Thoughts Of Fall
Fall especially makes me miss home, I think. I always love coming home for Thanksgiving. I think because we almost always spent Thanksgiving there- whereas Christmas we traveled around. So I think what many people look forward to as going home for Christmas...for me it is Thanksgiving.
Coming home- it is cold, but normally not too bad yet. Windows open some of the time. Home, visit, sleep. Next day, awaken to smell already of turkey in the oven. Mom busy in kitchen, pots and pans everywhere. Minki (border terrier) hovering underfoot on that little area rug in case anything were to "accidentally" make it down his way. Dad on couch reading either newspaper or book, depending on how late I slept. He immediately springs into action offering coffee and breakfast- even though Mom of course did the same 30 seconds ago when I went into the kitchen. All I want to do is read the paper and wake up. "Sleep okay? You sure you don't want anything? Sure I can't get you something?" Dad knows, as I do that even though I said I did not want anything, Mom has poured cup of coffee and toasted a bagel. Because, of course, I better eat up- we all go hungry on Thanksgiving. But it's sweet. I am only home every so often, so they have to get all of their parenting done.
Morning spent lazing about. I offer to help in the kitchen, and Mom ends up letting me do something easy. How she knows when 15 different things are done, I have no idea. My dad would need a spreadsheet with graphs of "optimal" cooking times. I would end up with a fully cooked turkey and peas still in the freezer. Actually, one year my mother was not there for Thanksgiving and Dad and I made dinner. In case anyone was wondering, gravy out of a can versus Mom's homemade? Mom's. But we tried. My uncle Hoff will arrive soon, with his famous apple crisp. What to do before mealtime...
Computer games. The men bond over flickering screens, yelling battle cries down the hall. We had two computers, so one of us would wander from room to room, watching the other two. Hey, I like it when my avatar kills my father's avatar with a sniper rifle. Anybody got a problem with that? . (Yeah, yeah, Freud, pipe down!) We used to have a pool table, that worked as well. My father grew up playing a lot of pool- his "misspent youth" he calls it. So he normally wins by shooting shape. Hoff gets streaky, I will hit a good shot and then forget to see where the ball will go next. Eventually, my Mom will ask if we are hungry yet. Hoff says, "I don't know, what time is it?" My mother will comment how she does not understand this. My father will explain it is from growing up on the farm. I assume this conversation takes place every holiday. My parents have been married for 37 years.
It's food time, but first the Lepaige family blessing. We all hold hands around the table. I have always remembered it, even though we lost both of my mother's parents now 20 years ago. I can see my grandmother when I do it. She is always smiling in that kindly way grandmothers have. My mother does not miss out on minding her flock either, making sure everybody gets enough to eat. Such a problem with a table stuffed wall to wall with food. We always have to remember the Thanksgiving where Garfield (guess who named our old Siamese cat) dragged the turkey off the table. Also, when Minki ate a pen underneath the table during dinner and just kept chewing and chewing even though he and the carpet ended up covered with ink. We all laugh and make sure we remind him not to do it again this year. He will climb up so his front legs are in my lap and turn his head around to investigate the table. He has his priorities straight. After we finish eating (in there anything better than stuffing?) we take a break before dessert.
The men do the dishes and put the leftovers away (in our family, the women tend to cook, the men clean up afterwards- just because). Dad always wants to keep everything. Mom wants to throw more away which won't keep or heat up well. Compromise on keeping everything. Then it is time for our walk around the neighborhood.
It is just the thing after a big meal- fresh air, brisk walk. Dog very excited, lots of sniffing and marking of territory, but he is usually out of "ammo" by" the second turn. Funny to see him still determinedly lift his leg after coming up dry for the last ten mailboxes. You show 'em, pup. You are probably the oldest dog in the neighborhood anymore. Someone has to show those whippersnappers who's boss. The other dogs are very intimidated by a small, friendly dog with an arthritic hip and fading eyesight. Back home now to warm up.
Time to retire to the family room. Hoff builds a fire in the fireplace, with much discussion from Dad about having to leave a door cracked open for "air." Mom says it is too cold (she is in kitchen with opened door) and they compromise on window. 37 years of marriage. Have to turn on the football game, even though none of us are huge football fans. It just seems obligatory. Un-American somehow not to watch the game. We avoid football-induced boredom by falling asleep on the couch. After nap, maybe time to throw a football or play catch with a baseball. Have to do something to work up appetite for leftovers.
