As usual, I'm a big, fat liar.
I found a few more Thanksgiving pics. Nothing too exciting, but since I'm scanning and posting my life in all of it's questionably glorious glory here on the in-ter-nets, I thought I'd give 'em to y'all.
Tomorrow's the big day, and I figured that maybe a few of you could use some place setting/decorating tips and a little trip down Whiskeymarie Memory Lane (mind the speed bumps!)
This was my Grandma's house. We usually rotated T-day and Xmas between hers & ours. This is the spread all laid out in the dining room:
And no, that is not a bundt cake. That is my Grandmother "fancying things up a bit" by baking the frozen bread dough in a bundt pan. You'll also note the pitcher of "le Kool-aid" on the table for the youngins. We actually did use china this year, my grandma's china was surprisingly lovely- plain white with a platinum band and a simple gray/silver rose in the center. For a lady who grew up in a house with a dirt floor, she could really surprise us when she classed it up.
The lady in question:
She was a hoot. Coarse, yet sweet as pie. Funnier than hell and a no-nonsense attitude- that lady didn't fuck around. She didn't lie, and she could cook like nobody's business. As you can well tell, she and I were two peas in a pod. I miss that old broad.
At her house, you had two choices as to where you could eat: The kitchen alcove or the living room. Everyone wanted the kitchen.
The house had a little alcove that had a table and two long benches to sit on. I liked sitting in there so much (and not getting stuck in the living room with Uncle Bob who made so much noise eating that I often thought I was eating with an elderly wild boar) that I would often stake out a spot, then I would wait until EVERYONE had filled a plate and sat down before I'd shimmy under the table (the only way to get out) and go to fix a plate and hope that there were still marshmallow yams left.
I loved that spot at my Grandma's house. It was where the dishiest and most interesting conversations took place. It was where loud, heartfelt and often ridiculous arguments happened, and it was where I learned a lot of my family history.
It was where, one Friday the 13th, the adults played card games until the wee hours of the morning, not realizing that the kids were in the living room watching a "Friday the 13th" movie marathon. I think I was 8 or 9- I didn't sleep well for weeks after that. For a kid who lived waaayyy out in the boonies who went to an old-school totally-what-you-see-in-the-slasher-movies summer camp, watching three gory movies based in those same settings freaked my shit out.
This is my favorite picture of the alcove- it was taken before I was born, but is pretty much exactly how I remembered it, minus the happy people that were always around it:
I miss having that spot to go to.
In their later years, I could always count on walking in the front door of the house, my Grandma perched on her stool in the kitchen by the coffee maker (always on and always full of very weak Arco coffee), my Grandpa sitting at the end of the table. I usually walked in mid-argument with those two, as a day didn't go by for them without bickering. Honestly, had they not been bickering, we all would have wondered what was wrong with them. They taunted each other, they made fun of each other (my grandma started doing impressions of how my Grandpa talked funny after he had a stroke- most people would think this is mean, but he laughed every time she did it), and both of them were always right about whatever it is they were "discussing", even when they both were totally wrong.
Grandma would pour me a cup of coffee and offer up some of her perfect carrot cake or chocolate chip cookies (she always had one or both on hand), and I'd plop down at the table and join in the conversation, which generally turned to "when are you going to have a baby?" the minute I walked in the door.
I don't have that place to go to anymore, but I have these pictures, and I have the stories. Oh yeah- and I have plenty of family secrets that I learned sitting there nicely tucked away. Sometimes it pays off to shut up and listen.
I hope you all have your "place", or at least that you someday find it. Me? I hope to have one again someday. Maybe at my house, maybe somewhere else.
In the meantime, could someone stop my parents from manhandling each other at the table? It's kind of skeeving me out:
Happy Early Turkey Day, my monster huge slices of pumpkin pie with a bucket of whipped cream.
Happy Early Turkey Day.