Day 326 — Turkey Day
[for Thursday, Nov. 22]
Every year, it's different. Last year, we nearly burned the kitchen down with fiery turkey grease.
This year, both my parents were sick. My mom hobbled around in her pajamas, barely stomaching the rich and ripe smells of a dozen different dishes mingling. She was a good sport, and ate a bit of turkey and fixins. She even drank a glass of wine later in the evening.
My dad kept to himself, and was suffering from some kind of ear infection and tinnitus that was driving him mad. He had to go to bed early in the evening to prepare for work that night.
I sipped on Hogue white all day (White Harvest). There were no board games. There was clucking in the kitchen, and when everyone migrated to the den, we watched some harrowing video-clip show ("WATCH AS THIS MAN FALLS FROM A PLANE TO HIS DEATH!!!") instead of football.
It was all very low-key. A little sad.
I don't like seeing my folks feeling bad. If you're lucky (which I am, very much), you grow up with your parents as the rock from which all else can anchor, and when that rock crumbles or shakes the slightest bit, it sets everything off and you're forced to remember how transient everything is. And, not to put too fine a point on it, but that's a major bummer.
That said, there was a baby there — Peyton, my sister's step-grandson. Look at him. He is a cutie bug, isn't he? Look at me, using idiotic phrases like "cutie bug." This is what happens when you surround me — an intentionally child-free person — with tiny babies for a week. First Lucas and now Peyton. And then later Thursday night I got to see Rylee, Phil's niece. She sort of squashed whatever tiny maternal pangs had been growing in me this week. That's only because she is three. If you have ever met a three-year-old, you will understand that sentiment.
Project 365
Every year, it's different. Last year, we nearly burned the kitchen down with fiery turkey grease.
This year, both my parents were sick. My mom hobbled around in her pajamas, barely stomaching the rich and ripe smells of a dozen different dishes mingling. She was a good sport, and ate a bit of turkey and fixins. She even drank a glass of wine later in the evening.
My dad kept to himself, and was suffering from some kind of ear infection and tinnitus that was driving him mad. He had to go to bed early in the evening to prepare for work that night.
I sipped on Hogue white all day (White Harvest). There were no board games. There was clucking in the kitchen, and when everyone migrated to the den, we watched some harrowing video-clip show ("WATCH AS THIS MAN FALLS FROM A PLANE TO HIS DEATH!!!") instead of football.
It was all very low-key. A little sad.
I don't like seeing my folks feeling bad. If you're lucky (which I am, very much), you grow up with your parents as the rock from which all else can anchor, and when that rock crumbles or shakes the slightest bit, it sets everything off and you're forced to remember how transient everything is. And, not to put too fine a point on it, but that's a major bummer.
That said, there was a baby there — Peyton, my sister's step-grandson. Look at him. He is a cutie bug, isn't he? Look at me, using idiotic phrases like "cutie bug." This is what happens when you surround me — an intentionally child-free person — with tiny babies for a week. First Lucas and now Peyton. And then later Thursday night I got to see Rylee, Phil's niece. She sort of squashed whatever tiny maternal pangs had been growing in me this week. That's only because she is three. If you have ever met a three-year-old, you will understand that sentiment.
Project 365
Labels: project 365, Thanksgiving, the family, The Phamily
posted by theogeo | 11/24/2007 02:10:00 AM
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