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A Par-tay
Sensing my sadness, my friend Carolyn decided to throw our family a "Welcome to Charlotte" party shortly after we arrived; seeing as how we missed getting together with people in a big way, we said, "Of course!" I know she was saddened by my lack of friends in Charlotte and wanted to introduce me to many of her friends whom she loves so much. (Carolyn has so many friends she just has to throw parties to get them all together.)
I was a bit nervous about the party for several reasons, including -- most importantly -- my open and apparent need for new friends. Would I seem desperate? I sure didn't want to come off that way. I also wasn't sure what parties were like here and how different they would be from my own Canadian backyard summer affairs, which tended to be loose and long-lasting.
Our farewell party back home was held on a warm summer night with friends gathered on our back deck. A few fellow musicians brought their instruments and music flowed all night. One local DJ taught my 5-year-old to break dance, though they looked more like Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin after a few hits. My daughter and her friends destroyed two feather pillows in a friendly, girly fight. Watching the feathers float around in the moonlight was something close to magical. Canadians, at least the ones I know, really let go of formalities when there's lots of wine, food and music.
I didn't know if people in Charlotte would take off their masks, let down their hair or whatever other cliché there is for having some real fun ... that's what I like to do. I waited.
To ease my anxiety, Carolyn strategically made me in charge of getting everyone their first drink. This allowed me to introduce myself, get people talking, and hopefully a little liquored up. As a former bartender, it was a role I was very comfortable with. It also gave me a purpose other than sitting on the sofa waiting for people to be my friend. Blech.
My kids planted themselves out front and worked their quirky, adorable charm on all the unsuspecting guests. "I'm Keller; my dad is famous, and I'm famous, and I like armchairs" was a particularly memorable opener. Cyre on the other hand, shook hands and directed traffic. Her manners are impeccable at most times and shone this particular night. My husband grabbed his horn, seated himself in a chair beside the piano and played jazz tunes with his partner in crime, Ethan. I couldn't help but relax and smile.
The music, food and wine worked wonders. Before long, people were laughing and chatting up a storm. Friends sat with friends as per usual at a party but were quick to make room for someone new. The kids got tattoos from the hostess and one mom took it upon herself to put them on every kid there (and herself of course). Food just kept showing up as did bottle after bottle of Cab, Merlot and the like.
I was flattered by the friendliness of the folks there and the warm welcomes I received. I knew I wouldn't be a BF or a BFF with all of them, but I knew I'd be friends with some of them. It was a wonderful way to meet some wonderful Charlotteans.
A Welcome from the Mayor's Office
Though my introduction to some new friends went relatively smooth, getting to know my neighbors, with the exception of Ms. Southern Hospitality next door, didn't start out quite so well. I wasn't expecting warm apple pie and open arms, but I was hoping for something better than an official complaint to the city.
As a general rule or stereotype, Torontonians are somewhat stiff. They'll be friendly, but from a distance. They will say hello, but only if spoken to. They won't bring you a pie if you move into their neighborhood, but they'll give you a push if your car gets stuck in the snow.
Upon arriving in Charlotte, our family was lucky enough to have gotten a personal and warm welcome from the mayor's office. It certainly didn't start off that way, however. Of course, how it came to that point would not have been possible without the assistance of Ms. Southern Hospitality.
One of the key things to learn when arriving in a new town is how garbage disposal and pickup works. Every city does recycling differently, on different days, with different materials and bins.
We did a lot of unpacking in a short period of time, and it seemed as if we were never going to unpack the sky-high pile of boxes sprawled across our house. As the stack of empties got higher and higher, my anxiety about the amount of work we were creating for the garbage men rose higher and higher, too.
