29 November 2015
Story #793
R. Linda:
As you can surmise, me mother-in-law came up early for Thanksgiving dinner, which she was not invited to. We thought (wrongly so) that she'd be with her family in Jersey. But no, she came up with Big Tony a week ago, announcing they were driving up to see the "pretty foliage" I had raved about. Forget the fact that it was last month (October), that they descended upon me abode, finding there was no foliage (it had all fallen down), and well, it was so close to Thanksgiving, why not invite herself and Big? What were we to do? Say no, go back to New Jersey? Well, we couldn't do that now, could we? I could have, but the wife couldn't very well send her parents packing.
This self-invitation (which you know I dislike) was made smoother by saying they were providing the turkey and would be happy to contribute to the "fixings" (as they referred to the side dishes) and make dessert. Well, Mam was okay with that as she told me she was tired of cooking anyway and needed a day off.
Now, Mam does not do all the cooking, as she loudly tells anyone who will listen that she does, but we say nothing about that fact; we just nod and thank her very much for all her help. Uh-huh. But she had one request of me, and that was to make sure she sat as far away from the Dragon Lady as humanly possible. Place settings are not unheard of in the UK, as they are here, so she went about setting the table as if she were back in the UK, hoping we'd like the decor. Yeah, right, Mam, that was well put, the wool being pulled over everyone's eyes but mine, since I knew what she was up to. I left her to it and came to find that she was sitting next to me at the head of the table, with O'Hare on my other side, and way down at the foot was Tonya, with her mom on one side and her dad on the opposite side. In between were the kiddos and one other invited guest (also not my idea) that Tonya had invited, Lois, smack in the middle.
Before this, the Dragon had gone to the local farm stand, where a large sign read, "Pre-order your holiday turkey now." She did; she put the $20.00 down and ordered an 18-pound bird. She was thinking an 18 lb. bird would run her maybe $30.00 at the most. She announced to us that the bird had been ordered and she'd pick it up the day before Turkey Day. She also went into great detail, stating that this was an organic bird, a young bird, and would be freshly killed by Wednesday. It would, she said, taste like the best turkey they had ever had.
Meanwhile, Mam was off to the supermarket. And as she was perusing the shelves, this man in a golf hat stopped next to her, bent in her direction and crooned, "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire," and at first she was startled, then amused but said nothing and carried on. Next aisle, he spies his prey as she described herself later, and zooms on up next to her and croons, "Jackfrost nipping at your nose," and now she's disturbed by this and shuffles quickly away to his, "Yuletide carols being sung by a choir."
Around the next aisle, and there he is coming at her with "And folks dressed up like Eskimos." Well she turns back around and as she's slogging her way two aisles over she hears the squeak of cart wheels coming up fast behind her and the crooning of, "Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe," at which she stops and turns and says to him, "Da only turkey I know be YOU! And dere ain't no mistletoe in dis aisle. Stop it befur I truss and bast yer arse for dinner!" And off she goes to him, standing there with loads of people around him, red in the face; his overture had turned a sour note. I tell ya, the woman has these troubles she does.
It took all she had not to make one more stop, but that was at the craft store, plenty of women in there, so no fear of the dirty old supermarket guys. In she goes, she's looking for a holiday candle for the table centrepiece. She decided that scented spice would be the thing, and off she went to the candle section. There is already another shopper, a friendly woman who says to her, "Most of these are battery operated. I want a real wax candle," to which Mam looks and points out behind the woman are the wax candles. They chat as they examine the scents, and Mam says she needs three brownish candles for the holiday centrepiece, but the woman stops her and says, "You need two brownish ones and a white one."
"Nooo, I need three brownish ones."
"No, you need the Christ candle, and that has to be white." The woman is adamant.
Now, Mam be getting agitated. She isn't buying for Christmas, so a Christ candle? Really? First, the annoyance (as she called him) at the market, and here a bigger annoyance in the Christian woman who insists she knows best what Mam needs.
Mam slowly removed the first brownish spice-scented pillar candle and then another. Since there was no third, she saw a gold spice-scented pillar and decided it was close enough. She slowly pulled that one out and put it with the others in her basket. The woman looked disapprovingly at the gold candle.
"I know it be not white. It be gold, even better fer harvest tyme, get over it, Christmas be next mont." And off she went, leaving the gaping woman staring after her.
She can't cut a break. She's determined never to go shopping again. I can't say I blame her.
Comes the day before the big day. Dragon drives down to the farm stand and gets in line to pay the balance on her bird, only to find that she owes them $60.00 more. I wish I had been there to see the stunned look on her face as she stuttered, "I paid $20.00 already, that would be $80.00 for a turkey."
"Not any turkey, this is fresh turkey, was just walking around yesterday, and it will be the best turkey you've ever eaten." Said the woman at the counter.
