Divide and Conquer
Snow. Yes, again, a mediocre dusting. Couldn’t even shame a snowglobe. But of course that didn’t matter to Puck, as he plunged into his double serving of oatmeal. Today, he had reason to dig deep. When breakfast was concluded, he would be participating in Christmas 2.5.
“I still feel a little queasy…” was Gloria’s greeting as we walked in the front door.
The smell of frying bacon probably didn’t help. Or the fact that she rarely stops doing anything, ever. Call it southern hospitality. I don’t know. But stomach flu and 140 mph don’t mix too well. So the windows were open to the flitting of tiny snowflakes. Coffee was on. Theodore finished puttying up some holes in the monster bed. And Gloria wrapped a few more presents, feeling better from some laughs in the basement, removed from greasy aromas, until Relevance and Kitts arrived for the fun.
Kitts walked in wearing the Anthropologie-inspired coat that Cashmere had sewn for her with an egg-planty crocheted collar done up by her younger sister. [Or, as we tend to be weird around here and intermix – my sister-in-law’s sister-in-law’s sister.] It wasn’t long before Kitts was coveting Gloria’s shiny new gas stove and preparing a pan of eggs and another of biscuits. Puck helped carry the butter, honey, and jam into the basement where the gift giving was about to commence.
“This is a little redneck of us, isn’t it?” Gloria asked, eying the spread of biscuits sprawled on the floor.
But no one seemed to care.
The Silverspoons do Christmas big around here. Really big. I can’t accurately account for the amount of 500-foot beam flashlights, photography equipment, luggage, pillows, board games, books, kids’ National Geographic drop-proof digital camera, oven clay, and stockings stuffed with chocolate, hand lotion, soaps, shoe polish, and then the next round from Relevance and Kitts – Angry Birds blanket wraps [Puck], hand-carved wood and paper “Japanese lantern” [for me], Ikea jumbo paper art roll dispenser and paint brush markers [also Puck], hand-knit hat and dark orange crocheted beard [Izzy]… And on and on and on… I’m not really ever sure how long it takes to shift the mound, with the crackling yule log on Netflix warming the room by suggestion, but eventually the load is officially diminished, and the play can begin.
Gloria was chopping onions. Traditionally, the Silverspoon family enjoys seafood every Christmas. And hush puppies, fried cheese, sparkling cider, etc. Kitts was busy researching quilt patterns for the baby with a skein of soft mint green yarn she had just received for Christmas, suggested some name ideas, although they wouldn’t make the final decision until after he was born. Curly was busy telling about a fair in Tennessee he played at where they forced over plates of deep-fried Oreos until they about burst. Izzy arranged all his lighting, diffusers, and rods to prepare the family photo arrangement in the kitchen, involving glasses of whiskey, Moleskines, and instruments. While The Bear sketched an arrangement for the “look” of the piece. Curly traded back and forth with Star Wars and Rock ‘N Bock with Puck, before taking a phone call from Lulu who was stuck with a lingering cough. And there was always a little Farside mixed in.
Whether Silverspoon or Snicketts, both tribes are about the same when it comes to the uproar of life. Whether it’s weekly or yearly.
So – shrimp, fried shrimp, hush puppies, fried… cornmeal… stick things, fried cheese, peppers and celery with dip, sparkling cider or wine. And some beef for Puck and myself, who ended up liking the shrimp anyway. Probably mostly because Gloria told him it tasted like a French fry, which is a rare case in this young chap’s life.
As usual, Relevance and Kitts were leaving to spend a few hours rehearsing for the annual church musical exhibition at the South’s church. So they were gone right before four o’clock. Rose sent me a photo of the gold and blood-red of the Basilica again. She had taken the girls earlier in the afternoon…
“It was loud,” was her only comment.
And of course I spent almost the entire day wrapping up another ten stamps in Dad’s endless family line, and switching over to add to The Bear’s for awhile as well. After The Bear’s… I am done. No more rambling French and Welsh lines with names no one can pronounce.
The boys bluegrass-ed together at the counter – the corner of which had almost snapped off when Izzy hopped across the top to adjust camera equipment during the photo. Swapped music… Gloria and Puck bundled down to watch Elf. So did most of the rest of the family, while Theodore finished the last of the sanding on the bed in the basement. [Sometimes I think he’s Ron Swanson.] And before I knew it, 6:30 rolled in, and it was time to go.
The Bear left again from home at nine o’clock. Red Strike was back from his own Christmas celebration in Texas, and needed a ride from the airport.