The Hot Air Balloons

Under the big willow tree just east of the house is where Sam plans to host the baby shower. Under that mighty canopy will be the food table, staged and ready to receive its platters, covered in a white, ruffled linen that gives the table just the right touch.

“Remember, you and Jack are hanging the hot air balloons over the food table,” she reminded me the morning before.

“Hot air balloons?” I had forgotten. “What?”

She opened two flat boxes containing collapsed, origami-style paper sculptures. They unfolded into toile-patterned hot air balloons. She wanted them dangling directly over the food, suspended from the branches of the willow.

I was pleased she had recruited Jack to help. He arrived, and the two of us stood side by side on the lawn, pointing up into the canopy and working out an engineering plan.

We hopped into the old green golf cart and drove out to the big shop. I dug through the scrap rack and found an old ten-foot piece of reclaimed redwood, salvaged from the teardown of the Gibson deck years ago.

I ripped two two-inch strips from the timber on the table saw.

Then we raided my tackle bag for a spool of fluorocarbon fishing line, grabbed a handful of thumbtacks, and wrestled the ten-foot aluminum ladder into the back of the cart.

Out under the tree, I anchored the base of the ladder and fed the balloons up to Jack, who had climbed high enough to wedge our redwood spars across a stout, forking bough directly above the table.

Jack pressed the thumbtacks into the dense wood with his thumb, wincing and shaking out his hand after each one from the force required to pin the nearly invisible line in place.

We hung all six balloons, carefully staggering their heights and spacing so they drifted gently in the breeze. We stepped down onto the lawn, looked up, and gave each other an approving nod.

Then a solid high five.

“I never thought I’d be hanging paper hot air balloons over the food table for Bailey’s baby shower,” Jack said as we stood there.

Right on cue, Sam walked across the grass.

She stopped a few paces back to survey the installation, her left elbow resting in her right palm, her hand cupping her chin the way she always does when inspecting a project. Her index finger tapped lightly against her lips.

“You almost got it,” she smiled.