Clubbing

During one of our summers back in the States I decided to exhilarate the lazy afternoons on Fishers Island by throwing a party for pretty much everyone (another chapter, Rum in the Rubble).  

 

Absolutely Best Place to Be

FOOD FIGHT!  I loved the idea and immediately found my audience - almost all of them under ten - but a few persuadable adults got excited.  I was a little squeamish about the privileged "let them eat cake" attitude so I made fight food from sugar free jello (don't want to attract the insect variety wasps), cold spaghetti (a giant vat) and one of my genius ideas - baguettes as swords.  If you've been reading carefully you will know what genius idea means.  The plan was to have the fight in the late afternoon on our beach, then bring everyone up to the house for outdoor showers and a Hot Dog Smorgasbord.
As has become predictable with my parties, everyone I invited came. Except for one lonely Crabby Appleton who thought it was bad to waste food.  I thought that perhaps the next time I did it I could pass the hat for Save the Children or another worthy charity and no one would need to feel left out.  Guests were invited to bring their own ammunition and we were thrilled with the Furse's contribution, cold wet dog kibble, very icky and very effective.

BEFORE

The hordes assembled on the beach in the golden sun.  We drew a line in the sand, made two teams and declared that the team who could capture their opponent's territory would be the winner.  I actually made this up on the spot because I had forgotten that there had to be a plan that could end.  

Arrival of the Horn

We blew on the antique Tibetan mountain horn (of course there was one of those handy) and the battle began.  It was great; children ran in and out of the water shrieking happily, timid adults wore black garbage bag protectors and went relatively unscathed, and our giant poodle, Inky, cavorted alongside, snacking happily.
 

WET KIBBLE IN TUB

BUT, the genius idea, baguette swords, went from floppy wand to concrete bat with the addition of sea water.  They also didn't disintegrate, just got heavier and more lethal.  This came to my attention when Pinky screamed, cried and said she had a concussion.  Yikes!  We gathered the swords up very quickly and I was thankful in an ungrateful way that the only casualty was one of our own.  Years in court arguing over a soggy bread stick would not have been fun, not that short term memory loss was so great either, sorry Pinky.  
A winner was declared and we ushered the battalions up the cliff to the banquet.  

ALWAYS invite some parents, they are the best helpers, and that afternoon got everyone hosed off and wrapped in a towel quickly and efficiently.  That left me free to cook at least a hundred hot dogs.  Earlier in the day I had created a multitude of toppings, as well as baking brownies, buying Popsicles and chips, and finally I picked hot dog buns in the fields by our house.  While sweating over the simmering dogs - I am a fan of boiled, it's fast - I hustled the toppings out to the long tables already laid with paper plates, cups, and naive buckets of lemonade with ladles.  The napkins were red bandanas that everyone could take home, useful for wiping away rogue bits of dog food.  

My topping selection included Dinty Moore canned chili, Tostitos brand salsa and queso, chopped tomatoes, pickles, onions, obviously ketchup, relish and mustard, sauerkraut (a favorite only with grownups), jalapenos, cole slaw, shredded cheese, chopped olives, bacon bits and pineapple.  And there's always room for more ideas - green curry?

The party broke up with the arrival of mosquitoes and their bat predators.  As I breathed a contented sigh, my mind drifted to the day at the beach and then OH NO!  I left a HUGE mess, must go down IMMEDIATELY and clean it up before the in-laws come back and see it.  We took the golf cart, Neddy*, down the hill as fast as possible then pushed through the creeper and burst onto the sand, flashlight in hand.
As the beam of light washed over the rocks and water we saw that there wasn't a particle of food left, not even a strand of pasta.  Could some quiet friend have stayed behind and taken care of it?  Actually no, because eventually the beam came to rest on Inky, the giant poodle, smiling her doggy smile, tail gently wagging in the soft evening air.

 * named after my father-in-law's childhood pet donkey

AFTER