Gentle Readers,
The holidays are upon us once again. Mockingjay, Part I will be opening on Thanksgiving. This gave me food for thought:
Don't be a volunteer for The Dysfunction Games this holiday season.
I read "The Hunger Games," the first of a trilogy by Suzanne Collins, but did not read the other two books. I read it for a neighborhood book club composed of mostly stay-at-home moms. We were planning to read both "The Hunger Games" and the second book, "Catching Fire." I couldn't get past "The Hunger Games." I was deeply disturbed by the idea of young people being chosen as "tributes" to kill other young people until only one was left standing. I was even more disturbed by the fact that this was considered a YA novel and was being assigned in our local schools.
The stay-at-home moms loved the books. I questioned their taste and never returned to the group.
If you've read "The Hunger Games" or saw the movie, you know the hunger games portrayed in the movie are rivaled in real life by what I would call The Dysfunction Games: The weird, awkward, and oftentimes offensive social interactions that occur during the holidays when families with dysfunctional behavior and unresolved issues try to socialize in spite of their behavior and issues.
Truth be told, many folks participating in The Dysfunction Games don't know they're dysfunctional. They have no filters, no sense of boundaries, and/or no manners. And they're totally unaware, bless their hearts. They're old enough to know better but too old to be raised better than they were. All you can do is pray for them. And avoid them.
Then there are the folks I would call "The Volunteers." Like the protagonist in "The Hunger Games," Katniss Everdeen, they volunteer to be all up in the game. Like Katniss, they know the game is wrong, evil, and offensive. Unlike Katniss, they go in thinking they can change the game, i.e., get dysfunctional people to behave like they're not dysfunctional or, even worse, to see the dysfunction of their ways.
Don't be a volunteer. You ain't Katniss Everdeen. Here's why.
Katniss volunteered for The Hunger Games for a higher purpose -- to keep her younger sister from being killed in the games -- and with an edge -- superior skills as an archer. Even if you have a higher purpose, i.e., to keep Aunt Mae-Mae from slapping the piss out of Cousin Mookie -- you probably don't have the superior skills necessary to make this work. Unless you're a psychiatrist, psychologist, licensed clinical social worker or counselor, you do not have the skills to succeed in The Dysfunction Games. You need to sit your behind on the bench and just watch.
However, the most important skill to have is to know when you're volunteering. Did someone actually ask you to intervene between Aunt Mae-Mae and Cousin Mookie? Even if you were asked, did you decline? If your answer to either of these questions is "no," you're a volunteer.
Don't be. It's only going to get worse. Inevitably, someone will get drunk and start telling all the family secrets about affairs and the questionable paternity of some of your relatives. Trust me, you ain't Katniss Everdeen. You do not have an edge in The Dysfunction Games.
Happy Holidays. May the odds be ever in your favor.
Showing posts with label Thanksgiving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thanksgiving. Show all posts
Let's Stop Flipping Thanksgiving the Bird
I had a great Thanksgiving yesterday. The meal I cooked wasn't up to my standards, but it was more than made up for by the good company and conversation around the dinner table. However, you couldn't watch anything on TV without being bombarded with Black Friday ads, most of which were really about Thursday night shopping. Thanksgiving has been turned into yet another American "shopportunity."
We Americans have joined corporate America in flipping Thanksgiving the bird.
Sure, there have always been stores that stayed open during Thanksgiving, but they were grocery stores that stayed open to give an assist to harried home cooks trying to put on a great meal for their families. They weren't clothing and electronic stores trying to push Black Friday ever more closer into to Thanksgiving or just straight up intruding on Thanksgiving.
After Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) and I drove ahead of our Thanksgiving guests after dinner to help them find their way out of the maze that is our subdivision, we decided to drive by our local Target to see if people were that bereft of family or food that they would camp out at 7:30 pm on Thanksgiving just to shop early. They were and they did. I thought people here would have little bit more sense, but our Target had a line snaking around the front of the property. They were probably amped up on lattes from our local Starbucks, which closed for only four hours on Thanksgiving and re-opened Thanksgiving evening to service Black Friday shoppers.
