarbo family were smiling down upon us this day.
After which
was officially time for the Zarbo talent show (I took notes, albeit sloppy
ones… so if I get titles wrong its due to a few reasons… I can’t write legibly,
so I can’t read, I am not a music guru like, well, everyone else is… and in
some cases I had no idea what you were doing or singing so I just wrote what
you did.) hosted by Kiwi.
There were a
few acts that demanded to be seen and judged on Zarbos’ Got Talent, namely Madison Cofer and her (better than
Gabby Douglas’s floor routine) dance. It was amazing, fluid, and you could see
her improvement since the last talent show.
Next up (in
order of appearance) Sal sang “Let it Rock”, it was a heck of a rendition! It
was a home run! Which was better than his mom (and uncle before her last
reunion) did playing softball J…
[The only
thing missing during the whole talent show was Max strumming along on his
guitar like last reunion... although this time they were fighting over the drum
kit… ]
Carly
MacDonald was next and she sang a song I think called “Party Rock” by the Black
Eyed Peas (tonight’s gonna be a good night). Carly’s home is on stage, and I
don’t think it will take long for the next Miley Cyrus to make millions for her
favorite Uncle, err, manager Tre. She moved and grooved while she sang and as I
sat next to my dad, Pete said “Well, you can tell whose kid that is!”… When you
get famous, just remember this advice: If you ever get into a limo with a skirt
on, wear underwear (Nowadays we’re all paparazzi… So imagine just how bad it’s gonna be in 15
years.) and if you happen to head anywhere near Beaver Stadium, or a church for
that matter, you have nothing to fear because you’re a girl. But keep a close
eye on your brother!!!!!!!!!
Next up Lena
sang something sweetly and after she did so Uncle Patchy and his grandson Jay
did a little stand up comedy. Jay seemed like a knock-knock off the old
block-block. Jay, when you get older, we’ll have to talk comedy and I can share
a file or two with ya... otherwise your great grandfather had a few zingers up
his sleeve as well. Use your blood given talent a shot when you get older. You
may get lucky and get a ZFR “Most Funniest” award for your effort, yet there is
stiff competition out there and a bunch of sore losers...
Next up was
one of the older kids. Tug Sanner got up and recited one of Grandpa’s Poems for
the touching moment of the talent show. It was the one about Pittsburgh and how
beautiful Pittsburgh was, and included the Pirates and Steelers… so Uncle
Patchy was happy.
Next up the
Joy kids sang a song and then we Nutzarbos sang “Do, re, mi” of which I only
knew the scale words so its probably best I wasn’t singing. We found out the
night before that my talent was definitely not singing.
Patty Mac
and Aydan took the stage with Patty on banjo and his 9 year old son on drums.
They played a banjo song called “Salty Dog Blues”, and they brought the house,
err, pavilion down. It was awesome, and Aydan is a gifted musician. My dad was
worried why he was sitting at the drum kit, but I told him not to worry. Aydan has been playing some kind of
percussion since he was about 5 or so, and then when the song was over Kiwi
told about the same thing to the rest of the group. And Uncle Pete was
impressed!
Uncle Joe
got up and told how proud he was of his son and daughter. Tom is working on
finding ceramics of the Susquehannock Indians and I think his findings are part
of the IUP library. I may not have that right. My notes aren’t the greatest
which is why I barely graduated community college with an ASS. Degree, and Tom
is getting his DOCTORATE soon. But Tom
is a marvel of anthropological and archaeological information and it makes me
wish I hung with him under the piano years ago to maybe steal some of his IQ. Shoulda
got some legos. But maybe if we ever go swimming I can get some of his genius
thru osmosis. (the concentration changes in water…from low to high or high to
low… thinkin high to low. . . so it would work out in my favor! Again, HACC vs UNLV,
so I am almost sorta right.)
And Manu,
well, she is a brilliant artist herself. We saw or heard her singing styling
the night before, and she worked hard on her thesis called “Surviving the Quarter-Life
Crisis”. She passed it and is enjoying herself in a linen shop working toward
teaching I believe. I trailed off into the bathroom but I am looking forward to
reading her thesis. I only was able to see her artistry in pictures and I am
sure pictures did it no justice. When I saw an example of one of the cupcakes
in person I was flabbergasted. She did sculpture and it was breathtaking.
Somebody has to discover her soon. The art world knows nothing of her, but when
they find out, she will explode onto the scene, giving more fodder for Uncle Joe
to boast about at the next reunion!
