Oh Thanksgiving…the time of year that we gather with family to celebrate the things we are most thankful for in our life. And we do this by strappin’ on the ol’ feedbag and chowin’ down. Don’t worry, somebody usually chucks in a “thanks for the food and for the troops, Amen” before our faces plow the fields of food for the next 4 hours.
Thanksgiving is traditionally celebrated at my aunt’s house as she has a finished basement and its one of the few remaining places where my whole family fits together. To be honest, most restaurants no longer accept our business either. The “décor” of the basement is quite….interesting…shall we say. It looks like any other finished basement; carpeted floors, wooden paneled walls, drop ceiling. Except for 1 stark, punch you in the face difference. My uncle has managed to cover every inch of wall space with pictures. I’m not exaggerating….THEY ARE EVERYWHERE. I would compare it to an art gallery manager’s worst nightmare; as though the art just vomited all over. He has actually gone to the extent to make certain areas of the wall into themes. One area was all pictures of baseball and the Yankees. One area was all space pictures. Very Space Odyssey 2001ish if you will. These themed areas continue, but I will spare you.
I’m going to ask you to hold this décor description in your thoughts for just 2 minutes as I tangent.
With 40 people for dinner, it’s impossible to all sit at a round table and pass the rolls. Instead we do dinner buffet style. It always strikes me funny how the seating arrangements work out for large family dinners now that we are older. When we were little we used to be relegated to sit at the kids table with my cousins; the goal always being to sit with the adults. But now that we really are adults (somewhat) I still find that we always end up sitting together to form a kids table. The jokes are raunchier, the kool-aid usually contains a little vodka, but our ability to get along hasn’t changed at all. And this is one of those things I’m thankful for.
Unfortunately, because I didn’t sit near my grandma, I didn’t see that she was drinking wine with dinner. This in itself is like the coming of the antichrist. You see, my grandmother, bless her soul, never drinks. NEVER. Be that because she doesn’t like how it makes her feel or because she’s the size of a 5th grader, one cannot know. From what I was told, she had about 2 ounces of wine. PARTY LIKE A ROCKSTAR. Totally would have obliterated me too. About an hour later, obviously still feeling the effects of the mass quantities she had consumed, about 10 of us were sitting around having dessertS (yes that was plural) and out of nowhere, my grandma goes “I feel totally out of my body, like I’m floating in space.” Listen lady, I lost it. Uncontrolled fit of laughter. This woman was straight of the boat, had survived the great depression, lived through a couple wars, birthed 4 children, and fallen off a roof, but those 2 ounces of red wine……they were her defeat. EVIL NEMISIS.
Remember when I told you to hold that description of the finished basement and all the pictures hanging on the wall. Ok….recall time.
So there we are, in a room full of dangly pictures and my grandma is walking around (keep in mind she feels totally “out of body”) and doesn’t she brush the wall with her derriere and knock down some of these sacred works of art. As the pictures clank on the floor and the room falls silent a voice lofts into the air with “JESUS MARY, WATCH YOUR FAT ASS!” Her own brother actually screamed this from the other corner of the room and I had to roll my mouth up from the floor and go change my depends after this scenario played out. I will vouch for you that my grandmother is not a soul sista…she would not impress Sir Mix-A-Lot. It’s good to see the sibling rivalry still exist s through the years.