Turkey, Potatoes, and a Hand Grenade.
My brother, sister and I have, out of necessity, formed a united front when we gather at home for the holidays. I honestly can't remember the last time a family get-together didn't erupt in some cataclysmic argument... most always ignited by my irrational and slightly intoxicated mother. Sometimes she starts with the blitzkreig frontal assault, like the Panzer division smashing through France. You see it coming, but it can't be stopped. Other times, she takes the Pearl Harbor approach- you're fantasizing about the neighbor's hot new gardener, you ask for more gravy, and WHAM! you've morphed into a full-fledged attack on abortion and the Catholic church.
The three of us have learned to stick together because... division... well, that's like blood to a shark.
This year's Thanksgiving holiday is shaping up to be quite different. My brother and sister will be in Philadelphia and I am fending for myself. The problem is, the Panzer division started rolling through France about a week ago and I'll be skipping through the front door right about the time Paris is seiged. My sister and I chatted about it today, and she laid out my proposed itinerary for Thanksgiving:
9am-10am: Breakfast and friendly discussion about Mom's alcohol problem.
10am-11am: Brisk walk outside.
12pm-1pm: Lunch! And heart-to-heart about Stephen's money management, marriage, and apparent lack of concern regarding new job.
1pm-2pm: Another brisk walk outside. (Florida is lovely this time of year.)
4pm-5pm: Cocktails!
6pm-7pm: Fireside chat about my relocation to Phoenix with boyfriend.
7pm-8:30pm: Mmm...Everyone loves turkey! Complete with a lively debate!
Chris was surely dissapointed that he wouldn't be able to spend time with me over the holiday. But he wasn't aware that I had been drafted into war. And to naively think that I was above the legal drafting age limit...
The three of us have learned to stick together because... division... well, that's like blood to a shark.
This year's Thanksgiving holiday is shaping up to be quite different. My brother and sister will be in Philadelphia and I am fending for myself. The problem is, the Panzer division started rolling through France about a week ago and I'll be skipping through the front door right about the time Paris is seiged. My sister and I chatted about it today, and she laid out my proposed itinerary for Thanksgiving:
9am-10am: Breakfast and friendly discussion about Mom's alcohol problem.
10am-11am: Brisk walk outside.
12pm-1pm: Lunch! And heart-to-heart about Stephen's money management, marriage, and apparent lack of concern regarding new job.
1pm-2pm: Another brisk walk outside. (Florida is lovely this time of year.)
4pm-5pm: Cocktails!
6pm-7pm: Fireside chat about my relocation to Phoenix with boyfriend.
7pm-8:30pm: Mmm...Everyone loves turkey! Complete with a lively debate!
On the defense: Dad will argue for the merits of his Haiti trip in February, where he will be doing pro-bono surgery for ailing natives. On the offense: Mom will argue against the trip, using irrefutable claims like... lack of shopping and unkempt bathrooms. (I hate to take bets here, but I think Mom's got this one locked down!)
Chris was surely dissapointed that he wouldn't be able to spend time with me over the holiday. But he wasn't aware that I had been drafted into war. And to naively think that I was above the legal drafting age limit...
posted by Michael at 8:10 PM
3 Comments:
Good luck with the war. You could always drop a sedative in her box wine.
Best of luck with the war too.. and thanks for stopping by my blog! My folks are kinda pissed at me right now cuz I'm going to London for Thanksgiving, but frankly, last time I was home, i got into a HUGE argument with my brother about politics. He's a blind follower. So sad.
ahh, the joys and love of the holidays.. you bring it all home!
hey.. we're neighbors!
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