Family – Great Caeser's Ghost

Thanksgiving for the Memories

“Pardon me, if I’m sentimental” – Elvis

I’m generally not a sentimental person in the real world, though I can be maudlin here, but there’s something about the time change and the change in the weather that draws my mind backward in the fall.

When I was a kid, after holiday meals, the men would move to the table in my Mema’s dining room and play a four-person domino game called 42. That game meant a lot to my dad. No doubt it had been a rite of passage for him when he first got to join the game. In my mind, I can see them all still at the little card table; my dad with his granddad, brother and uncle, with a couple of my dad’s cousins standing behind them waiting to join the next hand. I can hear the dominoes tapping the table, the laughter and joyful sound of the men’s voices.

A while back I had a dream that I was in Mema’s living room watching the men play 42 in the other room. Then the room was empty. Then the house was empty, and I was alone. I was sad that they’d never play 42 again, these men who are all now gone. Right before I woke, Mema’s voice told me that I should be happy that it happened, not sad that it won’t happen again.

If you’ve been to this site, you know that Thanksgiving is my high holy day. I’ve had it every way, from large family gatherings to completely alone. The last 23 years, I’ve had it with my own little family, mostly in our own home, though sometimes not. Once we even spent Thanksgiving at Disney World. This year we’ll be celebrating on a different day altogether to accommodate our growing family. If I’m being honest, that small change was, at first, upsetting. That’s more an issue of me becoming a stubborn old man than anything else. I am self-aware enough to have checked that and adjusted course. Now that we’re into November, I’m filled with thanks that we’ll all be together, regardless of the date on the calendar or day of the week.

Here’s what I’ve learned. Everything passes. You never know which Thanksgiving will be the last. Every Thanksgiving is the last in its own way, just as every one is new. For this year’s feast and for every feast I have the privilege of joining in the future, I will be thankful, regardless of the inevitable changes life will bring. And when I’m gone, I want those I love to be happy that it happened, not sad that it won’t happen again.

Move forward. Be thankful. Let’s eat.

Thanksgiving Unstructured Commentary 2017

I was perusing my Thanksgiving posts from the last several years and adding them to a new category called “Thanksgiving” so they’d be more easily searchable for me. Unfortunately, adding the new category and updating added them all to my Twitter feed. My apologies to the four people who follow that feed. Though, likely, it’s not the same four people who follow this. So they’ll never know I apologized. Oh well, enough about them. This is about us.

In last year’s post, I mentioned that the annual harvest had been “a bag of dicks”. That was ugly! I’d say I’m feeling more positive this year. 12 month’s ago, I, like many normal humans, was concerned about what the future would be like with our new insane president. Fortunately, it turns out, life is exactly the same. Well, the news is different, but the actual day-to-day part of life seems unchanged. That’s good enough, right? Let’s celebrate with a feast!

Thanksgiving feast is the only feast officially recognized by this blog. I eat until I’m sick 176 times per year, but this is the big one. This one is planned. It’s also the one time a year that I’m voluntarily social. I would be fine with a hundred people in our home for that one day only, provided most of them leave pretty quickly after eating. I wouldn’t go to someone else’s home to be with those people. Let’s not be crazy. But I’ll share our food with them in the comfort of my own home… because I know all the places I can hide if I get uncomfortable.

This year we have the added benefit of our college bound son coming home for the whole week. This is the beginning of the next stage in life. The one that eventually develops into adding a daughter in law and then grandchildren into the mix. We’ve already had “the talk”. The one about making sure any woman he dates doesn’t have conflicting Thanksgiving traditions. That’s a deal breaker for us, and we would destroy her.

So there you go. The year has been better than bag of dicks, we’re all getting older and while it’s not completely impossible, it’s probably unlikely that we’ll all die in a nuclear holocaust any time soon. Let’s eat!

Thanksgiving in 2016

Generations from now, when historians look back on 2016, they’ll agree that it can eat a bag of dicks. This year’s harvest was a steaming pile of crap. Regardless, we’ll give thanks tomorrow and celebrate with a feast.

