It was a birthday party one never expects. The koffee klatch crowd brought close friends until 36 crowded around the long table at the Daily Grind. The birthday cake was green and white (is there any other color combination?) with four-leafed clovers trimming the edge. Candles too. Not 93 of them, but enough to be extinguished with one blow!
It was an exciting party. Mayor Patty Cohen read a memorabilia from my home town, Oak Harbor, Whidbey Island’s largest city and now a Navy community. Where my children grew up and where I began my lifetime work, writing for Island County newspapers. Where my husband grew up, went to school and became a farmer on the old Neil ranch. Where we took part in as many community doings as we could — clubs, commissions, councils — until the years began their encroachment. And that was the most difficult part of my being. Having to give up the doings of a growing town, one by one, as the years took their toll.
Special guests at the birthday party (they were really all special) were Mary Anne and Wally Funk of Anacortes. Wally was publisher of the the Whidbey News-Times when I worked there, collecting and writing my weekly hard-hitting trash stunt on what was going on all around the community.
For those who do not know, a former editor of mine referred to my weekly input as “hard-hitting trash” and while I have forgiven him, finally, my HHT still rolls on, all around the island.
Cards and flowers, gifts and good wishes … the afternoon at the Grind was wild and beautiful. My son Jim hosted the affair. Little did I know it would be such a day to remember.
“We don’t celebrate enough!” said a friend. We should have more parties and get-togethers more often. Time moves so quickly. Soon one has trouble remembering the names of one’s classmates.
Saying goodbye at the end of coffee, one friend asked when our next wake would be. We have enjoyed two wakes — the third may be some time off in the future (it says here in small print). And the memory of those wakes, where the community listened to music, danced and enjoyed refreshments in the Elks Lodge, stay with us. Everyone had a good time.
We especially remember Jan Ellis’ accordion playing and the snake dance around the Elks’ Lodge and the family grandchildren singing. The fire department came. So did the An-O-Chords, dressed in black and carrying a coffin. But their serenades sounded nothing like dirges to us and all the assembled.
Wish we had room to tell you all that happened … but time is short. Thank you, kind friends, for a wonderful party.
The Golden Years!
How lovely they sound
When one is young;
Something to look forward to
Before goodbye is sung;
But entering the Golden Years,
One finds a bit of rust
Hampers the golden story,
and turns it into dust!
Between the gout and aching back
and eyesight growing dim,
Our ears give up their hearing,
and leaves us out on a limb!
We gave up dancing on tables,
Hang-gliding is a no no.
The Golden Years? You are kidding?!
The years? Yes, but “golden”? Ho ho!
Dorothy Neil has been writing and recording Whidbey Island history for more than 50 years. Her 10 books chronicle local life and times. Dorothy celebrated her 93rd birthday Sept. 30.
