Thanksgiving Leftovers

I'm feeling squirrley! A few leftover words from the 2006 Thanksgiving holiday.....after all, Thanksgiving is all about the leftovers....

(Enjoy this now. I warn you: I’m going to return to talking about poop in the very near future. Between Poop and the holidays, I’m sure I’ll have lots to write about. My friend “Suzuki DiFranco” has assured me that “Colon Care” will get things moving faster than a speeding train. You KNOW I will have to talk about this…perhaps some photos….and my sister gave me a book called “The Truth about Poop,” so you know that will become blog fodder….)

The wife’s family had their traditional Thanksgiving dinner, complete with the 7-hour reflection of praise and thanks.

Praise the Baby Jesus!

The wife's family makes an amazing feast, fit for the most scrawny of Pilgrims. They make everything from scratch and make an over-the-top spread that borders on obscene. The food isn't the main event, tho....

See, the wife's family is an uber-religious group of folks, moved by the spirit and Jesus on the cross. God love them. Between prayer and praise, the Thanksgiving Thank-a-thon is almost an Olympic Event.

This year, the prayer and praise was unfortunately interrupted when a sister-in-law fell down the stairs, breaking two teeth and her jaw. I’m not kidding about this. She really did go tumbling. Something about her boot getting caught on the stair's carpeting. All I know is I heard the tumbling and crashing of an adult flying down the stairs.

As the injuries unfolded, the wife's youngest sister did an interpretive dance to some Christian Rap.

I.am.not.kidding.

I’ve never seen anything like the wife’s family—they cry when they are happy, they cry when they are grateful, they cry when the Packers win, they cry when the Packers lose, they cry when someone else is crying. They cry when someone does an interpretive dance to Christian Rap.

Interestingly to me, they do NOT cry when someone falls down the stairs. I was stymied by this. All that crying must be saved for everything except physical pain. It appears the wife's family has a “toughen up” mentality when injury or illness is involved. Since there was no blood spurting out of the sister-in-law's eyes, I guess they thought she was no worse for the wear. I vote that breaking your jaw and teeth is reason to shed tears. Heck, even the timing of hurting your mouth at the  Holiday known for eating should allow for tears. Alas, there was no sympathy to be found; in fact, I never heard her husband ask her directly if she was okay. The only first aid provided was by me and a brother-in-law, who brought her some frozen peas and carrots to use as an ice pack. One's gotta do what one's gotta do.

As for the interpretive dance, I am speechless.

Getting through the annual proclamation of “thanks” is like swimming in a pool of tears and snot. It is something to experience and cannot be accurately described in a mere blog entry. You have to be there to understand the volume the tears and snot. Just know that I’m the only one not crying. I don't cry while they cry and I don't understand why they are crying. I mean, I'm happy and grateful and all but I am not moved to tears.

I don't them much to work with in the thank you department. I keep it short and simple. It's safer that way. I am a woman of few words when it comes to the Thanksgiving Thank-a-thon. More time for them.

This year, I said I was thankful for antibiotics. I’ve been really sick and let me tell you, I am certainly praising Jesus that I finally started to feel better, thanks to medication. This proclamation seemed to really entertain the wife’s 4-year-old nephew—he liked that I was thankful for medication....

....He then added to my shamefully non-emotional proclamation of thanks: “and you’re thankful for Jesus, too?”

What else could I say but, “of course—Praise Jesus!”

As far as “my” family, we kept it short, sweet and simple. The only crying that was had was when I was laughing so hard I almost peed in my pants. (That’s the kind of crying that I like.) It’s a long story, but suffice it to say that the wife and I spent much time torturing Eldest Niece about her upcoming Confirmation in the Catholic Church.

What kind of Godmother am I, mocking the Holy Spirit?
  
I told her the Holy Spirit was going to swoop down upon her head and set her hair on fire...

....thus, she would have to wear curlers in her hair to protect her head.

Then, the Sponsor would put the fire out by patting it and pouring water on her head. 

The whole curler thing was inspired by some poor 12 year-old coming into the restaurant of which we were frequenting....she had curlers in her hair. I didn’t think they even made curlers any more. Poor thing. That is just so wrong making her go in public like that. Didn’t anyone ever tell her about the invention of the curling iron???

I told Eldest Niece that her confirmation name would thus be “Curly.” We also told her she would have to renew her baptism by going naked into the baptismal font.

Eldest niece was on the verge of tears. Not the kind the wife's family shed, but tears non-the-less. Who can blame her? No one wants to have hair on fire by a swooping spirit. No one wants to be called Curly.  No one wants to be a prancing naked teen in a baptismal font. I'm sure that 12 year old across the restaurant didn't want to be wearing curlers.

I’m not sure Eldest Niece wants to me to be her Confirmation Sponsor any more. I'm not sure the Baby Jesus will let me near her or her curlers. I'm not sure the wife's family will let me near anyone. One must not make fun of the Holiest of Spirits.


Maybe next year I can do an interpretive dance while wearing pink curlers. I think that will get me back in with the wife's family, my niece and the Baby Jesus.

Leftovers 2006:  Sacrilegious banter, yes. Tears, no. I'm lucky no one put a turkey carcass on my head.