I can vaguely recall a moment between the hefty scooping of mounds of mashed potatoes and "round dos" when I uttered the words, "I could stop now and be content, full but not overly full".
That must have been the angel on my right shoulder. She's the one with the new Android and a facebook obsession and the reason why hundreds of my facebook friends were aware that my sister craved a big mac covered in gravy while simultaneously shoveling a centerpiece turkey make of fudge stripe cookies and candy corn. She is also the reason why my hands were too occupied to take another mouthful and managed my ability to speak the words about forfeiting the extra's on my plate without spitting stuffing and french style green beans (with extra butter) all over Lourdes who sat on the other side of the circular Lighting McQueen kiddie table where we dined (that was facebook documented as well). I love this angel; who said technology was the reason for childhood obesity?
It's the other angel, the one of my left who's too old fashion to learn the technological jargon it takes to survive in year 2010 but too lazy to walk outside and live like its 1930 where people relied on the physical movement of more than just their opposable thumbs. This angel sent me over for seconds followed by a couple of backyard fire roasted smores because "how could I have some more if I haven't had any yet?".
It's now Saturday, two days proceeding our Kingful feast and I still feel full. I still eat, but I'm pretty sure plate two is still lurking around in my digestive track somewhere. (my apologies for the graphics)
The funny thing these days about Holiday's though, is not that we were forced even now at 25 and 30 to crouch our stubby but too long for two feet chair legs at the kids table (we chose this) or that we feast in a garage turned movie theater in South Carolina and not my hometown of Pittsburgh where the house we grew up in hardly had a living room much less a theater, but it's the fact that had I not chosen to sit across from Lourdes at a table smaller than the ones we were subjected to as children, chances are I would not have known the person stuffing their unfamiliar face with my mother's "just dump it all in" stuffing or my oldest sister Ingret's "chocolate and not quite peanut butter" pie. Had it not been for the familar loudeness of previously all Puerto Rican and now a mut style melting pot of Spanish speaking people, I could have easily confused my parent's house for a random church soup kitchen with air freshners. I wouldn't be able to give any of these visitors a couple of bucks without worrying that they would "just buy booze with it" either.
I guess that's not funny; it's sad actually. Holiday's just aren't the same anymore. At least when I was younger I expected my drunken Uncle Berto to stutter step while attempting to keep his balance and admire the shimmer of his moisten lips (because he was always "wetting his whistle") and laugh as he insulted our sega sonic playing skills. We laughed on cue when our aunts, uncles and parents told stories we didnt understand and teased us for never making to the adult table regardless of how many years past and how old we were.
It's hard to laugh now. There's nothing funny about contemplating punching a drunk lady you intentionally blocked all memory of previous encounters with because drunk or sober she was more annoying than the nasaly asain looking man who did the parrots voice in aladdin. I could, in all honesty, rant about literally feeling my blood boil as she insisted on cleaning my mothers kitchen which resulted in nothing more than a waste of water and well, not so much soap because she clearly didn't use any and the wastefulness of an entire chicken who sacrificed its life only to be bioled in a pot of an odd lime base broth because drunken lady whose name I can't remember was not satisfied alone with the plethora of turkey, stuffing and all the trimmings of a thanksgiving dinner. No, drunken lady wanted CHICKEN SOUP! Ugh...we're leaving for Pittsburgh tomorrow; I pray I don't see drunken lady again...
-stephanie
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