It's Sunday. The big T Day is Thursday. There is no turkey unchilling in the fridge yet. I am so not into grocery shopping at this point. There was this very kind lady on an e mail list that offered a Thanksgiving meal, the fixings, for someone on the list in need.
I thought, "My car is old. I have old clothes. I just gave Dan the handyman my turkey fund. Maybe I can pass." I wondered if needing to not shop qualified as needy.
Got an email from the wasband last night. He is going to his what the heck is she for the big day. I sat in shock. We've been divorced, oh heck, long enough to not remember most of it, and he's come here every year. Every year I got to hear how depressed he is and the same stories trying to impress the children and annoy me, and my stomach would clench, once to the point where I was physically ill. Fun. But, hey, if we didn't do it, he'd be home alone eating peanut butter and the kids would be sad, which I admit, they have hearts of gold...so what the heck. I would tell myself to buck up, he used to be fun, maybe this year..... nope.
I wrote back, "Oh, it won't be the same without you!" I hope I managed to make it sound like that was a bad thing.
This year, I get to spend it with my two favorite humanoids. We can be relaxed and just have fun. Wow. I can't remember Thanksgiving ever being relaxed and fun. Weird, funny, unreal, maybe. Fun...not so much. Relaxed, only to the alcoholics.
Growing up. My mother was a holiday Nazi. She made the most disgusting sweet potatoes ever on the entire planet. She put in a whole bottle of rum. That's it. No sweetener. Try that as a five year old. You had to say "Yum" with just the right tone or she would go into a tirade. And people pay for acting lessons.
I remember one year when I was first with Wasband o' Mine. We came to their house first. My mother had gone on and on about buying a water fountain for the dining room. It added a touch of certain je ne sais qua...class....yeah, that's it...class to the joint.
It was plastic and had some Greek honey with an urn. Mother dyed the water blue, and it cascaded over lovely, turning blue, plastic flowers.
It would have given a kitsch collector wet dreams.
So, tiny dining room, eight people around a table. Water is pouring. One person would have to get up, whole side of the table would have to move around. Person would go pee. Person would come back. Whole table would have to move around. Next person would have to get up.
Finally, in a wounded huff, my mother turned off the rainmaker.
Everyone had their assigned roles. The men had to watch golf and football. The women fussed. Wasband decided to bring some dishes into the kitchen. Poor Auntie M nearly keeled over. A man! In the kitchen!
They chuckled about that for at least ten minutes. Knee slapping fun.
Then, we left that piece of Americana, and headed over to Wasband's house.
His mom was rather fond of the sauce, and an artist. She'd been storing her paint in the oven. She forgot and turned it on. Luckily, nothing exploded. But it didn't smell so great either.
The turkey was still frozen. She'd forgotten to defrost it. She'd managed to make frozen peas black. She was there, at the table, with an electric knife, slicing off frozen turkey chunks and cooking them in an electric skillet.
She was a dignified woman, in her own unique way. I barely knew her. The conversation drifted to her disappointment in her new beau, otherwise known as Mr. Softy, and how his sexual dysfunction did not excuse him for not caring about her needs.
"Hasn't the man heard of cunninglingus?" she asked, woefully.
Her youngest son didn't bat an eye. He said, "Face it, Mom, what you need is a good fuck."
She didn't bat an eye. She said, "Yes, I believe you are right. But, I'm not going to get it with him."
I remembered thinking how this was almost Newtonian, an equal and opposite reaction in the Universe. The exact opposite from the psychotic perfection we'd just survived, to this joyous chaos. Equal and opposite.
It was so nice to be on the other side for a breather, though.
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