As a nation, we normally gather on Thanksgiving in large diverse groups of friends and family. We smile and nod at racist uncles and Fox News repeaters, indulge vegan cousins and ignore goth nieces. A large enough dose of tryptophan makes everything a little more tolerable. This year, however, many will gather in smaller like minded groups. Some won’t join any gathering at all. The weeks’ old wounds of election day are still too raw for tolerance to be allowed back in our homes.

I often wonder about Thanksgiving in 1963. President Kennedy was killed on the Friday before Thanksgiving. He’d already pardoned a turkey. Right before Thanksgiving is a shit time to die. What’s worse is he was on his way to lunch. I’m very structured about meal times. I would have been thinking about what I was having for lunch at that time of day, and at that time of November, I’d have been daydreaming of the coming feast. Maybe presidents have more to worry about, but maybe they don’t. Maybe the personal tragedy of November 22, 1963 is that a man was robbed of life, lunch and Thanksgiving feast. I’ve heard stories of some pretty horrible things said in the immediate aftermath of the Kennedy assassination. That must have been an uncomfortable year to share a table with people who had wicked words in their mouths.

There’s no moral to this stream of consciousness. If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that you don’t need to make a point. Also a bag of dicks is a lot uglier than anyone could have dreamed.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Love and Marriage and Friends and Food and Booze

Lisa and I are driving to San Antonio tomorrow, or as they say in Larry McMurtry novels, Santone. (I’m not telling you this so you can rob our house while we’re out. Only seven people ever read my blog. So if we get robbed, it’s going to be a pretty short suspect list.) We’re going for the wedding of one of my oldest friends. He and I both come from Fort Worth. He lives near San Antonio now. The place he and his fiance chose for their wedding, coincidentally happens to be the same Bed and Breakfast Lisa and I were married in mumble mumble years ago. When he told me they were getting married at a B&B in San Antonio, I asked which one, just out of curiosity. When he told me, I had to search my mental records to be sure it was the same place. It was a it’s-a-small-world moment. (Not the ride… that would be a crappy moment.)

I’m actually looking forward to this wedding. I usually hate weddings, but I prefer them to graduations. My preference for social gatherings goes in this order from most to least preferable; adult parties, weddings, funerals, graduations, children’s birthday parties. The ranking is influenced by the presence of alcohol, cake (wedding cake is far superior to birthday cake) and children. If you’re weird enough to want me at your child’s birthday party, you’ll be required to host an open bar and significantly decrease the number of children attending. You’ll also have to live with the knowledge that I’d rather be at your funeral.

Going to San Antonio is always a treat. If I can’t be at home, and I can’t be at Disney World, I’d like to be in San Antonio. If I was going to live any other place it would be there. Lisa and I used to go down there a few times a year. I proposed in Gruene, and like I said already, we were married in San Antonio. We’ve been to the Alamo a few times. We got drunk at the bar in the Menger Hotel where Teddy Roosevelt recruited many of his Rough Riders in 1898. And we’ve spent hours on the River Walk and in the Mercado.

I’m also looking forward to is seeing two of my oldest friends. We’ve put some miles between us, so we all get together very rarely. And as we get older the occasions of our reunions aren’t always happy ones. It’ll be nice to see them at a celebratory time, to share a few meals and a few drinks and a few days. Speaking of meals and drinks, Lisa and I have been living la vida low carb for a few weeks. So it’s going to be blissful to binge on carbs and booze for three straight days. I intend to get diabetes and cirrhosis by Sunday.

