Life Among the Never-Winged

Once upon a time I was writing a book called, "Just Another Love Letter", about angels behaving badly. Now I just quietly ask myself each day, "What the hell am I doing?"

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Location: The Rocky Mountain Empire, United States

My friends always knew I was going to hell. My only hope is that God likes good jokes and bad redheads.

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  • Thursday, December 01, 2005

    Thanksgiving, Part II



    The Day of the Turkey arrives. Some of us blasphemers joyfully don our (hypothetical) Church Lady Aprons, and, wise virgins (ridiculously hypothetical) that we are, have spent the last three days preparing for the Feast. We have prepared stuffing. We have prepared corn pudding. We have prepared the Loaves and the Fishes, and lo! miraculously they have multiplied into Toasted Pita Chips with Two Kinds of Dip. We wait with longing for the Turkey Brined in Many Tasty Ingredients to complete its cooking, so that we may complete the gravy from its Sacred Juice and Drippings.

    The first guests arrive. It is the (hypothetical) mother-and-father-in-law combo, in high spirits and joyful unto the smell of the Brined and Roasted Bird. (Hypothetical) Mother-in-law assists some of us blasphemers with preparations for the feast. Joy.

    Other guests arrive, including the (hypothetical) brother-and-sister-in-law, and their (hypothetical) three children. She has brought unto the kitchen counters food amassed to feed an army. She has made everything, minus the turkey, including appetizers, stuffing, cranberry sauce and rolls. And lo! she has brought profanity into Hell’s Half Acre: powdered gravy packets. She dumps everything, and departs for the other room. Alas, what she has brought is cold, and must be warmed in the oven, but alas again, there is no room in _that_ inn. So, we must wait another 45 minutes before the feast can commence.

    Oldest Nephew cozies up to some of us blasphemers with a dvd, asking to watch it. When told yet again that the tv is off limits for the twins at this point in time because they are helpless tv junkies who become impossible to deal with when the bloody box goes off, oldest nephew sulks off, and later, some of us blasphemers learn that our hypothetical husbands were, at the same time, assaulted by their hypothetical mothers about watching a dvd “just this one time.” This does not sound like a big issue to some of our hypothetical blog readers, I’m sure, but Des Moines Girl at least can attest that this is an ongoing problem in this hypothetical family, herself having witnessed the takeover of Hell’s Half Acre when the domestic demon was out of town with her on a writer’s retreat in Mouse-World.

    In the meantime, (hypothetical) sister-in-law provokes a fight with her father, in front of her (hypothetical) friend, regarding a conversation that she had no part in. So, father-in-law seeks heaven in the kitchen, where, in his words, “My daughter-in-law doesn’t bite my damn head off.” Father-in-law piles up delectable shavings of Turkey Brined in Many Tasty Ingredients along with garnish, and proceeds alone to the family room, where he empties out a crate of firewood, sets it on its side, and begins his Thanksgiving feast alone. He has been cast out.


    Mother-in-law joins him, plate in lap. Hypothetical husband of some of us blasphemers has no idea what’s going on, since he’d been downstairs gathering chairs for the dining table which shall now be emptier. He attempts to bring the prodigal father and mother into the dining room with fruitless results. Sister-in-law, in the meantime, loads up her plate, (and her wine glass again, alleluia). I (whoops, I mean, some of us blasphemers) go downstairs to round up the five youths, in time to hear the oldest (7 years) proclaim, “It’s torture time! Her are my diabolical instruments of torture!” After a brief lecture on world events and how inappropriate torture is, up they all go. At least I haven’t caught him showing my eldest 3-year-old son any on-line porn this time, which is why I forbid my children to go to their cousins’ basement anymore.

    So, the Feast begins, family unity in two rooms. Hypothetical husband is ready for seconds when sister-in-law begins to sit down next to him in the booth. “Oh, I was going to get up,” says husband to his sister, prompting much gnashing of the teeth without the wailing. At which point, sister goes into the living room and sits on the floor to eat her meal. Now we (hypothetically) have family unity in three rooms. And some of us blasphemers must dab at food stains on the carpet after our Happy Day is over.

    Still wearing the Church Lady Aprons our (hypothetical) mothers made us, we sit down between our Unexpected Guest, and the Pariah Guest, who is the mother-in-law of our (sadly unhypothetical) sister-in-law. We have always gotten along quite well with the Pariah, since she has always been courteous and kind to us. We talk about art with the Pariah, and wedding plans with the Unexpected Guest, and we act as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

    Sister-in-law returns to the family table after husband has left, and proceeds to apologize to Unexpected Guest, in the words, “Sorry. It’s like I was telling you on the phone, my dad is weird. My whole family is weird.” (Lamentations 6:6,682,728). At least by now, she’s mostly intoxicated.

    Later, when the signs have come to pass, and it is time for dessert, four, not five pies emerge, and the lament is heard, “Didn’t you make the chocolate torte?” (Lamentations 6:6,682,729). To which some of us blasphemers reply that we had been told to refrain, but that we had supplied ample everything else. There is now the wailing that did not accompany the gnashing of teeth earlier.

    Finally, Hell’s Half Acre is purged of her unclean guests. There is no thank-you, hypothetical or otherwise, from the sister-in-law.

    Anyway, the Public Service. I propose that all families gather with the name of their Weird-or-Drama-Queen Relative on a piece of paper. The papers go into a Sorting Hat, and each family draws a new name. One family’s Weird Relative is another’s Unexpected Guest, and all goes smoothly. (apparently, my own Unexpected Guest was, indeed, her own family’s Weird Relative, and I thought she made a lovely addition to Thanksgiving, seeing as she actually sat down at the table, spoke, and brought an apple cobbler.)

    Ok. I’m done bitching. Sloppy, hard-to-read, but that’s my Thanksgiving.

    de nada.

    3 people left me a love letter:

    Anonymous anthrax de la clowncar wrote in a love letter...

    Yikes! That does not sound like fun. O gave me the short version, but none of the juicy details. My favorite (hypothetical) character of the whle narrative is the Unexpected Guest.

    Nice soup art. "Soup of the evening" is, I believe, an Alice In Wonderland reference (the mock turtle's song).

    Congrats on breaking 85.5 k words!

    8:21 PM, December 01, 2005  
    Blogger Popeye wrote in a love letter...

    Yep. You win. I bow before your feet in humilty.

    8:30 AM, December 02, 2005  
    Blogger Des_Moines_Girl wrote in a love letter...

    I'm so sorry! Next year make them eat out!!!!

    7:50 PM, December 02, 2005  

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