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••• Sunday, November 30, 2003

Thanksgiving: A Retrospective, and Stuff
13 for dinner and 19 for dessert. It would've gone without a hitch, if not for the Apple Pie Mojo.

Mom and sis were bringing pumpkin pies, so I was going to make two apples. Late Wednesday night, after a loooong day of shopping for stuff and a looooonger evening of putting away stuff and making stuffing and stuff, I commenced to making pies. After preparing one pie, I decided I was approaching the legal limit for baking under the influence (of fatigue), so I canned the plan and made an executive hostess decision to offer only one apple pie.

This was a difficult decision, but I recognized that it's not my job to meet every person's pie needs. Even mom concurred. "You can't be expected to do everything," she said.

So I let go
And let pie.
Co-de-pie-dent
Am not I.

Well, the apple pie mojo was mojofucating beyond the realm. Everybody wanted some. There was fighting and sniveling and expressed disbelief that I only made one.

Mom succinctly wrapped up my pain in this wet towel: "You should've made two."

Tabled Discussion, and Stuff
Hosting the Thanksgiving feast this year was a momentous occasion for me. It's kind of a long story, but when has that ever stopped me?

Five years ago, I made preparation to marry an adorable, doting man. The plan included moving into his adorable, much smaller (than mine) house. To lighten my life's load, I held a moving sale. Just before the sale, Eric talked me into selling my dining room table (which seats 14 with leaves..Or is it leafs?). His main argument was that we didn't have room for it, and he had a point.

A secondary argument was that he already had a table. A lovely black marble piece, with black leather chairs, from The Art Van Commitaphobic Bachelor Collection.

And how I hated that marble table. It was cold, ugly and sooo...marble-y. Although it looked good in his contemporary, urban, commitaphobic bachelor pad, it did not fit the rustic charm of the circa 1940s 1-1/2 story bungalow that was soon to be our new home.

Not only did I hate the way it looked, marble tables make me think of the fudgemakers on Mackinac Island. All we needed were a few hairnets and a huge paddle (for fudge turning). And fudgies, of course.

Plus, it only seated four comfortably, and I always hosted Thanksgiving dinner for my big family.

But the most compelling argument against selling the table was that I was very much attached to it. The table had both sentimental and symbolic value to me. I didn't want to sell it. I wanted to have all my things about me, as I started my new life. (Apologies for the bastardization of a favorite line from "The Quiet Man").

Eric listened to my side and seemed sensitive to my concerns. Then he went in for the kill. After reminding me that he would soon be opening his own business, he announced that he planned to take the marble chunk to his office to be used as a conference/work table.

After that, he'd buy me a new table, for my Thanksgiving pleasure. A table that will represent our new life together. A table unsullied by the ghosts of past meals and past relationships and past Smucker Smudges. It would be our table. Our first significant purchase as man and wife. ::sigh::

So I sold my table, for a song. I know it went to a good home. It was purchased by a robust, young looking grandmother who hosted Sunday dinner every week for her extended family on the grow. And in the hours between her handing me the cash and picking it up, I cried, a lot.

After the table was gone, I could only think about the petrified jelly smudge on one edge, where my son always sat. I just couldn't get it to wash off. Neither did I want it to wash off. But I tried.

I'm sure industrial strength grandma got it off minutes after she got the table home.

Even now I feel teary thinking about those little fingers smudging jelly on my prized table. Those same fingers, but not so little, now smudge up the interior of my car and pinch bills from my wallet. That little smudger now has very hairy, long legs. And just yesterday that smudger shot nine points in a scrimmage against the alumni basketball team (including guys currently playing college ball).

But I digress. So back to the story...whew.

But things didn't go as we planned. Just after my husband quit his job and opened shop, the car industry bottomed out. There was no work for a private contractor.

Then there was 9-11. Then there really was no work for a private contractor.

Then there was a baby on the way. We needed a bigger house. There was no money for a dining room table.

Just this year, finally, we were able to buy a new table. It seats 10 easily and 12 squeezily and did the Thanksgiving job just fine. It felt good to be back.

Long after dinner, I sat at my new table with my husband and mom and siblings and in-laws. We laughed, recollected, argued and gossiped for a couple of hours. I'm happy to think of my new table picking up some "good times" essence that evening. I know it was being seasoned good and proper.

The only thing missing is the petrified jelly. I'm sure The Cakers will be willing to do her part.

# posted by Marcia @ 2:08 AM


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