Most of all I’m looking forward to hanging out with my wife. I know, weird, right? I work with a man whose job requires him to be at work from 8 to 5 weekdays; however, he comes in as early as 6:30 or 7 and stays until 6:30. He mentioned the other day that he gets up at 3 every morning to go for a short run on the treadmill and do his other morning stuff (without knowing what else he does, let’s assume it’s chronic masturbation) and get to work early. His wife works from home and they have no children. His self imposed unnecessarily onerous work schedule would indicate he doesn’t like to be around his wife. He’s up and out the door so early she can’t possibly be up yet. And if he’s getting up at 3 every morning, he can’t be staying up late. So he’s getting in nearly in time for bed. Did I mention he golfs? Yeah, he goes golfing on the weekends. You’re wondering what this has to do with me and Lisa hanging out together. It’s this, my life couldn’t be more different. Lisa is my best friend. I look forward to seeing her every day. I look forward to hearing about her day. I like hanging out with her, whether it’s just around the house, on the town or in a car for five hours. I get excited when she texts or calls. We joke all the time about how we don’t have any couple friends. She says it’s because we’re antisocial. Just reading that sentence, you know that can’t work. We can’t be antisocial. Our love of each other disproves that. The fact is we’re a couple of happy introverts. Yes… and I’m antisocial.

What I wish for my friend is a marriage like mine. I hope this weekend that he says his vows to his best friend. I hope he rushes home from work to be with her. I hope he looks forward to their routine trips to the grocery store. I hope their love fills every hole in his life. Also, I hope the cake is good.

Finding my Mojo

I met Lisa in the summer of 2002. Jacob had just turned three. I never had any children of my own, and I had no real experience with kids. I was about to turn thirty, and outside of my first marriage, which lasted four years, I’d mostly been independent. For the purpose of this blog post, independent means single and self absorbed. Picture Hugh Grant in “About a Boy” only uglier and with a smaller budget. I was an island.

What I didn’t know about kids at the time could have filled a library. One of the things I didn’t know was they’re always chucking their most beloved possessions out of car windows or into animal habitats at the zoo. Then they’re devastated because they’ve lost whatever item they just threw away. Even back then I was wise enough to know toddlers aren’t smart, but that kind of behavior indicates a special level of not smart.

One day, shortly after we started dating, Lisa called to tell me Jacob had tossed his stuffed Mojo Jojo toy out of her car window on the way to daycare, and he was heartbroken. Now we’re into comfortable territory for me, problem solving.

Problem: Toy has been tossed out the window of a moving car.
Challenge: Replace toy.
Risk of Failure: Low
Reward Potential: Huge
Difficulty Level: 5

Challenge Accepted!

The next day was Saturday, and I set out on my journey. I went to Toys R Us to buy a new Mojo Jojo. FAIL. I tried Wal-Mart. FAIL. So I called Lisa and probed a little on the origin of Mojo Jojo. It turns out one of Jacob’s grandparents had pulled the toy from a claw-machine while on a road trip.

Revised Problem: Tossed Toy came from a claw machine in another town.
Challenge: Find the same toy in a claw machine locally.
Risk of Failure: Medium
Reward Potential: Still Huge
Difficulty Level: 7

Challenge Accepted!

So I hit every pizza place, family-friendly restaurant and bowling alley within ten miles of my apartment. I’d park, go in, check the claw machine contents and leave. FAIL. FAIL. FAIL.

That night I picked up Lisa to take her out. I asked her to show me where Mojo met his fate. We drove to the place, and there in the gutter was the beat up, wet, stuffed little green monkey. We had found Mojo Jojo. I didn’t want Jacob to be reunited with a filthy toy. So after our date, I took Mojo back to my apartment and ran him through the washer and dryer. The next day I brought him to Jacob. I handed the toddler his long lost friend and awaited my reward. Imagine the joy on a child’s face on Christmas morning at finding a puppy under the tree. Jacob’s reaction was the polar opposite of that. He couldn’t have cared less.

So I kept the damn toy, and Lisa and Jacob kept me. We’ve all been together more than a decade now. Jacob has called me Dad for most of that time. We are a happy little family. And I keep Mojo Jojo in my study to remind me of why I left my island.

“Every man is an island. And I stand by that. But clearly, some men are part of island chains. Below the surface of the ocean they’re actually connected.”

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