Well, the Dragon looked around at the people in line behind her; no one stepped out to scoot away now that prices were being spoken out loud, not one of them blinked an eye. So she got out her purse and paid the $60.00 she owed, then retrieved her bird and came home in a state of financial sticker shock.
We all tried not to laugh or criticise, hard as that was. Me wife already knew that the farm stand was pricey, and she had tried to tell her mother before she even went there that they were, but the Dragon didn't want to hear it; therefore, she paid the price for a fresh New Hampshire turkey. Yup, she did.
May I say, when all was eaten and cleaned up, that the price of that bird was not worth it? It had fat under a very tough skin, it didn't taste like a Butterball, and why should it? There were no injections of buttery richness under the skin. And it took forever to cook. After several glasses of wine, no one cared how long it took, but it just wasn't what the Dragon had buttered us up to think it would be while trying to make light of a big waste of her money.
But need I forget, let me get back to Lois. Oh my God, Lois! Lois is a good-hearted soul, even if she doesn't like wearing clothes under her ratty old raincoat. However, she has a good sense of humour, and she had us laughing. Everyone but the prim and proper Dragon, that is. We had sat down to dinner, said a blessing, toasted our very first Thanksgiving in our new abode, and before the hostess could pick up her fork to signal the rest of us to begin, Lois had already dug in and was pretty much on her second helping. Maybe that wouldn't have been too bad, but unfortunately, the sideboard where the turkey platter was resting was behind the Dragon, and Lois, showing no shame as we began, had Dragon turning in her seat to pass the platter of turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, etc. back over to her. And once the seconds were on Lois's plate, she would hand the dishes back. I particularly enjoyed her having Dragon hold the turkey platter aloft as she selected more meat. The Dragon's sighs were audible but lost on Lois. This, as you can well imagine, had us sitting with a very grumpy Dragon, and we were all on tenterhooks (all except me, Mam, who had a twinkle in her eye to see how long it would take for the Dragon to blow up at Lois).
It didn't take long, but Lois was oblivious. She made jokes about all the mutterings issuing forth from the Dragon's tongue. She dominated the dinner conversation completely. Every time the Dragon tried to change the subject from barn animals (Lois's favourite topic) to something more cosmopolitan, Lois would find a way to compare whatever was said with a barnyard situation, which was graphically expounded upon by Lois in full animated mode. Yup, it was. And that sort of thing, of course, had the kiddos spellbound and asking all kinds of inappropriate questions. Yes indeed!
The best Guido comment was when Lois had finished telling us how a "coffin bone came right down into the hoof" of a horse she was taking care of, and Guido (not losing a beat) pipes up, "Miss Lois, my grandma iz gonna have her bones replaced in the hospice."
He was referring to Dragon's upcoming knee replacement, in hospital. He has no clue what a hospice is, but the Dragon knew exactly who he was referring to and looked rather pale and shocked at the word he incorrectly used. The superstitious Dragon then began referring (at first jokingly) that this might be her last Thanksgiving. Well, I don't have to tell you how that went, Mam after behaving herself most of the dinner, took off with that making joke after Irish joke.
"Wot be dat sayin' Gabriel? May ye be in heaven an hour befur da deevil tinks yer dead." And she'd laugh and this I could see as she found more of these pearls, annoyed the Dragon no end. But alas, she was saved when the Dragon tried to change the subject and gain sympathy.
"My diabetes is making my legs ache." The Dragon announced.
Alert as always to other people's ailments, Guido once again piped up with his two-pence.
"If yer weren't obeast yer wouldn't have dat trouble." The young man observed very seriously.
"Obese," Mam mumbled to me, "the good laddie means obese."
There was total silence in the room as I shushed Mam. I was thinking Guido killed one word with two because obese and beast did apply as far as I was concerned.
Well, the damage was done, and the Dragon hasn't spoken to the young "good laddie" for a few days. She chaffed at that comment and may never recover.
The last laugh, though, may be upon me head, or more appropriately, me leg. Just after the Dragon and Big Tony went home and me back to work, I pulled into me abode (with the time change it is dark outside now) and without thinking turned to get me briefcase and as I stepped back to close the car door found I walked into a dirt bike left outside by the entrance. I lost me balance and over backwards I went, and I really did a number. I moved the titanium rod in me leg from the fall. The end looked like a golf ball pushing me skin up. The commotion I made brought the whole family out, and I was transported to hospital where not only did I have to have me leg reset with new rods, but I tore me knee up with it and had to have a total replacement surgery. I tell you, I was quite sure the Dragon (when she heard) was laughing, even though she did threaten to come up and take care of me. Oi!
This is why I am so behind on stories, but as I heal (12 weeks of torture in PT), I should have some stories for ya.