Maybe only thing better than turkey and stuffing at dinnertime is stuffing combined now with turkey sandwiches. Lots of salt and pepper on mine, dad's plain. Also, dessert time now. Pumpkin pie is one of my favorites. Also, we have Hoff's apple crisp. It's like apple pie, only better. With vanilla ice cream- bliss. Add coffee ("Some decaf would be nice"- Hoff) and it is a win all around.
After this meal, it is time for a board or card game. Survive, Life, Trivial Pursuit, Boggle. I always argue for bridge, but it's "too serious- you have to think." More recently, it is Mexican dominoes. I always insist to keep score (I love numbers) no matter what game it is. No matter the game, cannot play with out a piece of pie and some apple crisp beside you on plate.
After game ends, time for Hoff to head home. Mom tries to send him home with enough food to feed him until New Years. Dad always says "Whoa, whoa, whoa, woman! What are doing with my food." "You won't eat all that. Let him take it." "I will eat that, that's (insert food item) good!" Compromise on Hoff taking the food. 37 years. For the three of us remaining, there is probably only enough left now for 20 meals! (Keep in mind, there is a whole new menu planned for tomorrow. And I'm leaving Sunday.)
We walk Hoff outside to his car. Night has fallen. It is now normally perfectly cool outside. Sweater weather. I love it. We say our goodbyes and talk about when we will see him again (normally Saturday). Dog wanders around outside, getting in the way of the car. If they did not go outside, Mom hold the dog up and "waves" his paw goodbye. The dog looks confused, but Mom beams. We shake our heads at her and grin. Silly, but cute. (Sometimes I wonder if I "waved" goodbye to people when Mom could pick me up.) Inside, the guys unload the dishwasher and put things away. Mom says, "OK guys, I'm gonna go up now." Good nights and hugs all around. Mom says "I'm so glad to have you home" and squeezes.
Dad and I are now alone for probably the first time since I have been home. He wants to know, "How is school/job/girlfriend/life?" This is his version of fussing over me. He cares about these things, of course, but really he is just trying to say do you need any help? Is everything really going okay? What can we do to help? He is a problem solver. I have gone from needing his help as a child, to "I'm going to do everything myself because I'm a grownup," to recognizing there is nothing wrong with asking for help sometimes. He goes up to bed and I am the only one left awake. I normally just sit downstairs and think. Maybe read a Washingtonian magazine or something I haven't seen. But often I just sit and look around.
The day is over, and I am home.
Coming home- it is cold, but normally not too bad yet. Windows open some of the time. Home, visit, sleep. Next day, awaken to smell already of turkey in the oven. Mom busy in kitchen, pots and pans everywhere. Minki (border terrier) hovering underfoot on that little area rug in case anything were to "accidentally" make it down his way. Dad on couch reading either newspaper or book, depending on how late I slept. He immediately springs into action offering coffee and breakfast- even though Mom of course did the same 30 seconds ago when I went into the kitchen. All I want to do is read the paper and wake up. "Sleep okay? You sure you don't want anything? Sure I can't get you something?" Dad knows, as I do that even though I said I did not want anything, Mom has poured cup of coffee and toasted a bagel. Because, of course, I better eat up- we all go hungry on Thanksgiving. But it's sweet. I am only home every so often, so they have to get all of their parenting done.
Morning spent lazing about. I offer to help in the kitchen, and Mom ends up letting me do something easy. How she knows when 15 different things are done, I have no idea. My dad would need a spreadsheet with graphs of "optimal" cooking times. I would end up with a fully cooked turkey and peas still in the freezer. Actually, one year my mother was not there for Thanksgiving and Dad and I made dinner. In case anyone was wondering, gravy out of a can versus Mom's homemade? Mom's. But we tried. My uncle Hoff will arrive soon, with his famous apple crisp. What to do before mealtime...
Computer games. The men bond over flickering screens, yelling battle cries down the hall. We had two computers, so one of us would wander from room to room, watching the other two. Hey, I like it when my avatar kills my father's avatar with a sniper rifle. Anybody got a problem with that? . (Yeah, yeah, Freud, pipe down!) We used to have a pool table, that worked as well. My father grew up playing a lot of pool- his "misspent youth" he calls it. So he normally wins by shooting shape. Hoff gets streaky, I will hit a good shot and then forget to see where the ball will go next. Eventually, my Mom will ask if we are hungry yet. Hoff says, "I don't know, what time is it?" My mother will comment how she does not understand this. My father will explain it is from growing up on the farm. I assume this conversation takes place every holiday. My parents have been married for 37 years.
