I must be honest. Thanksgiving was fast approaching and I looked forward to “chilling out” and hibernating through the day. By virtue of my profession I need to be “on” from the moment I walk through the door until the bitter end of the work day. Since Robert and I had become “disengaged”, Thanksgiving and all holidays have become built on new traditions.
There had always been a cloud of familiarity when it came to the holidays. How they were spent was always patterned out, tried and true; it worked beautifully. On this occasion I had been prompted by friends to spend Thanksgiving with them.
“Do you have plans?” they asked.
“I haven’t decided, but I’ll definitely let you know in a few days.”
In truth I wanted to stay at home, cook a small turkey and wallow in the sadness of my solitude. I made the fateful phone call and left a message on my friend Danny’s voicemail.
“I’ll be there, just let me know what to bring.”
I thought it peculiar there’d not been a return call; usually Danny and his wife, Lee-Ann, a southern belle, both pounce on the opportunity to return a message. Perhaps they were busy; eventually it would come. It did.
“There’s been a change in plans,” Lee-Ann said, “We’ve been invited to Leo and Heddy, you know, our son- in- law Gray’s parents for Thanksgiving. Do you want to come?” It reeked of a set up; they’d waited until the day before Thanksgiving; how could I back out now and what would I use as an excuse?
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
I was practically stammering to get the words out. Truthfully I felt like dowsing my body with gasoline and taking a lighter to it rather than spend the holidays having to be "perky". I had yet to meet Leo and Heddy formally though I vaguely recalled a meeting with him in the bathroom at the wedding.
Leo had been standing at the urinal next to mine, his hand propped against the wall and said, “Liquor in, liquor out; get it? Lick her out!” He guffawed at his own humor and left the men’s room without a drop of water coming near his hands.
The quip extolled his masculinity; he’d found a deeply profound meaning behind his words but they were lost on the likes of me; I simply rolled my eyes, my stomach wanting to wretch at the thought.
I was hesitant to meet anyone right now. Reflective and somewhat glum were the emotions I was feeling lately and now the directive to be “on” was handed down. The one thing I could not have foreseen was how “on” this experience would prove to be.
Lee-Ann, a once small time beauty queen from the south with a “Georgia peach” drawl, expounded the virtues of their newly bonded relatives. To Lee-Ann making the grade was paramount and her eldest daughter, Deanna, had done so through the legal “tying of the knot”.
“Why, he owns a truck load of real estate in Nuh Yahk City and a three bedroom apahtment on Pahk Avenue and she’s simply a doll; always put togetha and involved in just about ev’ry organization.”
Apparently Lee-Anne had never urinated beside her daughter’s father –in- law.
My mental image was that of a hard to digest couple with 2.5 children and a home near Pound Ridge, either stayed and perfectly “Martha-like” or over the top "nouveau riche"; it could go either way. Leo was, for a man of fifty-six, very attractive with mop of hair that crowned his head, thick and speckled with grey. I imagine he’d probably posed for a “Brooks Brothers” ad during his college years while rowing crew.
Heddy, his wife, had probably been a cheerleader but now, slightly thicker around the middle, sat on the board of the Junior League and every entertainment committee in their community. I’d painted an outwardly, somewhat accurate portrait until the ball started to roll.
As the day approached I wondered what to bring as a gesture of hospitality. Unsure of the meal, other than the turkey, or their individual likes and dislikes, I decided on a batch of butterscotch blondies. What could be “homier” than the taste of brown sugar and butter cooked down to a rich, caramel consistency? If I was heading into “Martha” country, I needed every tool available at my disposal.
Over the river and through the woods we made our way to our final destination with my emotional frailty in tow. There, with a view to rival any I have seen, sat the home of our host and hostess, the “feather in the cap” of my dear friend’s extended family members.
Thankfully, the magnificently appointed home, sat high on a hill, perfectly manicured and graciously overlooking several valleys of the Connecticut and New York landscape. Like a feudal manor, the house towered above the rest, overlooking the rooftops of its neighbors; those below must salivate with envy for not having this view.
I was glad to have dressed in conservative clothing rather than my usual “over the top”, somewhat cutting edged garb. After the fact it became apparent that had I gone “full on” homo, I probably would have fit in without the blink of an eye; at the very least it would have added to the cast of characters.