BMNB is especially offended by the Black Friday tsunami into Thanksgiving because he really enjoys Thanksgiving. One, it's a food holiday, and BMNB loves food. Two, it's a family holiday, and he loves family even more than food. Three, Thanksgiving usually falls on or around his birthday. It's a joy trifecta for him. We couldn't even focus on preparing for and savoring Thanksgiving because all the stores skipped straight from Halloween to Christmas. Thanksgiving was just a passing thought for retailers. I couldn't even find decorations to make a decent Thanksgiving centerpiece because they were all gone the week before Thanksgiving.
Give me a flippin' break! Are flat screens and iPads more important than family, food, and fellowship? Really, America? Really?
Although I think Black Friday is an exercise in wretched excess, I'm willing to overlook the hype and the overload of ads if we just keep Black Friday to Friday and leave Thanksgiving alone. Corporate America can't succeed in pushing Black Friday into Thanksgiving if we just refuse to leave our dinner tables and our guests.
Let's stop flipping Thanksgiving the bird, America.
P.S. Happy 50th Birthday, BMNB!
We Americans have joined corporate America in flipping Thanksgiving the bird.
Sure, there have always been stores that stayed open during Thanksgiving, but they were grocery stores that stayed open to give an assist to harried home cooks trying to put on a great meal for their families. They weren't clothing and electronic stores trying to push Black Friday ever more closer into to Thanksgiving or just straight up intruding on Thanksgiving.
After Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB) and I drove ahead of our Thanksgiving guests after dinner to help them find their way out of the maze that is our subdivision, we decided to drive by our local Target to see if people were that bereft of family or food that they would camp out at 7:30 pm on Thanksgiving just to shop early. They were and they did. I thought people here would have little bit more sense, but our Target had a line snaking around the front of the property. They were probably amped up on lattes from our local Starbucks, which closed for only four hours on Thanksgiving and re-opened Thanksgiving evening to service Black Friday shoppers.
BMNB is especially offended by the Black Friday tsunami into Thanksgiving because he really enjoys Thanksgiving. One, it's a food holiday, and BMNB loves food. Two, it's a family holiday, and he loves family even more than food. Three, Thanksgiving usually falls on or around his birthday. It's a joy trifecta for him. We couldn't even focus on preparing for and savoring Thanksgiving because all the stores skipped straight from Halloween to Christmas. Thanksgiving was just a passing thought for retailers. I couldn't even find decorations to make a decent Thanksgiving centerpiece because they were all gone the week before Thanksgiving.
Give me a flippin' break! Are flat screens and iPads more important than family, food, and fellowship? Really, America? Really?
Although I think Black Friday is an exercise in wretched excess, I'm willing to overlook the hype and the overload of ads if we just keep Black Friday to Friday and leave Thanksgiving alone. Corporate America can't succeed in pushing Black Friday into Thanksgiving if we just refuse to leave our dinner tables and our guests.
Let's stop flipping Thanksgiving the bird, America.
P.S. Happy 50th Birthday, BMNB!
Give Perfection The Finger
I can't make gravy. And I don't care.
I'm not fond of sweet potato pie, either, and I don't make any at all. Way too much competition and way too many critics in black families for that, which is why I don't make gumbo, either.
Chitlins? As if.
But I do make some mean dinner rolls from scratch, if I do say so myself. In fact, there's not much in the way of baked goods with yeast that I can't do if I put my mind to it. If there's yeast involved, I'm your girl.
Wait. That didn't come out right. But you get my drift.
In other words, I'm not your quintessential Martha Stewart or Patti Labelle -- women who seemed to be blessed with a multitude of talents they perform with equal excellence. Some things I'm good at; others, not so much. And I no longer care. I've given perfection the finger, and so should you.
You see, I haven't lead the typical female life in America. I didn't settle down with some guy right after college and start having kids. There are many skills I would have been forced to acquire had my life taken that turn, like making gravy and soothing colicky babies. But it didn't. Instead, I traveled, worked hard, and dated for, oh, about twenty or so years. I have no regrets.
And I'm not alone. My best friend can kick butt at trial, get your company's diversity and inclusion program up and running from scratch, produce plays, and organize fundraisers that will take a non-profit's balance sheet from red to black. But cook? Not on your life. She's proud of it, and so am I. She is the daughter of a caterer. Why learn to cook when you've got professional grade food at the ready? She focused her energies on her talents and developed them well -- extremely well. Cooking just wasn't one of them. To this day, she refers to me as "one of them cookin' bitches" (because I actually attempt to cook) and says about holiday meals, "That's what caterers are for." I agree.
