Madam and I just got our Thanksgiving dinner food assignments. I’m in charge of bread, and she’s responsible for stuffing and sweet potatoes. Along with our menu instructions came a friendly Post It Note advising that we better not tamper with tried and true holiday favorites. In other words, don’t show up with a pumpkin prune stollen or herb stuffing topped with artichokes and burning nettle. Apparently our host is wary of any highly experimental food or merriment.
This message prompted a deja vu moment for me. A few years ago something similar happened when Madam’s cousin Irene suggested that the family celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve. In previous years, we’d opened gifts and enjoyed our traditional meal on Christmas day. If I’m not mistaken, Irene also tinkered with the menu that year. She substituted jellied cranberry sauce for the whole berry version. In fact, she might even have parked the Christmas tree in a different spot to free the living room so guests could enjoy the fireplace.
For the next five years, every member of Madam’s family recalled the year Irene ruined Christmas. A kind and generous woman who sends me holiday boxes of Harriet and Davis colossal carrots had dared to fiddle with the familiar. Nobody let her forget that little indiscretion.
This set me to thinking about the matter of traditions. I once held a favorite tradition of demolishing my turnout blankets. These are the cozy rugs that horses wear when the weather gets nippy. Then I moved to Minnesota. One winter sporting nothing but my skivvies made a blanket believer out of me. Then there was the issue of horse trailers. I used to think those things were made for cattle and companion goats. That was until I missed my book party at the Saint Paul Saints baseball game, due to my resistance to the mode of transportation. Since that evening, my Comfy Sundowner trailer has become the centerpiece of my daily escapades.
So, It’s safe to say that change, especially messing around with favorite customs, troubles most of us. Yet, here I am, evidence of our ability to adapt. I’m a new man wearing a Rambo blanket and touring the countryside in My Comfy Sundowner. Now all we have to do it convince Madam’s Fluff Muffin cat that a little alteration of the menu could do him good.
My Mom used to try and change Christmas every year. She would say, “Let’s go rent a cabin up in the snow for Christmas this year.” To which we would all yelp our hearty approval of a white Christmas. Then she would utter the words that killed the deal every year: “Instead of presents.”
It seems as if every year some misguided soul comes up with that “instead of presents” stuff. ARG!
Can I feel badly for Irene? I feel as if I have been in that same boat on one or two occasions!
Indeed you can. It’s amazing how many people can tell the same story! Kids will hold you accountable for the rest of your life!
Yes, messing with the Thanksgiving stuffing is a no-no.
Ah, yes. You know exactly what I’m talking about. No pumpkin prune stollens will show up at your house on Thursday!
You can always give it to me. I’ll try anything like that at least once.
Ok. I won’t go horsin’ around with the yams; they will be candied, with marshmallows. For as it was written shall it ever so be.
I think you are absolutely right Jeb. For as it was written… Ha!
Loved this, Mary! Unlike your family, I happen to be a fan of the jellied cranberry sauce and have been know to descend into a deep funk on Thanksgiving if the other, healthier kind is on the table and the only option. I usually get over it quickly but not because I’m spiritually centered or magnanimous. It’s because I have a really bad memory.
Isn’t grand to recognize ourselves in all this silly stuff? Somehow it’s easier to accept when it comes from a horse.