FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 2008
Cuarenta Y Cinconera
I suppose it is the ultimate in tacky and that Utah probably would not recover...but I am seriously thinking of throwing myself a Cuarenta y Cinconera party next summer for my 45th birthday.
Let me explain...I attended my first Quincenera a year ago. Seriously, the Disney Princesses have nothing on the quinceaneras (teenage young women) South of the Border. These ladies, at the celebratory age of fifteen, are welcomed into womanhood with the party to end all parties! To be honest, I think my parents might have forgotten to celebrate my 15th birthday (happens fairly regularly in a large family). But in all fairness my family wouldn't have known what to do. Stupid Anglo-Saxons.
Why can't I be part of a hertitage that knows how to party?! I realize that the Bostonian residents of 1773 were trying to make the best of a bad situation, but was their Tea Party the best the Colonial English could do? Parties aren't even supposed to be violent (until two dashing men are fighting over the same woman of course). And although the wasting of a lot of valuable commodity (ever seen the amount of painstakingly created food at a quincenera eaten by non-appreciative Norteamericanos?) seems a bit over the top, it is clear to me that the Colonists were bored and wanted to stir up a little action with their tea. So what would it hurt for me to make up for a little lost celebration time? (Generations of it, apparently!)
I presented the idea to Tracy who didn't seem the least surprised to hear me come up with such an attention-seeking scheme. He responded, with only the dry wit that he seems to be able to master, that I certainly won't fall short of finding 45 men in theater who will want to participate in such an event. Well, Mr. Beck...I accept the challenge!
Once I can book 45 men for the event (in a quincenera the hardest part is finding 15 young men to pair up with your 15 best girl friends to perform a ceremonial dance. I have to come up with three times that amount!) then I can start hooking them up with mygirlfriends. Here's where the problem lies...If all of my friends have party-pooper Anglo husbands who won't participate then they will have to be lined up with my 45 chosen theater-men and I'm not sure that we can have that event at the church (is there another building large enough?) because I don't think that the average, boring Anglo husband can handle seeing another man's hands on his wife. What started out as a simple, personal, attention-seeking event for a woman in high church standing (I do have a gold card!) might turn in to the beginning of my ex-communication proceedings. However, there is a loophole...having spoken and sung at the Spanish Branches in California I can promise you that I could hold such an event under the supervision of a humble Hispanic Branch President and not get into any trouble whatsoever. Come to think of it, I might need the Branch President to be my dancing partner because Tracy certainly will not attend my event!
I can see it now, I enter the room in my fabulous dress (of course I am skinny by then) through the arbor of roses on the stage, float down the stairs and take my place on the dance floor across from my dashingly handsome borrowed Branch President partner and alongside the other 45 couples who have been trained in the beautiful customary dance (have you ever seen those traditional Anglosaxon dances like in the Jane Austen movies? All they do is circle each other. How romantic is that?) We all glide through the graceful choreography across the floor of the First Unitarian Church cultural hall (the Branch President's cousin is a member there and booked us the room). Families that I love, who love me fill the tables--mostly made up of just the men who refused to be a dance partner and their children who are wrecking the table decorations and spilling cake all over the floor of the room that we put a cleaning deposit down on...CUT! This is myfantasy!EDIT SCENE. REPLAY: All the children (mostly young girls who are staring at me in my princess dress with adoration and wonder in their eyes) are captivated and extremely well-behaved. The husbands look onto the dance floor with extreme regret that they are not currently partipating in the event. My 45 girlfriends (can I make 40 more friends by then?!) are having the night of their lives! They look at me with such gratitude that I know my family will receive anonymous treats left at our doorstep for years to come...
Wow!
I wish I could finish painting my party picture but my husband just walked in the door of the bedroom, saw me typing with a creepy-dreamy look at my laptop and clearly wants to know--without actually asking where dinner is--where dinner is. And feeling guilty that he just nuzzled my cat right in front of me, actually just nuzzled my neck!
Hmm...have to go. I have eight more months to plan my party but only one hungry husband. And he doesn't even have to imagine me skinny in my cuarenta y cinconera dress to act romantic!
Thank you cat! I think I'll go cook up a little action in the kitchen...
