I need to give you some background information before I really talk about the disappearance of Ben during the Pig Roast.
Lydia was living in California and had become the overseer of the wine auction section of Christy’s Auction House. (How cool is that?!!) Jimmy, here in Ohio, was somewhat of a wine connoisseur. A case of really good red wine came across Lydia’s desk to be auctioned off. Lydia of course called Jimmy and told him he had to bid on this item. He did, he won and Lydia brought the wine with her when she came home to Ohio for the Pig Roast that year. Note: Ben does not handle red wine very well.
Early Saturday evening Lydia brings the case of wine to Jimmy. Being a connoisseur Jimmy opened the case, began looking at the bottles and began opening some of them to let them breathe before he began tasting and rating each bottle. (Saturday night at the Pig Roast was lamb dinner so Jimmy was in full apron and full on chef mode.) Ben happened to be in the area when Jimmy started to taste the wine. Of course Jimmy was sharing and asking other’s opinions. Ben got handed a glass, and just like that he was in the ring of tasters. (Note: Ben had been drinking beer-pacing himself I’m sure-for the better part of the day.)
The tasting continued, the cooking continued and the evening continued.
The food was ready and it was time to eat. The large picnic table on the porch was full as were other smaller tables at the other end of the porch. Ben was at the picnic table sitting next to me. He had a glass of wine which in all his drunken glory he spilled. I helped him clean it up and in the process discovered an inchworm on his plate. I put it on a bite of pasta salad. (Most everyone at the table was watching because Ben had reached the “very loud” stage of drunkenness. ) I encouraged him to have one more bite. As I was doing this, I looked at my mom. Mom was the meter of if you were crossing the line or not. Mom was laughing so I was good to go. Ben took the bite of pasta and inch worm.
The meal continued as did discussions. As noted before, Ben had reached the “loud and drunk” stage early in the meal and then he got quiet. I’m not sure when he disappeared but at some point I noticed he was gone from the table. It was not a big deal…at that point.
The evening continued with visiting, catching up, drinking and playing euchre. As it started to get dark I realized we hadn’t seen Ben in quite a while. I suggested to the younger of my generation that they might start to look for Ben-but be discrete, no sense in getting people worked up. Unfortunately, the kids didn’t know the meaning of discrete. A cry of, “WE HAVE TO FIND BEN!” went out to the youngers and they were off on a mission. In his room? Nope. In a friend’s tent? Nope. In his car? Nope. Down at the creek? Umm No!
At some point I noticed the dog eating some pasta salad that was on the ground. Hmmmmm. I got my youngest brother and told him to look down the wooded hill in a certain area. There he was. Good ole brother Ben. He had lost the contents of his stomach onto his shirt so they took his shirt off and walked him back to the house where his bed (and his wife and his months old son) were waiting. Ben was safe and in bed to sleep it off until the next day.
The next year at the Pig Roast, someone had put up a small section of bright orange snow fencing across the area where Ben most likely went down the hill and posted a sign “No Paschals beyond this point.” Ben was not impressed but we had a great laugh when he arrived and saw the sign.
Kudos to Janice Dohn for washing Ben’s shirt! Personally, I would have left it in the woods.
