Barbecue, Bluegrass and Jet Setting Grandmas

The stories in this column are true. Averett lives a dull life in rural Southside Virginia with his wife Management, two children and a rotating assortment of goats, dogs, cats, snakes and other local fauna.

Last weekend I had the pleasure of attending two barbecues. I look forward to both of these events all year. Both of them offer good food, good people and good conversation. It is a toss up as to which is my favorite; one has old cars, the other has a band. The special thing about both of these was I am not expected to do anything but be a guest.

That doesn’t mean I can’t help. A good guest helps out if they are needed. It means I wasn’t invited just so I could help or so I could take pictures and write a story.

This year I had several problems. First, both barbecues were scheduled for the same day, one at noon the other at six. It’s hard to do justice to two great meals back to back.

Another problem was that there was an air compressor with a “for sale” sign on it at one event. The sign wasn’t the problem. The problem wasn’t that I need a compressor and the price was reasonable. The problem wasn’t even money; I had just sold something and had cash in my pocket. The problem was that I am supposed to be the guy who invites folks over and then sells them something. My friend Trapper used to say that I was the only guy in the world who invited people over for a meal and then made them work or sold them something. This always works better if the folks visiting don’t know the plan.

The third problem was that Management wasn’t with me. This is a problem for multiple reasons. According to rumors, the only place I can go unattended (without embarrassing everyone else) is a bar fight. I also have to wonder if invitations made to both of us include me without her. Of course no one would object to her without me but me without her is always open to debate.

Keeping in mind that Management and I are barbecue sort of folks and that we are more likely to be found in jeans and tee shirts than anything else and that we really like both families who were having barbecues, where was Management?

Well, she was shopping in Boston. I don’t mean South Boston, which is 45 miles from us. I mean Boston, Mass. Keeping in mind that a trip to Richmond or Lynchburg is a big deal for us, you might wonder how this happened.

Our oldest son called and invited her. They hopped a plane, zipped up to Boston, did the tour thing and some shopping and zipped home. Meanwhile I was left at home unattended and without a to-do list. Before she left, Management set the four gallons of paint we got months ago in the middle of the living room floor. Beside it she put paint rollers, drop cloths and brushes.

I spent several hours contemplating this. Was it a hint? Did she want me to paint? Being unsure of her wishes I took a survey at the first barbecue. The host offered the theory that she put it out as a reminder to herself that she intended to contact a painter upon her return. Another guy proposed that she put it out so I could take it and have it re-shaken after two months in the closet. Still another guy theorized that she was rethinking her choice of colors and that I should not interfere in the decision making process. This is a great bunch of guys. You will notice, however, I did not include any of their wives in this conversation.

Fortunately for me the next morning the daughter called and asked me to keep the Grand-brat and everyone knows you should never paint with a small child unless your intent is to paint the child.