Two weeks ago, I hosted dinner and cocktails for two of my close girlfriends. In true fashion, the night ended up involving me, my jammies, my pals and a late night trip to the trashy bar behind my house, you know -- for good measure. Upon our arrival, we reminisced of similar nights in our past and after waking up in the morning, we reminisced of similar headaches. These are the times you can look back years later and still giggle about, share pictures of and definitely still give someone shit for. I have many of these memories with a several different girlfriends and while I've always appreciated those times, I've never cherished them as I do now. Life takes us all in many different directions, but it's these memories and the shared bond that bring us all back together each time, to pick up where we left off.
To further drive the the point home, three weeks ago, I witnessed a full-blown 89-comment virtual conversation unfold between my sister and some of her childhood friends {at the expense of my own Facebook post, of course.} It was one of those nights where you lay in your bed, laughing hysterically by yourself. There was ridicule; there were threats of blackmail; there were the memories. All the necessary components of what I consider to be undying friendships. As we all waited simultaneously from our respective homes for the next comment notification flag to pop up on our computer screens, I realized it all centered around a memory. A single, powerful moment in time that binds these girls together. Although I wasn't a part of the immediate group, just looking on as the pesky little sister hosting the location, I thought it was so special for those 3 girls to share in that time together. What a thing to celebrate -- a preexisting memory used to create new memories, new laughter, new joy.
As previously stated, I've always appreciated the times that make me laugh to myself while driving alone in my car years later {or the time that I laughed out loud in the middle of gym class and almost dropped my weights, but that's neither here nor there...} but now I have learned to not only enjoy but to cherish and honor the historical landmarks on this lifelong journey. I will say this new-found mindset is partially a result of my recent completion of all 40 books of the Bible, but more importantly, I owe my gratitude to seven great men, with the spotlight on one in particular.
I've written before about a unique friendship between a group of men from neighboring small towns in southern Louisiana. A friendship so strong that has now grown and connected all members of their own families (as well as some cross-family marriages-gone-wrong ... hey, what are we if we aren't dysfunctional?)
Seven men. Seven careers. Seven cities. Seven families. Seven stories. One bond.
To the general public, fellow-bar patrons, Facebook friends and maybe even some of my former blog readers, these guys may just look like a group of assholes that like to share cocktails and crude language. In reality, they share their lives.
I essentially owe it to my dad for allowing me to witness and inviting me be a part of the Martini Tour (Second Generation) because this hasn't only provided me with good times that can't even be measured, but more importantly an invaluable life lesson. The events, the venues, the ideas this group of men comes up with to share with each other ... definitely off the beaten path. I mean from Thanksgivings in the middle of the swamp to being chased through the French Quarter by raging, broad-chested chicks with bats... they just ain't right. And that's what I love about them. That's what they love about each other. Especially Uncle Don...
'Unka Don' was affectionately named the Class President. He's the venue locator, the logistics coordinator and the event planner. He's the Loup Garou. He's the one who always made sure everyone was having a good time. He made the miss-fits fit. He also sometimes makes you feel like you are the smartest person in the whole world. He's the one who fills an entire hotel suite with 6-inch plastic alligators for no good reason. He makes everyone want to be his friend!
He sold his bullshit to my dad at the age of 5 and for the last 55 years, they have been partners in crime. Brothers in cocktails. Family.
For 55 years, my dad has gotten to enjoy his bunny shoes, his elementary Valentine's Day cards, his dog shit, his drunk mumbles, his Pimm's Cup rocket shooter, his crazy masks, his made-up news articles, his bloody mary mustaches and of course, his damn plastic alligators. He enjoyed all that for 55 years.
Today, my dad cherishes him.
Today, 6 men, among countless of others, cherish him.
This weekend, a city full of family, friends and strangers will cherish him
.
On Wednesday, May 25, 2011, I received a phone call that rocked my world. The voicemail my dad left asking me to call him remains on my phone. My dad called to tell me that his buddy died.
Suddenly.
No warning.
So many questions, so little answers.
I never knew I could feel such loss. I never knew losing Uncle Don would hurt so much. I never even thought about losing him. I don't think I could put into words the shock and grief that I felt.
I do feel.
I will continue to feel.
If someone off the street walked up to me and said they were devastated over the loss of their parents' friend, I would never guess it feels like this. Because he was, is and will be so much more than that.
He is Uncle Don. He is an inspiration. A lesson. A legend to many.
Uncle Don's final wishes (however I don't think he ever knew they'd have to be put into action so soon) was to hand his ashen remains over to the Martini Tour, because they'd know exactly what do to with him. Well, a quick head-scratcher between the boys "We will know exactly what to do with him???" Of course , we do!
San Fermin: Nueva Orleans. Running of the Bulls: New Orleans. Our annual Martini Tour summer event, one of Uncle Don's favorites. There's just something he loves about domineering ladies, skates and violence... {Hey, don't ask me...}
The run is always kicked off with a parade of the Statue of San Fermin, carried by pallbearers and a drum corps. This year, a little twist was thrown into the mix. Uncle Don will be riding on the statue through the French Quarter, as the corps dons (pardon the pun) Uncle Don's initials on their embroidered armband insignia.
The Martini Tour Board of Directors, along with MT families will fall in behind, donning our special Martini Tour-embellished San Fermin shirts. I tell you what, all the MT BOD's are jumping at the bit for the next spot in Heaven, if this is what their final farewell entails.
Following a 5pm vigil mass at St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square, the soulful harmonies of Jay Ray & Gee will parade us through the Quarter, charming the streets with their gospel praises.
A stop at each of our frequented watering holes, and continuing on to conclude the memorial at the levee of the Mississippi River. There, we will bid our final farewell to the Class President. His remains will be physically purged from our presence but his spirit will always be with us. His memories always in our hearts.
A Martini Tour group effort, to offer a dear friend the party of a lifetime. And while it seems ridiculous to most, it is an honor that I know he now feels while he's busy keeping the beer cold in heaven.
What was once a silly idea transformed into a signature event. And now, it truly is a memory of a lifetime!
Uncle Don, you are without a doubt, missed my many.
Thank you for the impact you have had on my life!
In loving remembrance of Donald Robert Hanemann.
August 14, 1951 – May 24, 2011
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