One day this weekend I felt a twinge, JUST a twinge mind you but at least it was a beginning, of a little holiday spirit. I sat down until it went away, but in hindsight I think it was set off by an apple-bourbon stuffing recipe my mother sent. Bourbon will do that for me...my dessert this year is a pumpkin-bourbon cheesecake from smallbatch.com. This stuff makes me right.
But lest anyone get any ideas about this holiday shit, just let me tell you RIGHT NOW that I am skipping my husband's family's Thanksgiving this weekend. This isn't FAMILY family...those people rely on ME for their Thanksgiving. This is RELATIONS family. People from someone else's past. People with whom I have NOTHING in common, thank you, Lord.
If you belong to a religious denomination, actually not only BELONG but are an ordained minister, and that denomination doesn't believe in music in church...do you honestly believe God wasn't watching when your daughter got married at another church so that there could be music? Did you not SEE God, sitting there in the pews...TAPPING HIS FOOT TO THE MUSIC? And WATCHING YOU, while you tried to slip something past Him? Now see, obviously this one sticks in my craw. I let a LOT of stuff slide, but this one just amazes me with its...audacity. The sheer audacity. I am in awe.
Which brings us to the real reason I don't go. The men sit in the living area and watch football. I don't watch football unless there's a LOT of beer and one hell of a party going on. And then, and then, and THEN...YOU KNOW WHAT THE WOMEN DO? They stand around in the kitchen area (standing because the men have all the chairs so they can SIT in the den and watch football) and swap recipes. Recipes with Cool Whip in them.
I hate Cool Whip. Keeping in mind, I'm not a sweet-eating person (my friend, R, graduated from his ten-step program for his addiction to Oxycontin and informed ME that not eating sweets was a sign of alcoholism. You think?) I despise Cool Whip. We have it one time a year which is when the REAL strawberries are ripe and you make that luscious strawberry pie with the strawberry jello and you let the kids squirt the Cool Whip. It's a rite of passage, you do it if you live here and I've got no problems with that.
But don't make me sit with people I barely know (we've only been married 22 years) and participate in recipe swaps that are based on Cool Whip. And pre-made graham cracker crusts. Just don't do it. Usually, the Cool Whip recipes also call for instant pudding. And a can of something that USED to be fruit packed, need I say, in pure sweet. Tooth-aching sweet. Bone-gripping, nasty, spike that insulin SWEET.
Now, if your last name is my last name and you've lived in this area of the United States for as many generations as my family has lived here, there is no point in life that you aspire to any form of snobbery. (Unless it involves maybe...points on a deer or hardwoods harvested.) But if I EVER reach a point in life where I am happy to stand IN THE BACKGROUND, submissively swapping recipes made from fucking Cool Whip, well...just shoot me.
Or bring me a bourbon and slap some sense into me. I'm still in here somewhere.