Hiding the remote control this morning bought me about 45 seconds until the TV goes on. If that happens, not even the cat will earn another glance.
Let me explain...I attended my first Quincenera a year ago. Seriously, the Disney Princesses have nothing on the quinceaneras (teenage young women) South of the Border. These ladies, at the celebratory age of fifteen, are welcomed into womanhood with the party to end all parties! To be honest, I think my parents might have forgotten to celebrate my 15th birthday (happens fairly regularly in a large family). But in all fairness my family wouldn't have known what to do. Stupid Anglo-Saxons.
Why can't I be part of a hertitage that knows how to party?! I realize that the Bostonian residents of 1773 were trying to make the best of a bad situation, but was their Tea Party the best the Colonial English could do? Parties aren't even supposed to be violent (until two dashing men are fighting over the same woman of course). And although the wasting of a lot of valuable commodity (ever seen the amount of painstakingly created food at a quincenera eaten by non-appreciative Norteamericanos?) seems a bit over the top, it is clear to me that the Colonists were bored and wanted to stir up a little action with their tea. So what would it hurt for me to make up for a little lost celebration time? (Generations of it, apparently!)
I presented the idea to Tracy who didn't seem the least surprised to hear me come up with such an attention-seeking scheme. He responded, with only the dry wit that he seems to be able to master, that I certainly won't fall short of finding 45 men in theater who will want to participate in such an event. Well, Mr. Beck...I accept the challenge!
Once I can book 45 men for the event (in a quincenera the hardest part is finding 15 young men to pair up with your 15 best girl friends to perform a ceremonial dance. I have to come up with three times that amount!) then I can start hooking them up with mygirlfriends. Here's where the problem lies...If all of my friends have party-pooper Anglo husbands who won't participate then they will have to be lined up with my 45 chosen theater-men and I'm not sure that we can have that event at the church (is there another building large enough?) because I don't think that the average, boring Anglo husband can handle seeing another man's hands on his wife. What started out as a simple, personal, attention-seeking event for a woman in high church standing (I do have a gold card!) might turn in to the beginning of my ex-communication proceedings. However, there is a loophole...having spoken and sung at the Spanish Branches in California I can promise you that I could hold such an event under the supervision of a humble Hispanic Branch President and not get into any trouble whatsoever. Come to think of it, I might need the Branch President to be my dancing partner because Tracy certainly will not attend my event!
I can see it now, I enter the room in my fabulous dress (of course I am skinny by then) through the arbor of roses on the stage, float down the stairs and take my place on the dance floor across from my dashingly handsome borrowed Branch President partner and alongside the other 45 couples who have been trained in the beautiful customary dance (have you ever seen those traditional Anglosaxon dances like in the Jane Austen movies? All they do is circle each other. How romantic is that?) We all glide through the graceful choreography across the floor of the First Unitarian Church cultural hall (the Branch President's cousin is a member there and booked us the room). Families that I love, who love me fill the tables--mostly made up of just the men who refused to be a dance partner and their children who are wrecking the table decorations and spilling cake all over the floor of the room that we put a cleaning deposit down on...CUT! This is myfantasy!EDIT SCENE. REPLAY: All the children (mostly young girls who are staring at me in my princess dress with adoration and wonder in their eyes) are captivated and extremely well-behaved. The husbands look onto the dance floor with extreme regret that they are not currently partipating in the event. My 45 girlfriends (can I make 40 more friends by then?!) are having the night of their lives! They look at me with such gratitude that I know my family will receive anonymous treats left at our doorstep for years to come...
Wow!
I wish I could finish painting my party picture but my husband just walked in the door of the bedroom, saw me typing with a creepy-dreamy look at my laptop and clearly wants to know--without actually asking where dinner is--where dinner is. And feeling guilty that he just nuzzled my cat right in front of me, actually just nuzzled my neck!
Hmm...have to go. I have eight more months to plan my party but only one hungry husband. And he doesn't even have to imagine me skinny in my cuarenta y cinconera dress to act romantic!
Thank you cat! I think I'll go cook up a little action in the kitchen...
Hiding the remote control this morning bought me about 45 seconds until the TV goes on. If that happens, not even the cat will earn another glance.
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