If I could blog and drive, I would be the most popular blogger in the universe. I kid you not. On my way home from work just today, I wrote out a blog post in my mind that would have had the most tinsel-tongued of you speechless. It was funny, it was sad, it was clever – I laughed, I cried…I came home and got the mail, climbed the stairs, put away the dishes, made some dinner and sat down to puzzle out the lace pattern that currently is dogging my every step. And I completely forgot the glorious verbiage I was going to offer my loyal readers.
Sadly, I do the same thing when I’m half asleep. I have the most incredible insights into the human condition, and then I fall asleep and dream that my nephew is pulling apart the Thankgiving turkey with his bare hands and that all 3 of my siblings and I have been deployed to the Middle East together. (Seriously, these are my dreams. This is why I struggle to stay sane. You would too, if these were your subconscious’s best shots.) If only I would get up and blog instead drifting off to sleep.
But see, I don’t. So you’re stuck with this version of me. Tired, cranky from another day spent arguing over email with a developer whose office is literally adjacent to mine but who (while he answers email) is never actually present in it, and seriously considering a life of sugary treats and Dr. Pepper. I’m not as clever, but I do write more.
This past Thanksgiving is the second where I was the only child of four to be present for the meal. As a person who never aspired to be an only child, I would like to say that I was slightly depressed about it. Not that I’m sure that Emy wouldn’t have given up her Indonesian food in Memphis if she and Matt could have been present, and that I’m sure that the food was better than anything the Army served my brother, even if General Mc.Chry.stal did show up, and even if Rueben did find some castaway asparagus and boil it to eat with soy sauce. Mel and Brock and company came when they could, in time for leftovers and the last of the cranberry wine. I’m not blaming any of them. Mom and Dad, in typical generousity, filled the house by inviting a young family from church with their four kids. The boys kept Dad running, up and down the stairs, in and out of the living room, while the rest of us talked and I knitted.
We also filled the void with new dishes. Mom hates to make the same food every year, so she tried a squash and apple dish with rosemary and thyme. I offered Dad a bite, after which his plate returned from the buffet without any. Mom ate all of hers, and I considered mine, before offering my candid opinion, that it was a bit pretentious. Good thing my mom loves me. :-) Of course, this brought all cannons out on my Cranberry Walnut Pumpkin pie, which I thought was a delightful addition to the Pumpkin Pie family, but which, by all rights, could easily also be classified as pretentious. Except that it was delicious as well, which I think quite redeemed it. That and the fact that I had also brought a plain pumpkin pie. ;-)
Anyway. Sisters and brother mine, let’s have this be the last year I’m an only child at the Thanksgiving table. There’s too much love in our household for one person to handle alone. And I miss you.
(P.S. Crazywomancreek – I do not in fact have your correct email address. Mine is charis.rose at hot.mail dot com (without all the extra periods. That should find me on facebook, sorry I’ve been so long about it, it’s been a crazy couple of months.)