Gonzo gives thanks for naps.
THANKSGIVING ™ was interesting this year. Fairly uneventful, for the most part. Our clan nearly burned the kitchen down when the rolls caught fire (dang spilled turkey grease!) in the oven and I sat there like a useless lump, staring at the stove, wondering how the hell we were supposed to put out a grease fire in the oven. My mom leapt for the fire extinguisher but my dad put the kibosh on that and proceeded to whale on the oven while wearing industrial gloves until the flames surrendered to his superior alpha-male prowess.
We made it out alive (enough with the fire this year, already!), and after leaving the doors and windows open for a good half-hour, everything reverted back to “normal,” except everyone kept unfairly accusing my mom of being drunk (which she wasn’t, despite having polished off a bottle of truly atrocious three-year-old carbonated peach wine that was basically fermented sugar). I fixed a plate of salad, creamed corn, turkey, stuffing, macaroni and cheese, and a yeast roll, and proceeded to eat the salad, the macaroni and the turkey alone with Phil at the formal dining table in the living room. The Fetzer Guwurtz didn’t pair as seamlessly with the turkey as I had sort of hoped, but I didn’t much mind. Believe it or not, there are bigger crises in the world than wine that’s slightly mismatched with poultry.
I managed to avoid all political conversation, so I didn’t end up sobbing and blubbering about how nothing a woman can do could make her deserve to be raped (this has happened in the not-so-distant past). Instead, I played Cadoo with my sister, nephews, cousin, mom and grandmother, and I ended up sculpting some pretty pathetic canoes and pizzas out of that purple clay, but they were recognizable enough to score me some points.
I was struck by the ritual gender apartheid that occurs on Thanksgiving (and really, I shouldn’t have been surprised) when it comes to cooking and cleaning and football. Twisty has a fantastic post up about THANKSGIVING ™ and all its … weirdness … that I would have written if I was a million degrees sharper and a little less drunk.
Seriously, despite all the awful reasons T’giving came into being a holiday, I am thankful for so much. For everything. The quirks, the awkwardness, the art of where I came from, everything.
And while I would hope it wouldn’t take a commercially contrived holiday to give me the time and incentive to reflect on my personal bounty of goodness, I still relish the chance I get each year to take a nationally sanctioned moment and say thanks to the people who have made my life as rich as it is.
It’s corny, but it means a lot.