Watoosa and I are now back home in Portland, after our Christmas travels. Compared to last year, it was a remarkably stress-free and uneventful experience, even though we still managed to cover three states and four cities.
It struck me this year how much every Christmas is pretty much a carbon-copy of all the others I've spent. Here's what happens every year:
-My mom always drops a joke about us not getting presents this year, or only getting one present this year, or some variation on that theme. This is despite a mountain of presents conspicuously placed under the tree.
-There are always ample disclaimers along the lines of, "Now, if you don't like it, you can take it back."
-Among the gifts I receive, the "Toy to Clothing" ratio inexorably continues its downward trend.
-My dad always finds crazy things for stocking stuffers. This keeps the local Big Lots in business for another month.
-When it comes time to unwrap presents, my mom insists on stuffing the torn paper into a garbage bag as each gift is opened, lest the floor become "cluttered." I've noticed this tendency in my mother-in-law, too; maybe it's hardwired into the maternal psyche.
-My grandparents are impossible to shop for, and when we give them something, they say, "Y'all shouldn't have spent so much money on us," or "Y'all didn't need to get us anything."
-The main meal at my grandparents' place is always and without exception a turkey (and sometimes ham), green beans that have stewed for hours in bacon fat, a gaggle of casseroles, Sister Shubert's rolls, mac & cheese (for the kids), and some kind of cranberry substance. For dessert, there are always two or three options, but there's at least chocolate-based cake or pie made because it's what I like. It's one of the perks I get for being the oldest grandchild. Deal with it, siblings and cousins!
-My grandfather expects that meal to be ready promptly at noon, and that expectation is always disappointed.
-There is a blessing before the meal. However, it's always a surprise who is going to do it. Sometimes my grandfather handles that duty himself, and sometimes he calls on someone else, thus putting them on the spot. The first year he did that to me, he caught me totally off guard. I think my blessing that year consisted of an e.e.cummings-esque melange of short, incoherent sentence fragments, punctuated with lots of "umms" and "errrrs." I learned my lesson, though. Now I have prepared material I can draw on.
-My grandmother is physically incapable of sitting down to eat while there is anyone else left who :
(a) is getting food;
(b) needs seconds;
(c) might possibly need something in the way of condiments, salt, etc. for the food they
already have;
(d) might possibly be dissatisfied with the chosen menu, and therefore needs her to fix them something else;
(e) might in the foreseeable and/or distant future need anything at all, be it food-related or not food-related;
(f) needs dessert; or
(g) needs more dessert.
Of course, since we have so many people eating, by the time the first people to get their food are finished, there are plates to be cleaned and put away in the dishwasher, and she's sure not going to let anyone else do that! This year, she maintained this regimen, even though she was--I kid you not--visibly wincing from the pain caused by the bone spurs in her feet. That caused her to sit down a bit earlier than usual, but she wasn't down long.
-There is always some kind of game in the evening. For the past decade or so, it's been either dominos, or Power Uno. The latter amounts to regular Uno with a couple enhancements that make it approximately fifty billion times more fun. After a couple rounds of Power Uno, we move on to Silent Power Uno, which is even better, because the need to settle disputes must also be done silently, which means that everyone is left only with fingersnaps and histrionic facial gestures. When Granny plays, it results in utter chaos, because not only does she (seemingly) not understand half the rules, she also cheats like there's no tomorrow. This sends my uncle into a fit of rage.
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