Dance filled with twisted lyrics, loads of fun July 18, 2013
“Georgetown booger Bombay!” That’s what I wailed from the top of my lungs during Rocket and Trooper’s wedding dance a couple weeks ago. That we were rocking out to Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” didn’t matter. That song first released when the Schlueter sons were little, and I had zip time to learn the lyrics to anything beyond Raffi’s “Baby Beluga.”
“You know that isn’t right,” Hunka Burnin’ Hubby yelled while performing his signature duck and weave dance moves.
That we were dancing on the Schlueterville patio packed with family and friends ramped up the fun. Vintage speakers, which Hunka purchased in 1979, delivered the tunes in call-the-cops-to-report-a-disturbance style. (Thanks for your patience, kind and tolerant neighbors.) That the tall wooden boxes were tethered to a tiny laptop computer with its vast digital playlist, instead of their original bulldog-sized amplifier, added panache to the absurdly enjoyable scene.
Rocket and Trooper’s wedding dance — which took place in the Schlueterville backyard on a dreamy June evening — was a sight to behold. Hands and feet flew every which way. Belly laughs howled into the night. Fireflies floated amongst noisy invaders, flashing urgent messages only Mother Nature could understand. Strings of white Christmas lights looped in random fashion, lending an aura of magic to smiling faces.
“Georgetown booger Bombay!” I yelled, and Hunka laughed with gusto. We’d spent many laborious months making our home and yard wedding-venue worthy, and were letting off a good bit of steam. Plus we were celebrating a milestone. We had a brand new daughter-in-law! How great is that?
I danced a lot and butchered many songs that night. It’s my patio and I’ll caterwaul if I want to. By the time the music stopped, we were exhausted to the core, and collapsed with a crash into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When your party animal has been out to pasture for a good long while, it’s easy to forget the difference between Saturday night revelry and Sunday morning cleanup. The day broke bright, warm, and mercilessly busy. Bands of helpers came early and dug in with tenacity. Tables were folded. Chairs were stacked. Lights came down and were tucked away. A lot goes into making a backyard look normal once again.
My good friend, Scrabble, loaded dozens of jars filled with fat, pink peonies into her van. “Let’s take these to a retirement home where they’ll be enjoyed,” she said. Scrabble is one smart cookie. I crawled into her van, bare-faced and sleep-deprived, and tooled down the street to a charming place filled with lovely retirees. That’s when I learned that anonymity and writing a column do not go hand in hand.
“Don’t you write for the Tribune?” said a smiling woman with gorgeous twinkling eyes. “I’ve been reading all about the big wedding! How did it go?”
Then she took a long look at my baggy-eyed and disheveled physique, and without missing a beat, stated the obvious. “Boy, do you look tired!” I laughed and thanked her for her readership. Yes, I told her, it was a splendid event. Yes, I’m ridiculously tired.
Scrabble snort-laughed all the way home.
That backyard wedding taught me a lot. Sometimes it’s best to belt out what’s really on your mind. A body in motion tends to stay in motion. Move too much for too long, however, and the body looks like it was hit by a truck. People will notice, too.
And I still think “Georgetown booger Bombay” sounds better than the original.
Tam Schlueter adopts a "strike-fast-and-keep-them-laughing" approach to writing. Her column appears every Thursday in the Hastings Tribune, and showcases the wonder of family, dogs, muscle cars, and folks with blue collars and no-nonsense attitudes.