Gabe
Copyright © 2015 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
As you can surmise, me mother-in-law came up early for Thanksgiving dinner, which she was not invited to. We thought (wrongly so) that she'd be with her family in Jersey. But no, she came up with Big Tony a week ago, announcing they were driving up to see the "pretty foliage" I had raved about. Forget the fact that it was last month (October), that they descended upon me abode, finding there was no foliage (it had all fallen down), and well, it was so close to Thanksgiving, why not invite herself and Big? What were we to do? Say no, go back to New Jersey? Well, we couldn't do that now, could we? I could have, but the wife couldn't very well send her parents packing.
This self-invitation (which you know I dislike) was made smoother by saying they were providing the turkey and would be happy to contribute to the "fixings" (as they referred to the side dishes) and make dessert. Well, Mam was okay with that as she told me she was tired of cooking anyway and needed a day off.
Now, Mam does not do all the cooking, as she loudly tells anyone who will listen that she does, but we say nothing about that fact; we just nod and thank her very much for all her help. Uh-huh. But she had one request of me, and that was to make sure she sat as far away from the Dragon Lady as humanly possible. Place settings are not unheard of in the UK, as they are here, so she went about setting the table as if she were back in the UK, hoping we'd like the decor. Yeah, right, Mam, that was well put, the wool being pulled over everyone's eyes but mine, since I knew what she was up to. I left her to it and came to find that she was sitting next to me at the head of the table, with O'Hare on my other side, and way down at the foot was Tonya, with her mom on one side and her dad on the opposite side. In between were the kiddos and one other invited guest (also not my idea) that Tonya had invited, Lois, smack in the middle.
Before this, the Dragon had gone to the local farm stand, where a large sign read, "Pre-order your holiday turkey now." She did; she put the $20.00 down and ordered an 18-pound bird. She was thinking an 18 lb. bird would run her maybe $30.00 at the most. She announced to us that the bird had been ordered and she'd pick it up the day before Turkey Day. She also went into great detail, stating that this was an organic bird, a young bird, and would be freshly killed by Wednesday. It would, she said, taste like the best turkey they had ever had.
Meanwhile, Mam was off to the supermarket. And as she was perusing the shelves, this man in a golf hat stopped next to her, bent in her direction and crooned, "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire," and at first she was startled, then amused but said nothing and carried on. Next aisle, he spies his prey as she described herself later, and zooms on up next to her and croons, "Jackfrost nipping at your nose," and now she's disturbed by this and shuffles quickly away to his, "Yuletide carols being sung by a choir."
Around the next aisle, and there he is coming at her with "And folks dressed up like Eskimos." Well she turns back around and as she's slogging her way two aisles over she hears the squeak of cart wheels coming up fast behind her and the crooning of, "Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe," at which she stops and turns and says to him, "Da only turkey I know be YOU! And dere ain't no mistletoe in dis aisle. Stop it befur I truss and bast yer arse for dinner!" And off she goes to him, standing there with loads of people around him, red in the face; his overture had turned a sour note. I tell ya, the woman has these troubles she does.
It took all she had not to make one more stop, but that was at the craft store, plenty of women in there, so no fear of the dirty old supermarket guys. In she goes, she's looking for a holiday candle for the table centrepiece. She decided that scented spice would be the thing, and off she went to the candle section. There is already another shopper, a friendly woman who says to her, "Most of these are battery operated. I want a real wax candle," to which Mam looks and points out behind the woman are the wax candles. They chat as they examine the scents, and Mam says she needs three brownish candles for the holiday centrepiece, but the woman stops her and says, "You need two brownish ones and a white one."
"Nooo, I need three brownish ones."
"No, you need the Christ candle, and that has to be white." The woman is adamant.
Now, Mam be getting agitated. She isn't buying for Christmas, so a Christ candle? Really? First, the annoyance (as she called him) at the market, and here a bigger annoyance in the Christian woman who insists she knows best what Mam needs.
Mam slowly removed the first brownish spice-scented pillar candle and then another. Since there was no third, she saw a gold spice-scented pillar and decided it was close enough. She slowly pulled that one out and put it with the others in her basket. The woman looked disapprovingly at the gold candle.
"I know it be not white. It be gold, even better fer harvest tyme, get over it, Christmas be next mont." And off she went, leaving the gaping woman staring after her.
She can't cut a break. She's determined never to go shopping again. I can't say I blame her.
Comes the day before the big day. Dragon drives down to the farm stand and gets in line to pay the balance on her bird, only to find that she owes them $60.00 more. I wish I had been there to see the stunned look on her face as she stuttered, "I paid $20.00 already, that would be $80.00 for a turkey."
"Not any turkey, this is fresh turkey, was just walking around yesterday, and it will be the best turkey you've ever eaten." Said the woman at the counter.
