I am so thankful to have found such talented writers in my wanderings through the blogosphere. And then to think that some of them would actually let their writing be put on my blog while I’m on vacation? Over the moon, is what I am.

In honor of Thanksgiving in the USA tomorrow, we have a wonderful story from Betty at Inside Betty’s Head that describes so vividly the family dynamic scene that is repeated around so many dinner tables tomorrow. I only hope that all the Saras out there find their voice. And I hope that all the Claudias can hear their children’s declaration gracefully. (and also, maybe this is a little bit of why I wasn’t disappointed or hesitant to take a trip over Thanksgiving.)

Thank you, Betty. Enjoy, everyone!

**********************************

Women Writing for a Change

E. J. W. W.

December 2, 2004

Sitting at the Kid’s Table

Thanksgiving Day dawned crisp and clear.  Snow was forecast for the afternoon.  Sara lay in her bed, her huge, king sized, four poster, mahogany bed, contemplating her day.  Thanksgiving was at her house this year.  Her three sisters and her brother and their families would join her as well as her Mother and Father, a few cousins from the distant past and whoever else happened along.  Every year, someone unexpected showed up at Thanksgiving.  It was uncanny.  She alternated responsibility for hosting with her siblings, and they had all gotten used to not putting placemats out, or setting the table too tightly, because inevitably, another setting would be squeezed in before the day was over.  This was not a bad thing.  Her siblings and herself were surprisingly flexible when it came to such matters, and considered the addition of another guest a gift from the Hostess Goddess.

Her mother was another story.  She did not handle the unexpected well, a condition that seemed to be exacerbated with the passage of time.  Many years ago, hosting responsibility was shifted to the children, under the guise of giving Mother a break, but in reality, to diffuse the tension that percolated like a fine roast coffee in Mother’s kitchen.  One could smell it wafting through the entire house. 

She lay there and listened to the birds singing, appreciating the sweet songs, centering herself for the unpredictability of her day.  She had two kids, Emily and Sam, ages 16 and 18, but they were pretty good at fending for themselves on a day like today.  How she admired Emily’s no nonsense attitude towards life, her strength of will, her determination, her confidence.  Last year, at her sister Kate’s smaller house, there was room for only 15 adults at the dining room table, which had been stretched to the max by adding the kitchen table onto the end with the division masked by a tablecloth.  The kids, ranging in age from 5 to 18, Sara’s son being the oldest, had had to eat on card tables in the basement.    At the last minute, Sam was squeezed in at the end, now that he was of voting age, and Emily had been left to babysit her cousins.  She didn’t complain.  She simply grabbed the $50 bottle of Merlot off the adult table and sweetly said, “I think I’ll be needing this more that you this evening.”  Sara’s siblings sat in shock, but Sara let her go.  Emily had a point. 

Sara hunkered down, snug under the covers for two more minutes, then finally, as the clock struck 7:00am, swung her legs out of bed, made her bed in the nude, padded to the bathroom and pulled on her jeans.  It was time to get the turkey in the oven. 

Sara’s siblings started to arrive at noon, dinner was at 3:00pm, but the women all enjoyed the camaraderie of cooking together.  They knew each other’s kitchens as well as their own, and had developed a rhythm when cooking together that rivaled the hip hop hocus pocus emanating from their teenagers’ earphones.  No need to ask where the measuring cups were, not that they had much use for measuring.  Sara had just finished putting the potatoes on to boil when Kate gestured for Sara, Jeanne and Sally to come closer. 

“I have to tell you guys something, but you have to promise not to tell anyone!  Dad would kill me if he knew I told you three.”

“What is it, Kate?”  Sally was breathless, she loved gossip.

“Ok, but you have to promise not to say a word about this to anyone!”

“Alright, alright, we promise, just tell us.”  Sara looked impatiently at the simmering pots on the stove.

“Mom had an accident three days ago.  She drove her car through a store window.”

“Oh my God!  Was anyone hurt?!  Is she ok?  Was the car damaged much?”  Jeanne tittered in her usual spastic way.

“No, Mom’s fine, no one was hurt, the car is fixable.”  Kate looked hurriedly around her, making sure none of the kids were within earshot.  “You can’t tell any one!  Dad would be furious and Mother, god knows what Mother would do.”

Sara fussed about this new bit of information.  No one could talk to their mother about this and someone could have been hurt!  Someone needed to say something, needed to make sure that nothing like this ever happened again.  A child could have been in the way of the window!  Someone could have been killed! 

