...and she returns...temporarily at least
Well, it's been a long while. Since September, I think...but after a holiday with my mother's side of the family, I guess I can say I feel inspired.
So, I've successfully hidden Jared away from my mom and her side of the family for about 5 years now. After today, I figure we're good for at least another few years. Though this entry will not contain the historical play-by-play highlights that can be found in my memory/archive section, it will contain a few of the major events of the day.
*We arrived at approximately 3:05. We were told to arrive between 3 and 3:30...we were the last ones there. In a group of historically late people, we were hoping to arrive before the madness and at least settle down for a bit (and maybe get a few drinks in) before my mother arrived. Unfortunately, we were somehow the last ones to arrive. So anyway, we enter with potted plant in hand. The potted plant is quickly tossed to the side amongst dozens of empty boxes and a cluttered kitchen. This is the place my grandmother calls home and what everyone else refers to as a mess. Each time I visit, it seems to make more sense as to why my mom is the way she is. I am greeted by my grandmother, clad in a Martha Stewart apron and hot pink plush flip flops, and a woman in a purple velour track suit whom I don't recall ever seeing in my life. "You know, who I am... don't you?" Appearance tells me no. I couldn't pick her out from a crowd, but context clues tell me she is my long lost Aunt Sandra who is part of the family that has recently been reunited through the recent death of my cousin's father. Word through the Polish grapevine spread and family we hadn't seen in years, based on some long-forgotten feud with sour results, showed up at the funeral. And thus, a family is reborn. I digress.
We remove our coats and make our way to the crowded front room where my grandmother has set out enough storebought appetizers and hors de vors to feed a small army. Every ten seconds, for at least the next five minutes she prods us to eat up. My tiny cousin, who might break 100 soaking wet, declares that she's eating a lot and she feels so fat. This distraction technique works for a bit, and an awkward silence follows. Nana breaks the silence by blurting out, "Brianne, why don't you get your husband some food?" Meanwhile, Jared is seated just a few inches from the food himself and is fully capable of fetching his own. Jared and I exchange worried glances, knowing that this is only the beginning.
Conversations follow to include the following topics:
-The older generation is scared that Obama will make it into office because he is a terrorist. My grandma herself has heard him speak the words that he hates the United States and white people.
-McLean, not McCain, might become president.
-Christian churches don't offer as many services at Catholic churches so they aren't as holy during Passion Week.
At this point, a few of us toasted over some Twix bars and made a group trip to discard the wrappers in the kitchen. We temporarily escaped the awkward taboo conversations only to be met with the discovery that my grandma had put the red wine in the freezer. That's right...pinot noir served cold.
Dinner is served and we have a seat around the table(s). This is my first time at the "grown up" table and I found myself longing to be at the kids' table again. Eyeing the table, I quickly recognize that after 12 (nearly 13 actually) years of being a vegetarian there is little that has been provided for me to eat. As soon as everyone is sitting down, Nana rushes to the kitchen and returns with a fresh out of the microwave TV dinner of fettucine alfredo. (sidenote: I don't even like fettucine alfredo) She begins hurriedly to scrape it onto my plate at which I stop her stating that I need to read the label.
Nana has a habit of declaring that my vegetarianism is some sort of silly phase and frequently tries to 'sneak' meat into my meals. So, the table sits and stares as I try to read the label to check for any sort of animal byproducts that could be found within. Plate by plate goes by of vegetables ruined by bacon. I sparsely fill up my plate with some green beans and a scoop of bland dumplings. Ahhh...yes, the feast! My mother, classy as always, fills her wine glass heartily with Seagram's Strawberry wine coolers. Yes, ignoring the fact that she is heavily addicted to prescription painkillers and shouldn't be drinking at all.
Dinner conversations were as follows:
-The family potato salad is made MUCH differently than everyone else's because they use mayonnaise.
-An intense interrogation of my vegetarianism as though I were a space alien. When asked for my reasons for being a vegetarian, my grandmother and mother eagerly blurt out far-fetched reasons varying from I had to watch a movie in school about dying animals all the way to I was forced to take a field trip to a slaughterhouse and watch them kill the animals. Meanwhile, the real reason was a book I read. I corrected them and shared the real reason, to which my mother immediately responded by shouting, "And then they made her watch a movie!" At this point, it was best to move on.
-Polish sausage is fat free.
-A series of questions by my thick-accented, long lost uncle that he already knew all the answers to. He asked me a variety of questions about organic food and health, only to correct me on each and every one.
-My favorite food used to be steak when I was nine, so I'm not really a vegetarian.
-I'm really good at praying out loud.
Dinner continues until...
A brief interlude of laughter because the prophecies of Easters past had fulfilled itself when Nana once again served food using her bare hands. Having warned Jared previously of the occasional dysfunctional and borderline white trash occurrences within my family, he was eagerly awaiting the serving of dessert. At the first cut of lamb cake, Nana began passing it out with her hands. Jared whispers to me, "Yes! This is what I've been waiting for!" I lose it and with each slice being served I cannot contain my laughter. I have to exit the table and on my way out I knock over a table of Christmas cards left out for decoration.
Upon my return to the table, Jared, Mike, Marie and I exchange sarcastic comments about the conversations taking place at the table. Of which included:
-The Spanish (a general term applied by my mom's family for anyone who is darker than them) liking Irish Soda bread.
-The church becoming poor because of all the Spanish coming in.
-My mother matter-of-factly preaching on the importance of an honest church. Meanwhile, my mother hasn't been in a church in about 10 years.
-The return of Obama the terrorist and his hate for America.
At the sound of the Obama iceberg returning, Jared and I decided it was our cue to leave. Last to arrive and first to leave. Our over/under mark was 6 minutes. We made it two hours.