Well, the Dragon looked around at the people in line behind her; no one stepped out to scoot away now that prices were being spoken out loud, not one of them blinked an eye. So she got out her purse and paid the $60.00 she owed, then retrieved her bird and came home in a state of financial sticker shock.
We all tried not to laugh or criticise, hard as that was. Me wife already knew that the farm stand was pricey, and she had tried to tell her mother before she even went there that they were, but the Dragon didn't want to hear it; therefore, she paid the price for a fresh New Hampshire turkey. Yup, she did.
May I say, when all was eaten and cleaned up, that the price of that bird was not worth it? It had fat under a very tough skin, it didn't taste like a Butterball, and why should it? There were no injections of buttery richness under the skin. And it took forever to cook. After several glasses of wine, no one cared how long it took, but it just wasn't what the Dragon had buttered us up to think it would be while trying to make light of a big waste of her money.
But need I forget, let me get back to Lois. Oh my God, Lois! Lois is a good-hearted soul, even if she doesn't like wearing clothes under her ratty old raincoat. However, she has a good sense of humour, and she had us laughing. Everyone but the prim and proper Dragon, that is. We had sat down to dinner, said a blessing, toasted our very first Thanksgiving in our new abode, and before the hostess could pick up her fork to signal the rest of us to begin, Lois had already dug in and was pretty much on her second helping. Maybe that wouldn't have been too bad, but unfortunately, the sideboard where the turkey platter was resting was behind the Dragon, and Lois, showing no shame as we began, had Dragon turning in her seat to pass the platter of turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, etc. back over to her. And once the seconds were on Lois's plate, she would hand the dishes back. I particularly enjoyed her having Dragon hold the turkey platter aloft as she selected more meat. The Dragon's sighs were audible but lost on Lois. This, as you can well imagine, had us sitting with a very grumpy Dragon, and we were all on tenterhooks (all except me, Mam, who had a twinkle in her eye to see how long it would take for the Dragon to blow up at Lois).
It didn't take long, but Lois was oblivious. She made jokes about all the mutterings issuing forth from the Dragon's tongue. She dominated the dinner conversation completely. Every time the Dragon tried to change the subject from barn animals (Lois's favourite topic) to something more cosmopolitan, Lois would find a way to compare whatever was said with a barnyard situation, which was graphically expounded upon by Lois in full animated mode. Yup, it was. And that sort of thing, of course, had the kiddos spellbound and asking all kinds of inappropriate questions. Yes indeed!
The best Guido comment was when Lois had finished telling us how a "coffin bone came right down into the hoof" of a horse she was taking care of, and Guido (not losing a beat) pipes up, "Miss Lois, my grandma iz gonna have her bones replaced in the hospice."
He was referring to Dragon's upcoming knee replacement, in hospital. He has no clue what a hospice is, but the Dragon knew exactly who he was referring to and looked rather pale and shocked at the word he incorrectly used. The superstitious Dragon then began referring (at first jokingly) that this might be her last Thanksgiving. Well, I don't have to tell you how that went, Mam after behaving herself most of the dinner, took off with that making joke after Irish joke.
"Wot be dat sayin' Gabriel? May ye be in heaven an hour befur da deevil tinks yer dead." And she'd laugh and this I could see as she found more of these pearls, annoyed the Dragon no end. But alas, she was saved when the Dragon tried to change the subject and gain sympathy.
"My diabetes is making my legs ache." The Dragon announced.
Alert as always to other people's ailments, Guido once again piped up with his two-pence.
"If yer weren't obeast yer wouldn't have dat trouble." The young man observed very seriously.
"Obese," Mam mumbled to me, "the good laddie means obese."
There was total silence in the room as I shushed Mam. I was thinking Guido killed one word with two because obese and beast did apply as far as I was concerned.
Well, the damage was done, and the Dragon hasn't spoken to the young "good laddie" for a few days. She chaffed at that comment and may never recover.
The last laugh, though, may be upon me head, or more appropriately, me leg. Just after the Dragon and Big Tony went home and me back to work, I pulled into me abode (with the time change it is dark outside now) and without thinking turned to get me briefcase and as I stepped back to close the car door found I walked into a dirt bike left outside by the entrance. I lost me balance and over backwards I went, and I really did a number. I moved the titanium rod in me leg from the fall. The end looked like a golf ball pushing me skin up. The commotion I made brought the whole family out, and I was transported to hospital where not only did I have to have me leg reset with new rods, but I tore me knee up with it and had to have a total replacement surgery. I tell you, I was quite sure the Dragon (when she heard) was laughing, even though she did threaten to come up and take care of me. Oi!
This is why I am so behind on stories, but as I heal (12 weeks of torture in PT), I should have some stories for ya.
Gabe
Copyright © 2015 All rights reserved
