I love that morning-after-the-holiday
feeling. The pressure is off, though I readily admit with Lisa preparing the
feast, I was under little pressure. Maybe it’s anticipation that adds a bit of spice
to the holiday—waiting for company, waiting for the meal. Anyway, that feeling
is gone by morning, and I feel free to sleep late and sort of float through the
day. Early this morning, a dense fog
contributed to the lazy atmosphere. It has gone now, but the day is cloudy and uninspiring.
I may not have had
the hostess pressure yesterday, but I do want to protest that I did my part for
the meal. Because I asked how I could help from a sitting position, I got the great
privilege of peeling apples and potatoes. When Lisa plunked the bag of apples
down in front of me, I asked weakly, “All those apples?” She smiled (a bit mischievously)
and said, ‘Yep.” And do realize how many potatoes it takes for mashed potatoes
for thirteen? I’m now even more in favor of mashing red potatoes with the skins
on!
Dinner was traditional
and so good—I think I forget from holiday to holiday how much I like turkey and
gravy. And Lisa, despite being a Texan, made ‘northern” white-bread stuffing—my
favorite dish perhaps of the whole meal. An updated version of green bean casserole,
homemade cranberry sauce, pistachio salad, and rolls. All wonderful. And of
course it had been preceded by bountiful appetizers—a vegetable platter, a
sausage-and-cheese platter, a French onion dip, hummus, guacamole—need I go on?
I haven’t yet had a
piece of apple pie. After dinner, which we ate about 3:30, I suddenly found
myself alone in the dining room—I think boys had gone to watch football and the
ladies to see Lisa’s parents’ new house. Turkey had worked its proverbial
effect, aided by a bit of wine, and made me sleepy. Plus the a/c was running
full steam, and I was freezing—my internal thermometer does not sync with the
rest of this family. So, full and sleepy, I snuck off for a nap. After a bit, I
was vaguely aware of the hum of conversation of many voices but too comfortable
and cozy to rouse myself. Two hours later, I joined everyone, just as some
guests were leaving. I’d totally missed dessert.
Among the guests
was a longtime friend of Colin’s—they tended bar together in their salad days—and
his wife and two teenage sons. Alirio, a native of Colombia, just retired after
twenty-two years with the Border Patrol. Somehow, after my nap, I ended up at
the now-clear dining table with those two—lots of catching up to do, but we also
talked about everything from raising kids to politics. For at least two hours. Serious
discussion, interspersed with bits of humor—no, Alirio, I did not “yell” at you
all those years ago for speaking Spanish at the dinner table, when I was trying
to encourage Central American students to speak English. I gently suggested.
It was the kind of
sustained exchange of ideas I think you only have with people you don’t see
often. I did ask once if Alirio had anything to do with immigrant caravans, and
he put his head in his hands and said, “It was horrible, horrible.” After a
minute, he added, “Still is.” I didn’t pursue it.
One big takeaway for
me: Colin and I, though basically in agreement, look at things from different
perspectives: he, once a science major and now involved in big business, looks
at process and results, whereas I, after a lifetime in the humanities, focus on
the human aspect of politics, as well as everything else. It was an evening
that will long stick in my mind, and a thoroughly good holiday.
My hope is your
holiday, whatever, wherever, and with whoever, was equally rich.
