Seniors always eager to act nonchalant

It is the morning after and I am musing about last night’s party. You remember what fun it is to simply put on a new outfit, freshen up your makeup and drive to a new address.

In celebration of her 70th birthday (she looks 50 and I look 90 but that does not stop us from being longtime amigos) my friend’s family held a surprise party and I think it was one of my all time favourites.

Here’s why: the venue was a new, local restaurant that has that Yaletown flavour, high ceilings, lots of glass and visibility all around. Parking was at the front door and because we were not required to carry anything we could manage the heavy entrance door and meet our hosts relaxed and smiling. I mention this fact because so often we are invited to bring food, contribute a bottle of wine, no gifts please but always a gift and juggle a pair of boots or heavy shoes that cancel the effect of the new dress.

All this while smiling and saying “so nice to see you,” which is truly the case as seniors are so grateful to be included on any guest list they can’t wait to show up and appear nonchalant.

The guests could see the birthday girl approaching the restaurant and applauded when she entered. There was hardly a dry eye to see the complete surprise sink in. That quiet joy sinking in will stay in my memory a long time.

The side bar held buckets of wine, beer and sparkling water. We all stood and mingled around small tables set for four to meet, greet and introduce ourselves to old and new friends. The overhead digital images of Phyllis from childhood to the present were universal favourites; the little girl in the smocked dress; the teenager on an afghan-covered sofa playing the guitar.

I would estimate the attendance to be about 70. A perfect, intimate gathering with just enough people to allow for movement and dancing later in the evening.

Live music by a handsome young couple added to the festivities. We could stand, sit or mingle as finger food (perogies wrapped in apricot sauce, tiny burgers, to name a few) was constantly served around the room.

I loved the gift table with colourful bags and wished I had stayed to see them opened. We all signed elegant cards coming into the party that gave us a chance to record special memories of the evening’s person of honour.

The party had everything, but it was the scale (scale being the number of guests) that ensured its success. The attention to detail was enough for a crowd but to feel a part of a select few really says the planners had the comfort of everyone in attendance in mind. A wholly unforgettable experience.

By way of contrast, my first and dearest Kelowna friend died at Christmas and since then every obituary page has at least one friend (once three) acknowledged.

I went through a week or two when I did not want to read the paper and get more sad news. I did not want to read about one more funeral service or directions to donate to my favourite charity.

My winter days were depressing and conversations with friends always centred on recent knee and hip replacements.

When I read about the Death Cafe coming to Peachland I jumped at the chance to see what the recent buzz is about.

A term like Death Cafe is just weird (and wacky) enough to appeal to me. The concept of Death Cafe is a non-profit get together for the purpose of talking about death over food and drink.

The goal is to educate and help others become more familiar with the end of life. The Death Cafe was first originated by a Swiss sociologist, Bernard Crettaz, and is now held in many countries. It is not a physical location but a private home or public facility. The group I met with consisted of about a dozen women, only one older than me. We shared coffee and cinnamon buns and talked about death and related topics.

It was clear to me most of these strangers were harbouring sad experiences from the past, unresolved sad feelings related to the death of a family member, in most cases, or a dread of dying with little feeling of accomplishment.

I feel little need to pursue this study in the future. In my own case, I have resolved the often frustrating rituals surrounding death in our culture (removal of the body from our care or concern, for example) and almost welcome them presently as a source of comfort and love. I am on record as having said goodbye and I love you to the ones dear to me and my modest affairs are in as good order as they ever will be.

As for accomplishments, I remember being middle-aged and thinking everyone else had gone to great heights in music, art, life. And I envied them for a short time. Old age has taught me life is a gift and to live a long life is the best accomplishment possible.

So the lesson here is to make the most of the time we have left. If you ever think no one cares if you live or die, just try missing a car payment or two.

As for the party invitations, I pray they just keep coming.

I can still remember my phone number and where I live, so I am good to go.

Jeanette Dunagan is an Okanagan artist who has lived in Kelowna for more than 40 years. Email her at jd2399@telus.net.