LOST WEEKEND

 

            I’m sure everyone has heard about a movie with the above name but I hate to disappoint them with this as this story falls far short of what Hollywood had to offer. It still gives a lesson on what not to do when a bunch of couples decide to get away to some hideaway in the mountains for a long weekend in the early spring.

            According to Mark, it happened somewhere around 1950. He’d only been married a couple of years at the most. Leo and Lorraine, about the same. George and Grace had beaten them by at least a year but no one was really counting. Paul, he was still single and so was Toss (whose name was also George--some parents have no imagination when it comes to naming kids) but was dating Paula Jean, or PJ whom she was more likely to answer to. Ivan and Betty were newlyweds as were Harold and Anne. And we shouldn’t forget the stars of the show, Bernie and Laury.

            Maybe I should say right here that some members of the bunch about to participate in this weekend drama were also related. Mark, George (the first George) and PJ were cousins; Lorraine was Harold’s younger sister. Grace and Paul were also brother and sister, and Laurey was Toss’ kid sister. But relations or not, they were still good friends and did a lot of things together although this would be the first time that they would all venture out to spend a weekend together.

            Paul’s family owned a sizeable cabin in the village of Waterton, which was (naturally) located in Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park, which pretty much straddles the Montana-Alberta border. Apparently Martin, Paul's father, had built it to accommodate his entire family and their families and some important guests. The place was cavernous to say the least, with a huge fireplace dominating the north wall, two small bedrooms on each side, with four more on the mezzanine above; there was even an extra room hung from the rafters, accessible only from the mezzanine via a narrow and rickety open stairway. Numerous trophy deer, mountain sheep and elk heads, and even one from a mountain goat were mounted high up on the pine-paneled walls in the southern part of the main lounge-kitchen area. There were two or possibly three long sofas in front of the fireplace along with easy chairs and hassocks. Just in case the guests didn’t bring enough entertainment, a thirties era console radio was there to offer company.

            The long weekend in May was upon them, spring planting was finished and thus the great outdoors beckoned. Paul got the bright idea that all his friends should drive out to Waterton and stay at the cabin for the weekend. No one needed any coaxing as Waterton was a wonderful place to spend a quiet weekend; a group of friends, telling stories, going for walks around the town, stopping to gaze at Cameron Falls, and whatever else tickled their fancy. Friday afternoon they were in their cars and heading for places west.

             Before I go any further, I need to say something about the weather in the Chinook Belt. Being on the eastward side of the Rocky Mountains, the weather could be anything, especially in May. You could have glorious sunshine with the temperatures in the eighties, or you could have a blizzzard that drops a foot of snow into freezing temperatures. All you need to do is plan an event and Mother Nature will do something to thwart everything; sort of like your adolescent daughter's moods.

            Now, into that unpredictable time of the year the Americans have Memorial Day which is traditionally the last weekend in May. For some reason the Canadians celebrate Victoria Day--something to comemorate the birthday of a monarch around the turn of the 20th Century--a week earlier. Why the two nations couldn't agree on a single specific weekend is beyond me. Maybe take the whole week off and everyone will be happy. 

            Of course, nobody asked me. And in this case you had people from both sides who were just--friends!

            Friday was a beautiful day to say the least. With lots of sunshine and mild temperatures, the weekend promised to be one never to be forgotten.

            No one would ever realize the full impact of the never to be forgotten part.

            The cars arrived at the cabin and the weekend travelers moved in. Bedrooms were designated, suitcases were unpacked and the evening meal was prepared. The mood in the cabin was upbeat, jokes were told, laughter was everywhere and the group reveled in mutual friendship. Nothing could dampen anyone’s spirits, not even the light rain that had begun to fall on the roof late in the night…

            Dawn came and people stirred. A few ventured out of the relative warmth of their rooms to meet the others as they prepared to start the day, with building another fire to ward off the morning chill while others put on coffee and started to make breakfast. The mood in the place was still relatively festive—until someone looked outside.

