A shindig is best described as an event that will have a vast array of people, some of whom you know and some you don’t, all gathered together to talk, eat and celebrate something. Separate from a good summer bar-b-que a shindig isn’t about the food, it’s about why the shindig is being held. Oh there will of course be food. But! Yes a shindig kind of “but.” The celebration and freedom of a shindig has summer written all over it. Well I think that’s enough times to say shindig for a while. Not.
Oh, there will be dancing and a bit of whooping and merriment. Make no mistake there are vast differences between a shindig and a regular party. There are no fancy clothes at a shindig. There are only casually attired guests. That is to facilitate the fact there might, and could possibly be a bit of rolling around in the grass or getting some dropped buffalo wing sauce wiped off of sticky licked fingers and then onto a pair of pants. Both of which may be seen happening at a shindig. All things point to the fact that I am certainly a shindig kind of gal.
We have all. Wait. I promised myself I would not generally generalize. For instance, I would, to our mother’s surprise and horror, pretty sure I would jump off a bridge if you and EVERYBODY else jumped off a bridge too, just to prove a point. I would be the one with the bungee cord tied to my foot though! Back to the shindig. Most of us have gone to a party where all we could think of was getting home and putting our feet up on the coffee table, reading a book or watching the latest edition of a rerun. But when you are at a shindig? Your feet are miles away from resting upon the aforementioned coffee table spot. The music will get your foot tapping and the talk will be of things you want, yes want to talk about. I vote for shindigs.
If you sit and think of all the places you have been invited to, I would hazard a guess the ones that float to the top of your list would be more of the shindig side of life rather than the social, “yes you have to go,” soiree, or for me a “swwaray.” Might have something to do with my wardrobe. Past jeans and cotton tops, I am mostly at a loss.
When my parents celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary my siblings and I decided to have a party in their honor. In reality, it turned into the best shindig ever. We couldn’t have planned to find a local constabulary guy sitting under the dining room table holding the empty punch bowl. A punch with such a punch that it had to be made in a newly purchased 15-gallon kitchen garbage container. There was no way we could have imagined it would all last till nearly dawn. It may have had soiree written all over it with the invitations. But about an hour into it things turned a corner and it became a real, knee-slapping shindig.
Oh there is absolutely a time and a place for celebrations to be held with dignity and staunchness. A wedding, a christening. How else will I know if I can become a true-to-life grown-up if I don’t suit up and attend something formal-ish every once in a while. Small talk of gatherings is a sporting event that I cherish to undertake. Of course, with me it usually turns into chitty chat rather than small talk. There’s a cavernous difference between small talk and chitty chat. Small talk is of the weather and the ghastly cold, hot or humid days. Chitty chat is all about mud sticking to my shoes and coming off in chunks in the house. Small talk is of the latest stock market events. Chitty chat is more about the rise in the cost of chicken wings and ribs.
Summer is fast approaching. Shindig season. Grab up your family and have one, go to one. Create an atmosphere around you that can be remembered far into those nose hair-freezing Februarys to come. Enjoy.
Trina lives in Eureka, Nevada. Her books, “They Call Me Weener” and “Life After A Death” are on line where you buy books or direct from her at [email protected]
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