Look, life doesn't give everybody everything. There are things I can do that not a lot of people can do, like write an appellate brief that can make your dog of a case sound compelling, or run a winning political campaign. Conversely, there are things a lot of people can do that I can't, like make gravy. And at this stage in my life, especially as the holiday season approaches, I'm at peace with this. I've given perfection the finger, and so should you.
Mind you, your imperfections are manna from heaven for your haters. They will publicize and celebrate them. "Do you know the girl can't even make gravy?" I can already hear it. But I don't care. I'm giving perfection, and them, the finger. And so should you.
So if you burn the turkey this year, guess what? Flip that bird the bird. And keep steppin'. That's what caterers, or rather, Boston Market, is for. They make gravy, too.
If you're still beating yourself up and trying to pursue perfection, remember this: Beyonce can't cook. Clearly, she's given perfection the finger, too, and I adore her for it. She's put her life's energies into her true talents. That's something we should encourage all of our daughters to do, no matter where that leads them, because in the end, they'll be happy, even if they aren't perfect or can't make gravy.
Happy Thanksgiving!
I'm not fond of sweet potato pie, either, and I don't make any at all. Way too much competition and way too many critics in black families for that, which is why I don't make gumbo, either.
Chitlins? As if.
But I do make some mean dinner rolls from scratch, if I do say so myself. In fact, there's not much in the way of baked goods with yeast that I can't do if I put my mind to it. If there's yeast involved, I'm your girl.
Wait. That didn't come out right. But you get my drift.
In other words, I'm not your quintessential Martha Stewart or Patti Labelle -- women who seemed to be blessed with a multitude of talents they perform with equal excellence. Some things I'm good at; others, not so much. And I no longer care. I've given perfection the finger, and so should you.
You see, I haven't lead the typical female life in America. I didn't settle down with some guy right after college and start having kids. There are many skills I would have been forced to acquire had my life taken that turn, like making gravy and soothing colicky babies. But it didn't. Instead, I traveled, worked hard, and dated for, oh, about twenty or so years. I have no regrets.
And I'm not alone. My best friend can kick butt at trial, get your company's diversity and inclusion program up and running from scratch, produce plays, and organize fundraisers that will take a non-profit's balance sheet from red to black. But cook? Not on your life. She's proud of it, and so am I. She is the daughter of a caterer. Why learn to cook when you've got professional grade food at the ready? She focused her energies on her talents and developed them well -- extremely well. Cooking just wasn't one of them. To this day, she refers to me as "one of them cookin' bitches" (because I actually attempt to cook) and says about holiday meals, "That's what caterers are for." I agree.
Look, life doesn't give everybody everything. There are things I can do that not a lot of people can do, like write an appellate brief that can make your dog of a case sound compelling, or run a winning political campaign. Conversely, there are things a lot of people can do that I can't, like make gravy. And at this stage in my life, especially as the holiday season approaches, I'm at peace with this. I've given perfection the finger, and so should you.
Mind you, your imperfections are manna from heaven for your haters. They will publicize and celebrate them. "Do you know the girl can't even make gravy?" I can already hear it. But I don't care. I'm giving perfection, and them, the finger. And so should you.
So if you burn the turkey this year, guess what? Flip that bird the bird. And keep steppin'. That's what caterers, or rather, Boston Market, is for. They make gravy, too.
If you're still beating yourself up and trying to pursue perfection, remember this: Beyonce can't cook. Clearly, she's given perfection the finger, too, and I adore her for it. She's put her life's energies into her true talents. That's something we should encourage all of our daughters to do, no matter where that leads them, because in the end, they'll be happy, even if they aren't perfect or can't make gravy.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Your Holiday Survival Manifesto and Mantras
The holidays are coming, and they usually entail spending a great deal of time with family members you may not see on a regular basis, perhaps because you choose not to. For some, holiday time with the fam is a blessing; for others, a curse. For those of you feeling cursed right about now, BWB's got your Holiday Survival Manifesto and accompanying mantras to get you through the holidays without your having to ask someone to post bail on your behalf.