To you and yours, a happy easter from the madhouse.
So, I've successfully hidden Jared away from my mom and her side of the family for about 5 years now. After today, I figure we're good for at least another few years. Though this entry will not contain the historical play-by-play highlights that can be found in my memory/archive section, it will contain a few of the major events of the day.
*We arrived at approximately 3:05. We were told to arrive between 3 and 3:30...we were the last ones there. In a group of historically late people, we were hoping to arrive before the madness and at least settle down for a bit (and maybe get a few drinks in) before my mother arrived. Unfortunately, we were somehow the last ones to arrive. So anyway, we enter with potted plant in hand. The potted plant is quickly tossed to the side amongst dozens of empty boxes and a cluttered kitchen. This is the place my grandmother calls home and what everyone else refers to as a mess. Each time I visit, it seems to make more sense as to why my mom is the way she is. I am greeted by my grandmother, clad in a Martha Stewart apron and hot pink plush flip flops, and a woman in a purple velour track suit whom I don't recall ever seeing in my life. "You know, who I am... don't you?" Appearance tells me no. I couldn't pick her out from a crowd, but context clues tell me she is my long lost Aunt Sandra who is part of the family that has recently been reunited through the recent death of my cousin's father. Word through the Polish grapevine spread and family we hadn't seen in years, based on some long-forgotten feud with sour results, showed up at the funeral. And thus, a family is reborn. I digress.
We remove our coats and make our way to the crowded front room where my grandmother has set out enough storebought appetizers and hors de vors to feed a small army. Every ten seconds, for at least the next five minutes she prods us to eat up. My tiny cousin, who might break 100 soaking wet, declares that she's eating a lot and she feels so fat. This distraction technique works for a bit, and an awkward silence follows. Nana breaks the silence by blurting out, "Brianne, why don't you get your husband some food?" Meanwhile, Jared is seated just a few inches from the food himself and is fully capable of fetching his own. Jared and I exchange worried glances, knowing that this is only the beginning.
Conversations follow to include the following topics:
-The older generation is scared that Obama will make it into office because he is a terrorist. My grandma herself has heard him speak the words that he hates the United States and white people.
-McLean, not McCain, might become president.
-Christian churches don't offer as many services at Catholic churches so they aren't as holy during Passion Week.
At this point, a few of us toasted over some Twix bars and made a group trip to discard the wrappers in the kitchen. We temporarily escaped the awkward taboo conversations only to be met with the discovery that my grandma had put the red wine in the freezer. That's right...pinot noir served cold.
Dinner is served and we have a seat around the table(s). This is my first time at the "grown up" table and I found myself longing to be at the kids' table again. Eyeing the table, I quickly recognize that after 12 (nearly 13 actually) years of being a vegetarian there is little that has been provided for me to eat. As soon as everyone is sitting down, Nana rushes to the kitchen and returns with a fresh out of the microwave TV dinner of fettucine alfredo. (sidenote: I don't even like fettucine alfredo) She begins hurriedly to scrape it onto my plate at which I stop her stating that I need to read the label.
Nana has a habit of declaring that my vegetarianism is some sort of silly phase and frequently tries to 'sneak' meat into my meals. So, the table sits and stares as I try to read the label to check for any sort of animal byproducts that could be found within. Plate by plate goes by of vegetables ruined by bacon. I sparsely fill up my plate with some green beans and a scoop of bland dumplings. Ahhh...yes, the feast! My mother, classy as always, fills her wine glass heartily with Seagram's Strawberry wine coolers. Yes, ignoring the fact that she is heavily addicted to prescription painkillers and shouldn't be drinking at all.
Dinner conversations were as follows:
-The family potato salad is made MUCH differently than everyone else's because they use mayonnaise.
-An intense interrogation of my vegetarianism as though I were a space alien. When asked for my reasons for being a vegetarian, my grandmother and mother eagerly blurt out far-fetched reasons varying from I had to watch a movie in school about dying animals all the way to I was forced to take a field trip to a slaughterhouse and watch them kill the animals. Meanwhile, the real reason was a book I read. I corrected them and shared the real reason, to which my mother immediately responded by shouting, "And then they made her watch a movie!" At this point, it was best to move on.
-Polish sausage is fat free.
-A series of questions by my thick-accented, long lost uncle that he already knew all the answers to. He asked me a variety of questions about organic food and health, only to correct me on each and every one.
-My favorite food used to be steak when I was nine, so I'm not really a vegetarian.
-I'm really good at praying out loud.
Dinner continues until...
A brief interlude of laughter because the prophecies of Easters past had fulfilled itself when Nana once again served food using her bare hands. Having warned Jared previously of the occasional dysfunctional and borderline white trash occurrences within my family, he was eagerly awaiting the serving of dessert. At the first cut of lamb cake, Nana began passing it out with her hands. Jared whispers to me, "Yes! This is what I've been waiting for!" I lose it and with each slice being served I cannot contain my laughter. I have to exit the table and on my way out I knock over a table of Christmas cards left out for decoration.
Upon my return to the table, Jared, Mike, Marie and I exchange sarcastic comments about the conversations taking place at the table. Of which included:
-The Spanish (a general term applied by my mom's family for anyone who is darker than them) liking Irish Soda bread.
-The church becoming poor because of all the Spanish coming in.
-My mother matter-of-factly preaching on the importance of an honest church. Meanwhile, my mother hasn't been in a church in about 10 years.
-The return of Obama the terrorist and his hate for America.
At the sound of the Obama iceberg returning, Jared and I decided it was our cue to leave. Last to arrive and first to leave. Our over/under mark was 6 minutes. We made it two hours.
To you and yours, a happy easter from the madhouse.