My entrance was typically “Keith”. Everyone made their way into the house through the garage for there had been a dusting of snow and it would be remorseful to track it in the grand foyer. Lingering behind, to assess the situation, I gathered the butterscotch cookies from my car. Finding myself alone in a large entry I climbed the stairs to get to the kitchen where my confection would find a home.
In the distance, from somewhere seemingly far away, there was the echoing of the familiar voice of Danny but I could not find him anywhere. I heard the guffaw of men laughing, women chattering and the clanking of plates, or pots, on a counter.
“Where in the hell am I and how did I get here?”
I was slightly panicked since all I could see were numerous bedrooms. Down multiple hallways and around perfectly aligned corners I finally found the circular balcony, with its white candlestick balusters and rich wood railings, which overlooked the foyer. Below, the relatives gathered, jabbering all at once. I had no idea how I’d arrived at my destination but knew I had to get below to the crowd.
Hiking the platter of brownies above my shoulder, held as a waiter would carry them I made my way down the wide, grand spiral staircase. In unison the family turned their heads and watched my approach. I was Norma Desmond in “Sunset Boulevard” descending the seemingly endless staircase thinking, “I’m ready for my close- up, Mr. De Mille.”
“Heddy, I have no idea where I’ve been and no clues as to how I got there, but am reliev--, uh, pleased to say you have beautiful bed linens.”
If I was to make a first appearance it would be on my own terms. I handed the tray of cookies to our hostess with a sociable kiss “hello”. Extending my hand to Leo I hoped he’d washed it since waking and performing his morning “duties”.
“It’s good to see you.”
I put myself out there with no regret and was genuinely welcomed. Wide smiles and laughter warmed my entry; could it have been my spontaneous wit or the fact that the whole family had begun drinking two hours prior to our arrival? I would venture to guess the latter.
So here we were; Leo and Heddy, their three children, Grayson (my friends' son in law) and Grace (his twin) and their older sibling, Greer. In addition was their grandmother, “Binnie”, who had recently suffered a stroke, prompting her to repeatedly say, “Hey, hey, hey” or "Cute, cute, cute" and of course my personal favorite, a cousin warmly referred to as “Little Maggie”, 36 years old and mentally challenged but adding a tremendous measure of spice to the pot. Put it together and voila, there were all the ingredients for a memorable celebration. Toss in Danny, with his mildly catatonic view of the world as well as Lee-Ann and Deanna and the script would write itself.
Like all good families residing in the countryside of "Yankee territory", the beverages were lined up, like the inventory of a car lot just waiting for someone to take a test drive, along the counter. To the right were the vodka and gin, to the left the champagne and smack in the middle was a vast array of wine; there wasn’t a single can of soda within twenty feet. Accompaniments such as olives, lemon and lime twists and Maraschino cherries served as the hors d’oeuvres. After two glasses of champagne I summoned up the courage to ask for a glass of water, wondering if anyone actually knew what water was.
“Uh, do you mind; may I have a glass of water?”
Leo looked at me dumbfounded, like I’d asked for a vial of hemlock.
I wanted to say, “You know, the stuff that comes out of that chrome thing called a faucet.”
“Sure, sure, why yes, if you want to kill the buzz. Gray, rustle up a bottle of water for Pete.” Somewhere in the vast manse there had to be one.
“Say Pete, haven’t we met?”
“Uh, it’s Keith. Well, yes, once, at the wedding, in the men’s room.”
He looked at me with a blank stare. Perhaps he thought his judgment had been skewed by his alcohol intake causing him to partake in less than “manly” behavior.
“Liquor in…” I said.
“Oh, yes, Christ yes, did it work for you?”
“You’re kidding, right?” He winked and slapped me on the back.
At one point, while standing in the kitchen I noticed a trickle of water beneath Heddy’s legs. I wasn’t sure if she’d just wet her pants or if there was a water leak from behind the cabinet.
“Heddy,” I said cautiously pointing to the floor, “What’s that?”
“Oh my, I don’t know. Greer, what do you make of this?”