First, the Manifesto. There are some simple realities of family life that we all need to remember around this time of year. In the words of my sister, The Writing Diva, I'd like to think of each of them as a holiday "slap upside da hed." Here goes:
1. To borrow from Donald Rumsfeld, you don't go into the holidays with the family you want; you go into the holidays with the family you have. Spending countless hours huddled around a large table over a perfectly (or imperfectly) roasted dead bird and cholesterol-enhancing side dishes isn't going to change your family into the Cosbys, which leads me to my next slap:
2) Past is prologue. If Aunt Sadie Mae acted a fool last Thanksgiving, well, guess what? She's probably going to act a fool this Thanksgiving. For you, it's drama; for her, it's an encore performance. Either way, it's coming. This leads me to my next slap:
3) Expectation is the mother of disappointment. If you expect people to act differently than they always have, you're doomed to be disappointed. No expectations, no disappointment. See how that works? I have a relative who once complained to me about another relative he didn't want to have over for holiday dinners because she always got drunk and it annoyed him. My response: Stop expecting her to do anything other than what she's always done. If you stop expecting her to be sober, you won't be disappointed when she isn't. Not serving any alcohol might help, too.
4) Unless you raised them or or abused them, your relatives' dysfunction is neither your fault nor your problem. During the holidays, in the spirit of charity and good cheer, we often take on the problems and dysfunction of folks not of our own creation, often to our own detriment. Stop with that. Right now, I said. Besides, even assuming these dysfunctional folks could be fixed, you sure ain't gonna fix them over the holidays because there's simply not enough time.
5) You are not "Save The Children," and you don't have to feed the world. Money is tight and time is even tighter. Everybody needs to pitch in and help to make Thanksgiving dinner "accessible" to everyone who's coming. Instead of footing the bill by yourself for some mondo Thanksgiving dinner, hold a potluck and make everybody bring something, even if it's just two liters of Coke. It's a recession, you ain't Donald Trump, and neither am I, so let's stop fronting, shall we?
Now the mantras. Invariably, there are situations that will occur during the holidays that will make you want to take your guns out of the gun safe (You do have a gun safe, don't you?). Don't do that. Instead, recite and live these mantras or the duration of the holidays:
1) I will prepare myself as much as possible. That means having a game plan going into Thanksgiving, in particular. If you're hosting, plan your menu, stick to your plans, be the biyatch, and tell everybody else what they're going to do or bring in language that makes it sound like you 're asking them to do it. Starting off with the Southern sweeteners such as "sugar" and "honey" might help, as in, "Sugar, you make the best damned sweet potato pie. Think you might be able to bring one to Thanksgiving dinner? I'd surely 'preciate it if you could. You know Mama just loves your pie." Or, "Honey, could you help me clear the table so we can play Pokeno?" You know how to do this, especially if you're a married woman. Do your thing.
2) I will not let the perfect get in the way of the good. Mess up the turkey? So what. When's the last time you cooked a turkey, anyway? Don't let the perfect get in the way of the good. Do what you can to fix it (one year, I had to roll through Boston Market at the last minute because I totally blew the turkey, but they hooked me up), but get on with the holiday and enjoy yourself. There are no medals for a perfect dinner, anyway.
3) I will not take personally anything anyone says about me. Inevitably, Cousin Shanice, whom you suspect has an eating disorder and/or a weave but you can't prove either, is going to make some comment about your weight, your hair, etc., that will usually start off with the falsely familiar endearment "girl," as in "Girl, you sho have put on some weight. Hmm, hmm, hmm!" You will show Cousin Shanice grace and not take personally anything she says about you. Remember that most snarky criticism comes from people who have far more severe personal issues than you can even imagine, e.g., inability to keep down food or grow their own crop of hair. Your happiness just kills them, so smile in their faces and party like it's 1999.
4) I will not respond negatively to stupid stuff. Then again, there's always that one person who decides that Thanksgiving is the time to share news of stuff they should not be proud of but don't have the good sense to be ashamed of. For example, people who should not be repopulating the earth tend to break news of an impending birth around this time. You know these people -- men with more baby mamas than they can count on one hand, women whose children have been taken away from them by the state. Your natural instinct is to slap them upside the head and say, "Fool, you need another child like you need a hole in the head." The problem is that, deep down inside, they know this. You telling them this and responding negatively is only going to raise your blood pressure, not theirs, because they're too stupid to know they shouldn't be proud. In fact, I'm counseling you to do the opposite: Indulge them. Yep, I said it. Indulge them. Ask about the baby's due date, whether they've chosen a name, if they're having a baby shower. Join in their misguided excitement. But don't you volunteer to host that baby shower or I will personally come and slap you upside da hed.