It's food time, but first the Lepaige family blessing. We all hold hands around the table. I have always remembered it, even though we lost both of my mother's parents now 20 years ago. I can see my grandmother when I do it. She is always smiling in that kindly way grandmothers have. My mother does not miss out on minding her flock either, making sure everybody gets enough to eat. Such a problem with a table stuffed wall to wall with food. We always have to remember the Thanksgiving where Garfield (guess who named our old Siamese cat) dragged the turkey off the table. Also, when Minki ate a pen underneath the table during dinner and just kept chewing and chewing even though he and the carpet ended up covered with ink. We all laugh and make sure we remind him not to do it again this year. He will climb up so his front legs are in my lap and turn his head around to investigate the table. He has his priorities straight. After we finish eating (in there anything better than stuffing?) we take a break before dessert.
The men do the dishes and put the leftovers away (in our family, the women tend to cook, the men clean up afterwards- just because). Dad always wants to keep everything. Mom wants to throw more away which won't keep or heat up well. Compromise on keeping everything. Then it is time for our walk around the neighborhood.
It is just the thing after a big meal- fresh air, brisk walk. Dog very excited, lots of sniffing and marking of territory, but he is usually out of "ammo" by" the second turn. Funny to see him still determinedly lift his leg after coming up dry for the last ten mailboxes. You show 'em, pup. You are probably the oldest dog in the neighborhood anymore. Someone has to show those whippersnappers who's boss. The other dogs are very intimidated by a small, friendly dog with an arthritic hip and fading eyesight. Back home now to warm up.
Time to retire to the family room. Hoff builds a fire in the fireplace, with much discussion from Dad about having to leave a door cracked open for "air." Mom says it is too cold (she is in kitchen with opened door) and they compromise on window. 37 years of marriage. Have to turn on the football game, even though none of us are huge football fans. It just seems obligatory. Un-American somehow not to watch the game. We avoid football-induced boredom by falling asleep on the couch. After nap, maybe time to throw a football or play catch with a baseball. Have to do something to work up appetite for leftovers.
Maybe only thing better than turkey and stuffing at dinnertime is stuffing combined now with turkey sandwiches. Lots of salt and pepper on mine, dad's plain. Also, dessert time now. Pumpkin pie is one of my favorites. Also, we have Hoff's apple crisp. It's like apple pie, only better. With vanilla ice cream- bliss. Add coffee ("Some decaf would be nice"- Hoff) and it is a win all around.
After this meal, it is time for a board or card game. Survive, Life, Trivial Pursuit, Boggle. I always argue for bridge, but it's "too serious- you have to think." More recently, it is Mexican dominoes. I always insist to keep score (I love numbers) no matter what game it is. No matter the game, cannot play with out a piece of pie and some apple crisp beside you on plate.
After game ends, time for Hoff to head home. Mom tries to send him home with enough food to feed him until New Years. Dad always says "Whoa, whoa, whoa, woman! What are doing with my food." "You won't eat all that. Let him take it." "I will eat that, that's (insert food item) good!" Compromise on Hoff taking the food. 37 years. For the three of us remaining, there is probably only enough left now for 20 meals! (Keep in mind, there is a whole new menu planned for tomorrow. And I'm leaving Sunday.)
We walk Hoff outside to his car. Night has fallen. It is now normally perfectly cool outside. Sweater weather. I love it. We say our goodbyes and talk about when we will see him again (normally Saturday). Dog wanders around outside, getting in the way of the car. If they did not go outside, Mom hold the dog up and "waves" his paw goodbye. The dog looks confused, but Mom beams. We shake our heads at her and grin. Silly, but cute. (Sometimes I wonder if I "waved" goodbye to people when Mom could pick me up.) Inside, the guys unload the dishwasher and put things away. Mom says, "OK guys, I'm gonna go up now." Good nights and hugs all around. Mom says "I'm so glad to have you home" and squeezes.
Dad and I are now alone for probably the first time since I have been home. He wants to know, "How is school/job/girlfriend/life?" This is his version of fussing over me. He cares about these things, of course, but really he is just trying to say do you need any help? Is everything really going okay? What can we do to help? He is a problem solver. I have gone from needing his help as a child, to "I'm going to do everything myself because I'm a grownup," to recognizing there is nothing wrong with asking for help sometimes. He goes up to bed and I am the only one left awake. I normally just sit downstairs and think. Maybe read a Washingtonian magazine or something I haven't seen. But often I just sit and look around.
The day is over, and I am home.
posted by Scott L. Stuart at
6:49 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home