As Kate set the table, Sally sprinkled the onions on the green bean casserole, Sara cleaned up the aftermath of the Waldorf  salad and Jeanne arranged the deviled eggs, their parents arrived.  Sara answered the door and was enveloped in a cloud of White Shoulders, her mother’s signature scent. 

“Sara, darling, you look lovely….oh, but is that really what you are wearing for dinner?”  Her mother arched an eyebrow at Sara’s jeans. 

“Oh, um, Happy Thanksgiving, Mother.  No, of..of..course not.  I was just heading into the bedroom to change.”

“I should think so, darling.  Wear something more festive.”  Her mother smiled deprecatingly and swept through to greet the others in a perfect tawny silk pant suit, with green accents on her feet, her ears and around her neck.  Perfect looking, as always.

Standing in her closet, Sara was at something of a loss.  Flipping through her clothes, finally she settled on a pink sweater and beige pants.  Innocuous enough, and probably more suitable for the occasion than her jeans, she felt just a tug of irritation but quickly shrugged it aside.  It was only for a day.

She hurried back into the kitchen for the final dinner preparations.  Her sisters were filling bowls with corn and yeast rolls, sweet potatoes and salad.  Her brother was readying the knives to carve the turkey, which always took place at the table, with a flourish of stainless steel, one of her father’s favorite traditions.  She was just about to mash the potatoes when she heard a voice behind her. 

“Not like that, Sara.  You’re doing it all wrong.  Oh, just let me do it.  I hope I don’t get mashed potatoes all over my silk suit.”  Sara’s mother waved her away.  Grim faced, she glanced at Kate, who smiled sympathetically and shrugged her shoulders.  Sara turned to the refrigerator to get the can of cranberry sauce.  She headed for the electric can opener on the counter when she heard her father’s voice. 

“Sara, don’t use the electric can opener.  You need to use the hand held one so that you can be certain to have a clean opening so the cranberries slide out in one piece, otherwise, you’ll have a big mess.  Here, just let me do it.”  Sara’s father took the can from her hands, opening it with a few flicks of his wrist.  Sara started feeling funny in her stomach.  She scanned the faces of her siblings, but they seemed just as they always were when their parents were around….smiling secretly to each other, but guardedly watching their backsides. 

Everyone was seated for dinner.  The card tables had been squeezed onto the end of the dining room table, so all the kids were at one end, the end closest to the door and the TV room, easy access for a quick getaway.  Sara’s father sat in his usual place at the head of the table, waiting expectantly with twin carving knives appending his hands.  Sara slipped into her chair, breathing a sigh of relief to finally get a chance to sit down. 

“Sara!  These table settings are all wrong!  The water glass goes to the left of the wine glass!”  Her mother’s voice cut through the conversations and the table quieted, all eyes turning to look at Sara. 

“I’m sorry, Mother.” Sara muttered as she shrunk into her chair and glanced at the floor.  Lacy anklets encircled her feet and black patent leather shoes gleamed up at her.  Eyes widening, she looked up at her sisters to see if they had noticed anything.  Their eyes averted, Kate was hurriedly switching the water glasses, hoping to avoid the spectacle of their mother’s temper, a common place occurrence at frequent family gatherings. 

The family held hands as grace was giggled through by the grandchildren, each of which, as tradition held in the Saylor family, had a chance to profess their thanks.  Silver clinked against china as dishes were passed, wine was poured and glasses were raised, the adults giving their thanks as well. 

“Sara, I think the turkey is a bit dry, and the dressing needs more sage and maybe just a touch more pepper.”  Matter of factly, Sara’s mother addressed her plate in general.  “Did you buy the pies, or did you bake them yourself?”

“I, um, ran out of time and picked them up at the bakery.”  Sara felt something funny under her seat.  She reached down and found that she was sitting on what appeared to be a large, metropolitan sized telephone book.  Kate, sitting next to her, seemed to have grown into a gigantic woman. 

“What is happening to me!” Sara thought wildly to herself, trying to scramble to her feet, which she found, no longer touched the floor.  “Is this some kind of  bad dream?”

“Sara!  Stop your fidgeting.  Sit still and eat your dinner!” 

Sara looked down in horror at the frilly party dress she now wore.  Reaching up, she found her hair in pigtails, bound with yellow ribbons.  Choking back her dismay, she squeaked out, “Yes, Mother.”

Sara heard Emily’s voice, muffled and far off.  “Mom, are you ok?”

