I woke to the sound of a fife and drum corps marching down High Street. The festivities had already begun. The Chestertown Tea Party is, without question, the big event of the year here in C-town. (Wow! Check it out! You can watch it live online! Even from the Bahamas, Stella!) Not to be confused with the Tea Party (was going to put a link here, but went to the site and have to say, I can’t even stomach giving them that amount of support) that has co-opted our good name, the Chestertown Tea Party celebrates its rebellion against the British by tossing tea overboard into the Chester River (much like the Boston Tea Party, but we didn’t dress up like Indians and blame it on them). Thousands of tourists pour into town to watch the re-enactment, eat funnel cakes, enjoy the parade, dress up in tri-corner hats and buy lots of tchotchkes that are ostensibly related to colonial times. Or crabs. Or, maybe, wood? Or, hmm, birds? Mermaids? The Taylors?

When I headed out this morning to the post office to send out the dregs of our latest mailing, I was reminded why I had meant to run this errand yesterday.

Grumbling at the thousands of people who separated me from the cool and gently echoing hall of the post office, I walked by the Main Stage just in time to hear the emcee reading off a list of names of “pillars of the community” who were to be remembered in a moment of silence. Of course, mom’s name was read and I burst into tears. Not very festive of me, I’m afraid. At least I was wearing sunglasses.

It’s times like that when I wonder if my life is just scripted.

Anyway, I made it through the crowds and enjoyed an incredibly quick wait in line at the post office (almost never to be had on a Saturday morning). On my return, I spotted one of the many things that I would have loved as a kid – bowling with a bluecoat.

Though I’m old and jaded now (I admit, I rushed back home as fast as I could) I fondly remember the days when the Tea Party was perhaps the most exciting thing I could imagine. At different points in time, my entire life aspirations were to be a clogger (not really sure how that’s actually related to the whole colonial theme, but there have been cloggers coming to Tea Party for at least 35 years), a member of a fife and drum corps, a storyteller, or a person who walks around with an owl on her shoulder. I’m sad the kids aren’t here to enjoy it this year, but I hope they’ll have a lot more opportunities.

Viva la Revolution!