5) I will not let anyone mistreat my children, especially in their own home. This comes with some caveats, however. During the holidays, people who have not seen your children for a while might feel free to make undue comments about their appearance, etc. Now, if these comments are directed to a girl entering puberty, you definitely need to play defense and play it fast, especially if they're coming from an older adult male. Give the offending party notice that your child is sensitive about whatever -- her budding breasts, his growth spurt, etc. -- and that you'd appreciate it if they'd leave the topic alone. If the offending party keeps coming with the remarks, you need to pull them to the side and tell them to shut the eff up and, if you're in your home, tell them they need to go home. No child should be verbally assaulted in his or her own home.
Now, there are some caveats. If you're a guest and a parent, you don't get to take a parenting vacation and let your children run wild in someone else's house, and I don't care whose house it is. You need to keep your children well-behaved and under control because they aren't anyone else's responsibility but your own. Bring books, games, whatever, but it's your job to keep them occupied. As my mom used to say, "You laid up and made them kids. Kids don't ask to be born." So, if someone disciplines your bad-ass child because you didn't take care of it first, well, shame on you.
6) I did not create the dysfunction, and I cannot fix it; therefore, I will sit back and watch it like really bad dinner theater. Chances are, the eff'd up things about your family are not of your own creation. Chances are, you can't fix the dysfunction. Since you didn't cause it and you can't fix it, you might as well pretend that you're at some really bad dinner theater, fill your plate, and sit back and watch as if you don't know these people. Pretend you're invisible and detach yourself from the situation. Trust me, you'll have some good stories to share with your co-workers the following week.
With that, you're prepared for the holidays.
P.S. Happy Birthday, BMNB!
First, the Manifesto. There are some simple realities of family life that we all need to remember around this time of year. In the words of my sister, The Writing Diva, I'd like to think of each of them as a holiday "slap upside da hed." Here goes:
1. To borrow from Donald Rumsfeld, you don't go into the holidays with the family you want; you go into the holidays with the family you have. Spending countless hours huddled around a large table over a perfectly (or imperfectly) roasted dead bird and cholesterol-enhancing side dishes isn't going to change your family into the Cosbys, which leads me to my next slap:
2) Past is prologue. If Aunt Sadie Mae acted a fool last Thanksgiving, well, guess what? She's probably going to act a fool this Thanksgiving. For you, it's drama; for her, it's an encore performance. Either way, it's coming. This leads me to my next slap:
3) Expectation is the mother of disappointment. If you expect people to act differently than they always have, you're doomed to be disappointed. No expectations, no disappointment. See how that works? I have a relative who once complained to me about another relative he didn't want to have over for holiday dinners because she always got drunk and it annoyed him. My response: Stop expecting her to do anything other than what she's always done. If you stop expecting her to be sober, you won't be disappointed when she isn't. Not serving any alcohol might help, too.
4) Unless you raised them or or abused them, your relatives' dysfunction is neither your fault nor your problem. During the holidays, in the spirit of charity and good cheer, we often take on the problems and dysfunction of folks not of our own creation, often to our own detriment. Stop with that. Right now, I said. Besides, even assuming these dysfunctional folks could be fixed, you sure ain't gonna fix them over the holidays because there's simply not enough time.
5) You are not "Save The Children," and you don't have to feed the world. Money is tight and time is even tighter. Everybody needs to pitch in and help to make Thanksgiving dinner "accessible" to everyone who's coming. Instead of footing the bill by yourself for some mondo Thanksgiving dinner, hold a potluck and make everybody bring something, even if it's just two liters of Coke. It's a recession, you ain't Donald Trump, and neither am I, so let's stop fronting, shall we?
