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Friday, March 24, 2023

Two Words

[ kay-lee ]
a party, gathering, or the like, at which dancing, singing, and storytelling are the usual forms of entertainment.

Apart from parties that Jen, Oni and I held when we, (including TAB) lived in Cambridge (TAB and I on the 2nd floor of a triple decker, Jen and Oni on the 3rd), I’ve never cared much for big hullabaloos. I feel a ridiculous pressure to chat entertainingly—to be a regular Dorothy Parker or Fran Leibowitz.

Before TAB and I moved in together, I had a few themed gatherings in my tiny studio apartment—pumpkin carving, Easter egg painting, movie watching (on my microscopic black and white teevee)—activity focused events. If no one had anything to say, well, we could talk about what we were painting on our eggs or what expression, scenes or patterns should appear on our pumpkins. Watching a movie? No need to talk.

In my solo travels around Scotland and Ireland, I went to a few cèilidhs. The best one was in a small pub on the Aran island of Inis Mór. What made this one glorious was that everyone in the joint knew or knew of each other and they welcomed me to join in. They were buskers on holiday before the big tourist season kicked in. I didn’t need to start conversations, introduce myself, make awkward chit chat—the musicians, artists, storytellers, puppeteers and others were all already on it. I was subsumed by this happy party beast made up of so many fascinating people. We asked each other questions, told tales of our respective travels. I’d just met these folk but felt utterly comfortable. Singers would stand and sing a tune a capella. Someone would get up and spin a yarn or two. The whole crowd would break into song. Brilliant!

Deafness was years away at that point.

The Cambridge parties were always a gas with friends from all different corners of our lives. There was big (recorded) music, dancing, convos and wondrous eatable’s courtesy of Jen and Oni (Cook? Me? Oh my no, that’s inadvisable). These shindigs weren’t like the Inis Mór cèilidh—they held a different sort of unbridled joy.

TAB did NOT enjoy parties and that was okay. After coming up to greet guests he would saunter back downstairs to read, watch teevee and chat with friends who sought him out.


[ kweer-ee ]
ask; inquire (an imperative used to introduce or suggest a question).

Used in a sentence?

Quaere, will the insanely negligent parents of the Michigan 15 year old (now 16) who shot and killed four of his fellow students (injuring six other kids and a teacher) with his daddy’s semi-automatic be held accountable for their role in the slaughter?

Used in another sentence?

My wonky left eye is red this morning; quaere, does this mean I'm now in for the orb shutting surgery I'd so narrowly escaped just four months ago?

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