The fifteen-passenger van that Theresa came to get me in was huge. It had antennae on the top, and was jacked up. With a bit of effort, I managed to climb into it. The engine made an enormous amount of noise – diesel run. I was off on an adventure of epic proportions. Exactly how epic was still a mystery.
Mrs. Walsh cautioned me that passions might be running high in the household. The washing machine and dryer had been broken for a few days, so no one had clean clothes to pack. They still hadn’t figured out many details that would be necessary for the successful execution of the weekend. I was warned that there might be a lot of tempers lost and a lot of yelling. I was ready for yelling. I just duck when angry words start flying, especially if they are not directed at me. If I can stay out of it, I do.
After Adoration and Benediction, we arrived at the house to an almost ready supper. A seminarian was going to be eating supper with us, leaving the total people at the dinner table at a nice even dozen. (Seminarians have this knack of showing up in my life. Not quite sure how that happens.) So far, I had not seen any passion. Mr. Walsh had met us at Adoration and he was being fed, so he was happy. Dinner proved to be scrumptious, grunions were discussed (much to my discomfiture), and the game of “salt and pepper” was highly amusing. Nick insisted that they teach “the illustrious what’s her face” how to play, so I agreed. I don’t like playing games. In fact, I detest playing games. But I acquiesced. I had caused enough trouble with my dietary needs, so I figured I should go along with this request. The nature of the game is rather peculiar and deserves it’s own treatment, but I’m being lazy about it. It produced laughter to an extraordinary degree, mostly at my expense. By the time we left the table, it was almost ten o’clock and we were all pretty tired. We said night prayers and were all hustled off to bed. None of the packing issues were addressed because of the late hour. There was no passion displayed, at least of the angry kind. A passion for making fun of Bridget was, however, displayed in mass quantity.
The passion I witnessed the next day wasn’t anger, though. It was much worse. It was that quiet, freaking out, on the verge of tears passion. My family is so very organized that the tumult of it all would never have happened. I was rather frazzled by it all: the packing of the food, the hitching of the cars, the Laundromat trip, etc. I mostly felt like a puppy dog whose feet and ears are too big for the rest of her. I was in the way, mostly. I didn’t know where anything was or where anything should go. I just tried to stay out of the crossfire of tension. I would’ve preferred yelling, actually. The silent thing is kinda creepy. Not gonna lie.
We were supposed to leave at eleven in the morning. We left at three. The tension in the air was so thick that a knife could have cut it. The first fits were pitched at the same time as the tents. People were hungry, cranky, and stressed. We all went to bed early, mostly so we could avoid each other’s company. The next day was Theresa’s birthday… and I was hoping that the only passion displayed would be joy.
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