Greer looked unaffectedly at the tiny stream, shrugged her shoulders and said, “You pissed your pants,” and walked away as if it were a daily occurrence.
“Leo, what do you make of this?”
Leo looked at the aqueous stream piddling across the hardwood floor and said, “You pissed in your pants.” It was in fact the dishwasher that was “pissing”.
It was clearly an effortless endeavor to spend time with this troop, especially after a few cocktails. By the evening we felt like kindred spirits; more over we’d become like family. It had been hours since a morsel of food was eaten and the cocktails were now imploding everyone’s sense of rational thinking.
In the midst of all the chatter “Little Maggie” rose from her seat and made her way to the kitchen to inquire about dinner. I was certain Heddy had forgotten to turn the oven on in her, well, “state of mind”.
“Little Maggie” was quite astute despite her disability. I immediately garnered great respect for this woman; you knew exactly where you stood with her. Almost child like, her candor was a breath of fresh air especially for those of us who deal with the public on a daily basis pretending to care about trivial matters that have no real substance.
With no rhyme or reason she began to whoop and run around the room howling, “Woo, woo, woo, woo, woo!!” She was imitating a Native American on the war path, a scene from a Thanksgiving play she'd participated in during the prior week; I was exonerated from any silly or depraved behavior I may have potentially brought to the table.
"Cute, cute, cute," Binnie kept repeating over and over again as she clapped, "Cute, cute, cute!"
Grace, Grayson and Greer, as well as Deanna, were beside themselves turning crimson as “Little Maggie” flew around her stage playing to the audience. Danny sat upright in his chair and recoiled into a catatonic state. The nervous smile on his face, like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, was the only sign that his heart had not given out.
Lee-Ann’s wide eyed expression was far more telling; she was about to cry; this family was the feather Deanna had brought to their cap? I could tell as her fingers lay softly against her lips she was calculating the statistical average of her daughter having a “normal” child one day. What would the odds be?
I was in heaven. It was academy award material; not “Little Maggie” breaking into theatrics but Danny and Lee-Ann attempting to enjoy and understand the display. They'd spent years, primarily Lee-Ann as a well bred southerner, training their daughter for a bright and tatter-free future. In truth my dear friend lives in a private universe and acts not so far off from the actress now on the stage.
At the end of the day, finally seated with food before us, we all gave thanks. I sat at an unfamiliar table, with unfamiliar people, in an unfamiliar surrounding yet it was all very familiar. It was a family; the good, the bad and the embarrassing.
Dear Leo offered me another drink and when I graciously declined said raucously, “To hell with you then,” and added, “Liquor in…”
“Little Maggie”, feeling the effects of overeating farted loudly as the wine kept flowing and “the twins” boldly released bits and pieces of “family dirt” (as if I hadn’t seen enough) when their parents retired to the kitchen. I pulled up a front row seat and drank it all in; this was my new favorite cocktail.
On the way home I became introspective thinking of how I worry about presenting a good image or having to be “on” all the time. As my car rounded the bends of the hilly terrain I’d just left behind I would embrace the company of Danny and Lee-Ann’s extended family; they had added a new chapter to my life. I giggled with each memory of the day, some far too personal to print.
Family units are complex. We find fault and embarrassment within our individual members. Brother torments brother, sister rivals sister and parents throw up their hands in defeat at times. Mothers and fathers constantly do or say something to embarrass us, especially during our teen years, and sometimes a loved one may run around pretending to be a Native American. Our focus becomes so positioned on the idea of the perfect unit we displace the outrageous behavior that causes those belly laughs, the indelible images we always remember.
Who remembers the last serious conversation at the holiday table? I remember Amber, our Cocker Spaniel, defecating on the floor in front of the guests on Christmas Eve at my parents’ house, the smell permeating the room. I remember my brother’s girlfriend once tickling my belly so hard that it that it caused me to fart loudly and unexpectedly during a dinner party and my friend Dave’s grandmother “throwing down” with her daughter- in- law in front of all of his guests.
The memories that make the moment, the warm and wonderful and yes, sometimes embarrassing antics of our family members make us laugh, comment the next day and think of those we love. The holidays just wouldn’t be the same, would they, if we were to remove the “daze”.
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