            Well, that wouldn’t be fair either as the travelers were accustomed to the weather in that part of the world. A little snow—even several inches of it—on a long weekend in May wasn’t about to stop them from having a good time.

            After breakfast the group shuffled over to the sofas and sat in front of the fire, telling more stories, more jokes, napping, telling more stories; someone made some popcorn and everyone enjoyed that…and yes, it was boring!

            Mark can’t remember who had the bright idea; it might have been he. “Let’s all go down to the Prince of Wales for a beer,” was the suggestion from somewhere. Well, most of the guys save for Paul and George, were in favor of it while the women simply told them to go ahead. I might add that a couple of the girls were pregnant and just wanted to relax.

            “We’ll be fine here. Just go down and have yourselves a good time.” And it’s still uncertain which of the women actually said that, if it was said at all. So Mark, Ivan, Harold, Leo, Bernie, and Toss all got into Bernie’s car and headed for the only bar in town, the tavern at the Prince of Wales Hotel.

            The funny part about the whole thing was that they were only gone for about an hour. They had maybe three glasses of beer each. They told stories, mostly those that weren’t usually told in mixed audiences, laughed and had a real good time.

The waiter came around and asked if the guys would like another round. Mark—and some of the others—had noticed that Bernie wasn’t handling the beer as easily as the rest of the bunch was. In fact after the second glass of beer, Bernie was a bit tipsy. He slurred, scattered cigarette ashes all over the table and basically made an ass of himself. Mark mentioned it to Harold and Leo who had noticed it as well. They all decided that they’d better head back to the cabin and be sociable with the rest of the gang.

On the way out, Harold mentioned to Mark that maybe he should get into the driver’s seat as he was afraid that Bernie wasn’t all that capable of driving. “If Leo or I try to drive, he’ll probably get mad but he doesn’t know you that well and won’t say a word.” Mark did as he was told; he slid in behind the wheel and Bernie didn’t say a word, he simply handed over the keys and they headed back to the cabin.

Meanwhile back at the cabin, some of their female companions, especially the ones that had only been married less than a year started to get a little nervous. One, the story has it that it was PJ even speculated that the men had left them and were out horsing around with other women. She actually stood in one place on the floor, shrieked and stamped her feet. The other, better experienced women tried their best to assure them that their men were due to be back soon.

Well, the door opened and the men tramped inside, looking not the worst for wear except for Bernie. He was smashed, and on only three glasses of beer. Laury took one look at him then let out a bloodcurdling shriek and raced upstairs to the bedroom with Bernie stumbling drunkenly behind her. She flopped down on the bed and began to sob hysterically.

Good thing they weren’t in the bedroom in the rafters.

Now, a little background on Laury, and PJ, for that matter. They came from large, traditional families; they were also the youngest, and they were quite spoiled.

Laury’s screams could be heard throughout the cabin (not to mention the community outside as well). Bernie was doing his best to calm her down but wasn’t succeeding very much. Leo and Lorraine finally headed up to see if there was something they could do. All the rest could do was stare at the floor and feel stupid, sheepish, dumfounded or whatever else it was when some spoiled brat threw a tantrum like that. Like, what would she do if Bernie had really been horsing around with another woman? There was probably the thought in some of the minds of Bernie's fellow "bar flies" as to how they’d react if their wives acted like that.

Laury eventually calmed down and rejoined the group, and everyone was able to at least enjoy some peaceful although guarded co-existence. But come Sunday morning the group began to disband and head for the relative peace and quiet of their own homes; no sense making the long weekend even longer than it already had become.

The strange part of this event is that it served (except for the main event) to cement friendships that would last for the rest of their lives. Throughout the years the Lost Weekend Gang had at least one annual reunion, which also included their rapidly expanding families. Sadly though, at the time I write this, all of them have left the bounds of this existence to make their places in the eternities. But you never know, there just might be more reunions of the Lost Weekend Gang in the future, maybe another cabin in another mountain resort far away from here. Who knows? There just might be a Lost Weekend Gang, The Next Generation, down here, although there might be some problems deciding who would be the star of that show.