Next up,
Kiwi and Hayden performed a song called “I’ll Follow You Into the Dark”. It was
a beautiful tune and my dad was amazed at Kiwi’s range of music stemming from
his karaoke performances last night to now this. Gibby was happy to have
finally heard Kiwi sing for real and said to me later that he was highly
impressed and it was the first time he heard his godson sing. Mine too, yet I
wasn’t impressed, rather, I was floored.
He’s G-R-E-A-T. And Hayden is showing some real talent on the guitar
adding to his probability of being the old soul in the 4G band, with Nick on
bass, Hayden on lead guitar, Aydan on drums, and Carly singing.
The Zarbo
Family Singers graced the stage and sang a song about Giuseppe Zarbo… the one
where we find out the secret behind the name… Zarbo means a sour ball. But the added bonus to this was they each
added their own lyric to the song and compiled them and sang it all together.
It was cool to hear a new element on an old family song.
The
brilliant artists claimed the floor after the Zarbo Singers performed and
Ethan, Alyssa, and Chris performed a short play for the family they just made
up. Unfortunately with no microphones, I had a problem knowing what was up but
it looked like fun.
Following
the talent show, the 2014 plans were made and Pete Jr got up to volunteer
himself for the chair of the reunion committee next reunion. He also added in
that if he were to do it, he’d pick his own committee and no one was resistant
to that, except for his first pick, Uncle Joe, who has other worldly
goings-on’s that said he may not even make it to 2014 ZFR. We applauded his
efforts in aiding Haiti though. He went
through the crowd (don’t pick me) and found people he said were responsible
(don’t pick me) and could handle the immense work of the job (don’t pick me) of
putting together a reunion. (don’t pick me). His (please) picks (don’t) are
(pick) as (me) follows: Himself, Jacque Hill, Bryan Herchelroath, Jeanie
“teenie weenie” Cofer, Phyllis Comitz, Rita Marie Somich and you guessed it,
me. It’s a ton of work, but I’m happy to be part of it. Sort of.
The party
wound down and as we left it was learned that Ella, Sean and Danielle’s
daughter, hit her head on the ground and it wasn’t sure if she needed to go to
the hospital. So the after party plans got shifted to the backburner until we
heard other news.
Other news
was promising, and it was determined the after party was on and those of us who
wanted to go went to Sean’s house. Its located just off Locust Lane, and it’s
an awesome house. The master shower is spectacular, so Sean and Danielle may
just be the cleanest people on the planet every time you see them. It has a
large backyard for their pug Chance to run around in, and a play area for Ella
as well. Alcohol was served, beerpong was underway, and a little known game to
city folk like me called Cornhole was ready to go. Its an adult beanbag game
that reminded me of beanbag tic tac toe as a kid. But its mostly like
horseshoes but safer with the kids running around. Dunno bout you but if I were
a kid I’d rather get hit with a beanbag than a horseshoe.
As the night
wore on, teams played and played these games but one team was an abundant
winner of the game. Sean teamed up with a woman whom looked so much like Anne Herchelroath
that both Jonny Mac and Erin Mac who saw her separately, gave “Anne” a hug and
asked how she was doing… Her name was in fact Angie and if she was a
professional Cornholer I wouldn’t be surprised. (That doesn’t sound right but
it’s the name of the game…) They were unstoppable. Every toss got them a point.
They either hit the hole, were on the board, or made Half n halfs… not to
mention it is Sean’s game so naturally there was no beating this squad. Mikey
Mac and I came closest at 21-20 loss, Sean said, but the biggest losers had to
be those who got routed 21-0… twice. I think Tony and Skip liked each other
before this party but at this point I wouldn’t have put it past them to hate
each other. It was a sad state of affairs, and then it was learned Angie was a
softball pitcher. At that moment I threw in the towel. That was the end of
games for me.
I sat,
chatted, drank sodie from a couponing trip that evening, and was merry.
Gib and I
went home around 3-4 am and realized the sad truth. The grand ZFR 2012
celebration of friends and family was over, and on Monday Gib boarded the train
for home. It was back to normal life.
Boo.
Yet now we
only have 365 days x 2 years to wait for the next one. 730 days. And it can’t
come soon enough!
III
Ps… Maybe
next reunion we should hand out name tags… If no one else, it would at least
help me. . . J
