Just a nice, leisurely stroll down memory lane…
One more casualty, blindsided, more often than not, by some half-forgotten slight from years gone by, or a previously unremarked grievance brought twisting and kicking out into the blinking holiday lights.
Served up with the bird and a healthy helping of guilt sauce.
2 years ago, I had an altercation, via Facebook mail, with my sibling. He saw insult where there was none, and lambasted me with venom and bile. Right about this time of year.
It was actually the catalyst that spurred me into blogging, originally. I had posted something, a philosophical question, on Facebook, and he took offense – “calling me out”, as it were, even though I’d meant nothing towards him, and was simply exploring a personal question I had. Anyway, I took it to the internet, and found myself creating a space where I could post whatever I wanted, without worrying about getting hoisted on the pike of sibling rivalry.
Last year, there was another altercation… at this time of year… oddly enough.
Yes, you read that right. PIE.
Pumpkin Pie, to be exact.
It was stupid, really, but it caused a lot of hurt feelings on both sides, and laid a new web of mines in the family field.
You see, for many years, I was always the one who made the pumpkin pie. It was my favorite, and my mom had 2 or 3 other varieties to make, so I was the one who made it. It was just assumed, by my mom, myself, by just about everyone, that I would bring the pumpkin pie to dinner. I got pretty good at them, at any rate.
Well, last year, after the dinner was over, and everyone had gone home, I got an angry phone call from my brother, burning my crust because, I guess, my sister-in-law’s feelings had been hurt when she didn’t get to make the pumpkin pie.
I didn’t understand. She hadn’t said one word about pie. And Mom hadn’t even hinted that my sis-in-law had wanted to make them. If she’d spoken up, I’d have gladly brought something else to dinner! But, of course, according to my brother, it was all because I was such a brat, and had to have my own way all the time.
So, this year, I told my mom that, under no uncertain terms, I was not making pumpkin pie to bring to Thanksgiving dinner. I was not going to get my chestnuts roasted again, not over a stupid pastry.
Mom asked my sister-in-law what she wanted to bring. Anything she wanted, she told her. Because I said I was staying well out of it, and would bring whatever I was asked to bring.
So, one guess what I’m taking to Thanksgiving dinner this year?
That’s right. Cool-Whip coated landmines.
Bring on the good times.