“I’m sitting at the kid’s table.”  Sara mumbled to herself.

“Emily!  Must you show your stomach to all of us at the dinner table?  I swear.  The things kids wear today.  I can’t believe your mother lets you out of the house with that on.  And your shirt has such a low neckline!  It’s too low at the top and not low enough at the bottom!  Sara, tell your daughter to go change her clothes this instant.”  Claudia, Sara’s mother finished her speech with a toss of her head, looking expectantly at her always compliant daughter.

“Oh, I don’t know, Mother.” Sara stammered, looking down at her plate. 

“Well, if you won’t tell her, I will!  Emily, go change your clothes!”  Claudia rose from her chair, pointing towards Emily’s room.  “Now!”

Something rumbled outside.  Sara looked up, startled.  She didn’t see anything, but it sounded almost like a train engine.  She heard it again.  It seemed to be coming from her stomach!  She felt it bubbling up.  She belched, and covered her mouth in horror, looking around wildly.  Everyone was focused on the drama between Claudia and Emily.  The rumbling sound changed, flooding Sara’s body.  Out of no where, Sara heard the impossible coming out of her mouth.

“Sit down, Mother.  You, too, Emily.  Mother, Emily is dressed just fine, she dresses just like everyone else in her age group.  How would you like it if I told you that you had to dress differently than everyone else you knew?  You wouldn’t like it, and neither would Emily.  In the future, if you have concerns about Emily, you may address then directly to me, not in front of the entire family, so that I can tell you to go to hell in private.”  She had risen to her feet, during her little speech, gone were the patent leather shoes, gone were the lacy socks, gone was the frilly party dress, gone was the telephone book.  She sat back down and sighed.  Whew.  That was close.

Shocked silence enveloped the room.  Sara looked over at her mother.  Her mother was sitting now, her hand on her heart, her mouth hanging open in a most unbecoming way. 

“Mother, really, you should close your mouth.  Unless you are ready to take another bite of Kate’s wonderful Waldorf salad, of course.  And Mother, what’s this I hear about you running the car into a store window!  Why you could have killed someone!”

Claudia’s face was turning a ghastly shade of red.  Sara felt a tiny touch of concern that her mother might really explode, and oh, what a mess that would make over this lovely Thanksgiving dinner she and her sisters had so painstakingly prepared. 

Heading her mother off at the pass, Sara inquired sweetly, “Mother, would you like another glass of wine?” 

“How dare you speak to me like that?”  Unfortunately, Claudia had caught her breath.

“What, speak to you like you speak to everyone else?  Simple.  I just paid attention to you.  I learned at the mouth of the master.”  With that, Sara, bowed her head in her mother’s direction.  “Seriously Mother.  None of us want to put up with that crap anymore.  You can either learn how to treat your children as the forty something people we are, or you can have Thanksgiving dinner by yourself.  In my house, I’m queen bee, and I’m not scooting over just because you are here, visiting.”

“Well, I never!”

The next year, Sara sat in silence, surveying the peaceful surroundings at the Thanksgiving table, at Jeanne’s house.  The kids were all eating at the kitchen table, the adults congregated around the dining room table.  Glasses were raised and toasts were made and Sara smiled at both of her children, both of which were seated with the adults.  Such a good year it had been.  Her new boyfriend, the mysterious neighbor that Sally’s husband had brought to dinner the year before, sat next to her once again.  A diamond ring glimmered on Sara’s left hand.  Emily and Sam growing in stature and spirit, had been such a joy, getting good grades, getting along well in all their various activities.  Sam was a freshman in college and seemed to be thriving, Emily was in her senior year, exploring various career paths.  Raised voices were heard from the kitchen.

“Jason, put your napkin on your lap.  Taylor, don’t chew with your mouth open.  Oh, for heaven’s sake, Megan, if I hear you belch one more time, you will finish your dinner in your room.”

Sara high fived Jeanne.  What a good idea it had been to put their mother exactly where she belonged…sitting at the kid’s table.
— — —
A year ago (or longer) on This Journey…

Birthday Socks 2007
marking time 2007
Endorphins 2006

— — —
A year ago (or longer) on This Journey…

Birthday Socks 2007
marking time 2007
Endorphins 2006

— — —
A year ago (or longer) on This Journey…

Birthday Socks 2007
marking time 2007
Endorphins 2006

Posted on November 26th, 2008 under bloggers, friends, holidays, travel. RSS 2.0 feed. Leave a response, or trackback.