Thanksgiving Leftovers

It is IMPOSSIBLE to explain the concept of a blog to people who don't even have dial-up.

Yai has a computer for the sole purpose of playing solitaire. She doesn't turn it off because she wouldn't know how to turn it back on. Her opinion of the internet is that I should be careful, because the internet is where girls get stalked and hunted and molested. Gram thinks her cordless phone is called a cell phone. Alternate realities.

I needed to unplug. Even though it was painful.

Quality family time was much needed and enjoyed. I hadn't seen my cousins in a while. Nick, a 7th grader, is taller than me. And has dubbed me La'Maria after I showed him La'Sarah. Glad to see I have the same sense of humor as 7th grade boys.



I missed some great That's What She Said moments. Luckily, Steve and I were able to share them with silent nods of recognition. We were censored for most of the trip. Except when we were with Yai. So basically for just a couple hours at nouna's.

The new face of Cinammon Toast Crunch

Steve: What time do you eat dinner?
Gram: Oh about 3:30.
Steve: WHAT?
Gram: Well, I get up and have breakfast at 5 or earlier. Then I have lunch at about 10:30. Then I have dinner at about 3:30.
Steve: What time do you go to bed?
Gram: Well, it depends if there's a game on. I'll stay up to watch the games so sometimes I don't get to bed till 10:30 or 11.
Steve: Don't you get hungry?
Gram: Oh I found a delicious cereal that I snack on sometimes.
(reaches under counter and pulls box of cereal in front of her face.)
Gram: Have you ever had it? It's delicous!
(holding Cinnamon Toast Crunch like she was the first to discover it)

Lamb and Boxing

(On the phone before our journey to Western Mass)

Yai: Angelo, you have beer for the kids?
...
Yai: We have beer, wine and ouzo!

When we arrived Wednesday, Yai had a leg of lamb cooking in the oven. For dinner we had lamb, skordalia and beers.




Yai: Angelo, you're drinking beer from the bottle like a teenager!

She tortures that poor guy. Emotionally and physically.

I will puke if I see another turkey.

INTERNET ACCESS!!! A precious commodity when staying in Western Mass with the grandparents.

We just left grandma's. I will never take home cooked meals for granted again. This Thanksgiving has been fantastic. Haven't had to cook or clean at ALL! SWEET!

For some reason, it's assumed that Steve needs mounds and mounds of food or he will die. And Maria? She'll be fine.

Gram and Yai have been cooking for days in order to provide Steve with adequate "to-go" boxes. Yai has a spiral ham in the oven and made an extra turkey earlier. Gram prepared days in advance.

Tonight at dinner, Steve made me surrender the last 7 leaves of lettuce in my bowl right before informing me I can forget about eating any of the Polish sausage gram made him. Don't think I'm getting my hands on any spiral ham either. Such is the nature of holiday's with the human disposal.

Steve's box of goodies:



Maria's box of goodies:



Maybe that's a hint that I should watch my figure to find a husband. Pressure's on. Literally someone mentioned marriage last night. In reference to an approaching event. Did I mention my family is delusional?

If I am asked one more time what my plans are for after college I will stab someone with my half of the wishbone.

Turkey.

Michael: (Standing by the stove in the kitchen) MARIA. COME HERE! QUICK.
Maria: What.
Michael: HURRY!!
Maria: (Walks into the kitchen to find her father standing over the turkey.)
Michael: (Face five inches from the turkey on the stove) Do you see that? The turkey's butt is smoking!

Thanksgiving.

This is the first Thanksgiving I've had with my parents in seven years. It used to be a big holiday for us when we lived in Massachusetts. Everyone would come to our house and my mom would cook a huge meal. The adults would eat in the dining room and the kids in the kitchen. After dinner and dessert my brothers and I would go for a walk around the neighbourhood with my dad and some relatives while my mom and gram and yai would stay behind and clean up. After our walk, my brothers and I would perform a dance to the Macarena. (Ok. It was really just me.) This was the custom at every holiday. After we moved to Kentucky, Thanksgiving was whiddled down to the five of us. After we moved to Switzerland, Thanksgiving pretty much ended entirely. Some of the Americans would celebrate the weekend after Thanksgiving to maintain tradition but my family never really cared enough to acknowledge the holiday.

I woke up this morning (at around 2 pm) eager to eat the food I knew my mom started cooking at 7 am. For some reason I remembered that for my past Thanksgivings I composed poetry that I shared with the family after my performance of the Macarena. (I was a very creative child.) I found my poems. What a brilliant child I was. Here is one of my Thanksgiving poems circa 1996.

Thanksgiving
by: Maria

PART ONE

There is something I want to say,
That I have to say today,
There is no other way,
Than to just say,
Happy Thanksgiving Day!

PART TWO

My mom will be perky,
During the cooking of the turkey.
My dad will eat it up,
Like a hungry little pup.
I will set the table,
Then read an Aesop's Fable.
Brother 1 (Joey) will be crying,
You might have thought he was dying!
Brother 2 (Steve) is always fighting,
He got in trouble for biting!
Yai will start speaking Greek,
Trying not to peek.
Gramp will drink a beer,
When dinner is not even near!
Gram sits back in her chair,
Trying to feel a breeze that is not even there.
But we all say Happy Thanksgiving Day,
In our own special way.
Then dad breaks the silence just to say,
"Let's eat turkey! It's Thanksgiving day!"


And there you have it. The creepily intuitive strangely repetitive beginning to where my writing has developed today.

I wish I still had my books of Aesop's Fables.