Bone Orchard Tour 2011

Every year, on Memorial Day weekend, my family holds our annual Bone Orchard Tour and BBQ.  The Cooper/Collins clan descends upon the Wenatchee and Entiat cemeteries with buckets of flowers and about eighty-seven kids under the age of ten. 

Fine, maybe there were “only” seven kids, but I swear they multiply in the vans between cemeteries.  It’s possible that our offspring are a bunch of single-celled amoebas whose propensity to divide and conquer thrives in minivans. 

Anyone who has spent time with us is TOTALLY nodding their head.  

I’m a complete freak about promptness – especially when it comes to my family.  My parents DO NOT RUN LATE, and they certainly don’t wait for you.   If they say they’ll be there at 2pm, you better be ready at noon.  If they say they’re coming on Monday, you need to set a place for them at the table for Sunday dinner.  It’s funny because it’s true.

You guys, when Toby and I (and our wild amoeba) rolled into the cemetery ten minutes early, my parents, aunt and uncle had already put flowers on all of our relative’s graves.  Luckily, my cousins hadn’t arrived yet so we had time to make my dad explain who all the dead people were.  We do this every year and I still can’t keep it straight.  George Blair, my great-great-great-SOMETHING, was the third white settler in the valley so we have a lot of relatives in these cemeteries.  A lot.  And they all have interesting stories, like the twins that were carrying a pipe and struck down by lightning.  I come by my bad luck honestly.

After visiting the cemeteries, doling out flowers, and answering umpteen morbid questions from the amoebas, (“Am I standing on a dead person?  What do you think he looks like now?  Does he have eyes?”) we get to the BBQ.  The gloriously chaotic if-you-don’t-drown-or-get-a-hockey-stick-to-the-head-you’ll-probably-die-from-overeating part of the day. 

At one point, I found myself in the hot tub with seven kids, two inner tubes, one inflated ball, three giant water guns and a sippy cup.  What’s wrong with this picture?  If you answered “no beer,” you are a genius.  Because that kind of feat should NOT be attempted without alcohol.  I’m now covered in little heel-shaped bruises.

The best quote of the day came from Tiger (what, you thought I was the only one in the family who used nontraditional names?  We also had a Hawkeye in the house.  Yes, that’s his legal name.  He’s awesome.)  Anyway, Tiger was in the kitchen with my mom, telling her that his cat Pixie “licks her balls and her butt” while ATTEMPTING TO DEMONSTRATE.  The look on my mom’s face was priceless.  Don’t even get me started on the fact that his female cat seemingly has balls.  Tiger will always hold a special place in my heart for that quote and the associated demonstration.

My dad’s cousin, Richard, and his wife stopped by for a bit.  They are ridiculously nice, down-to-earth people who make me feel like a slacker.  Richard is busy building a car that is expected to go 400+mph so he can hold on to his current land speed records (it’s just a little hobby of his).  One of their sons was the mastermind of the California Happy Cow marketing campaign and his other son was on Donald Trump’s The Apprentice a few years back. 

I WRITE BLOGS ABOUT FARTS.  See what I mean?

We capped the day off by letting the kids beat the crap out of a piñata with a hockey stick.  Just another day with the Coopers…