Barb and Balloons Beforehand

Apparently, the purple balloon isn’t ready to concede that the party is over.  She (or he — who can tell with balloons?) was one of only three purples in the balloon bouquet on the day of Our Grand Affair.  I think.  We did lose a couple but I remember them as a red and a yellow — they just jerked themselves loose from the hand that held them and sailed off to another party.  Their loss.

We were left with 34 others to distribute hither and thither around the grounds.  It wasn’t a pretty picture, at least for a while.  It was close to one o’clock — the “event” to begin at two — and it was still spitting rain now and then.  We decided to hold off on the signs —  a dozen or so, computer-generated and sure to run if wet — but began putting up balloons, hoping for festive.

Exploring The Library

They had been filled with “hi-float” whatever that is.  More expensive, but supposed to guarantee that the balloons would last the 24 hours from delivery to the party’s beginning.  Worked like a charm except when a balloon ran afoul of an errant raindrop.  Then… toes up, or whatever the equivalent expression is for a balloon who is lying inert on the  lawn.  But… not for long.  As soon as the rubber surface air-dried, it was up and floating once again. For a few misty minutes, it was quite a show of up, down, turn-around from tent-tops and balcony railings!

Going up?

After all was said and done, someone brought the balloons indoors in a couple of bunches.  They “lasted” a week, but yesterday I took my handy-dandy balloon-popping paring knife and put them all out of their misery.  They pop-pop-popped and collapsed into nothingness with a satisfying whoosh.  Except for the purple one.  She hung out in the kitchen for a spell and then began making her way through the house.  Slowly.

The last time I saw her, she was bouncing up the stairs — probably looking for playmates in Charlie or Marta’s rooms.  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the “kids” are gone and left nothing behind but a couple of unmade beds and a few unpacked memories.

Some parties just shouldn’t come to an end.