I'm not sure what category the S.O. and I fall into. The S.O. has known the host forever, since childhood, and my parents were friends with his parents. I'm not sure just how old the man is, but his younger brother is about to turn 85. So definitely an octogenarian, as is his spouse. Not surprisingly, it was not a particularly young crowd at this soiree. The S.O. and I were incredibly young and spry compared with some of the other folks enjoying the food and music -- the host plays the accordion and usually has a friend accompanying him on keyboards. It's a nice event. It's also one that guarantees that at least once a year we'll get to hear "The Sauna Song."
The keyboardist, incidentally, looked to be about 200 years old and was toting an oxygen bottle. His grandson served as a roadie: carried in all the equipment, made sure his grandfather was set up correctly, and handled everything that required any physical exertion. His grandfather, despite looking older than the Crypt Keeper, was decent on keyboards. His voice cracked more than a little when he sang, but other than that. . . no issues. I'm not a fan of what I think of as wedding dance music (polkas, schottisches, etc.) with the possible exception of "Kulkurin Valsi" but it was all actually rather nice.
So what does a summer potluck party have to do with mortality? Well, when the crowd on average is older than the proverbial dirt, one cannot help noticing that the number of attendees has been steadily declining over the past five or six years. More empty seats, more people negotiating with walkers, more folks toting oxygen bottles around. This was not a crowd that was likely to create a nuisance or disturb any uninvited neighbors with noise or rowdiness. The most likely disturbance would be an ambulance siren when one of the attendees dropped from a cardiac event. You know, it's always a nice party with good food and music and people generally enjoying themselves. . . but, fuck, everyone is getting so damn old.