Now the mantras. Invariably, there are situations that will occur during the holidays that will make you want to take your guns out of the gun safe (You do have a gun safe, don't you?). Don't do that. Instead, recite and live these mantras or the duration of the holidays:
1) I will prepare myself as much as possible. That means having a game plan going into Thanksgiving, in particular. If you're hosting, plan your menu, stick to your plans, be the biyatch, and tell everybody else what they're going to do or bring in language that makes it sound like you 're asking them to do it. Starting off with the Southern sweeteners such as "sugar" and "honey" might help, as in, "Sugar, you make the best damned sweet potato pie. Think you might be able to bring one to Thanksgiving dinner? I'd surely 'preciate it if you could. You know Mama just loves your pie." Or, "Honey, could you help me clear the table so we can play Pokeno?" You know how to do this, especially if you're a married woman. Do your thing.
2) I will not let the perfect get in the way of the good. Mess up the turkey? So what. When's the last time you cooked a turkey, anyway? Don't let the perfect get in the way of the good. Do what you can to fix it (one year, I had to roll through Boston Market at the last minute because I totally blew the turkey, but they hooked me up), but get on with the holiday and enjoy yourself. There are no medals for a perfect dinner, anyway.
3) I will not take personally anything anyone says about me. Inevitably, Cousin Shanice, whom you suspect has an eating disorder and/or a weave but you can't prove either, is going to make some comment about your weight, your hair, etc., that will usually start off with the falsely familiar endearment "girl," as in "Girl, you sho have put on some weight. Hmm, hmm, hmm!" You will show Cousin Shanice grace and not take personally anything she says about you. Remember that most snarky criticism comes from people who have far more severe personal issues than you can even imagine, e.g., inability to keep down food or grow their own crop of hair. Your happiness just kills them, so smile in their faces and party like it's 1999.
4) I will not respond negatively to stupid stuff. Then again, there's always that one person who decides that Thanksgiving is the time to share news of stuff they should not be proud of but don't have the good sense to be ashamed of. For example, people who should not be repopulating the earth tend to break news of an impending birth around this time. You know these people -- men with more baby mamas than they can count on one hand, women whose children have been taken away from them by the state. Your natural instinct is to slap them upside the head and say, "Fool, you need another child like you need a hole in the head." The problem is that, deep down inside, they know this. You telling them this and responding negatively is only going to raise your blood pressure, not theirs, because they're too stupid to know they shouldn't be proud. In fact, I'm counseling you to do the opposite: Indulge them. Yep, I said it. Indulge them. Ask about the baby's due date, whether they've chosen a name, if they're having a baby shower. Join in their misguided excitement. But don't you volunteer to host that baby shower or I will personally come and slap you upside da hed.
5) I will not let anyone mistreat my children, especially in their own home. This comes with some caveats, however. During the holidays, people who have not seen your children for a while might feel free to make undue comments about their appearance, etc. Now, if these comments are directed to a girl entering puberty, you definitely need to play defense and play it fast, especially if they're coming from an older adult male. Give the offending party notice that your child is sensitive about whatever -- her budding breasts, his growth spurt, etc. -- and that you'd appreciate it if they'd leave the topic alone. If the offending party keeps coming with the remarks, you need to pull them to the side and tell them to shut the eff up and, if you're in your home, tell them they need to go home. No child should be verbally assaulted in his or her own home.
Now, there are some caveats. If you're a guest and a parent, you don't get to take a parenting vacation and let your children run wild in someone else's house, and I don't care whose house it is. You need to keep your children well-behaved and under control because they aren't anyone else's responsibility but your own. Bring books, games, whatever, but it's your job to keep them occupied. As my mom used to say, "You laid up and made them kids. Kids don't ask to be born." So, if someone disciplines your bad-ass child because you didn't take care of it first, well, shame on you.
6) I did not create the dysfunction, and I cannot fix it; therefore, I will sit back and watch it like really bad dinner theater. Chances are, the eff'd up things about your family are not of your own creation. Chances are, you can't fix the dysfunction. Since you didn't cause it and you can't fix it, you might as well pretend that you're at some really bad dinner theater, fill your plate, and sit back and watch as if you don't know these people. Pretend you're invisible and detach yourself from the situation. Trust me, you'll have some good stories to share with your co-workers the following week.
With that, you're prepared for the holidays.
P.S. Happy Birthday, BMNB!
What I'm Thankful For . . .
. . . An Obama presidency. If Sarah Palin had been elected Vice President, I think I would have . . . well, now I don’t have to.
. . . My blog, which is now over a year old. Happy Anniversary to me!
. . . My husband. He never ceases to amaze me. He is the most sanguine, chill person I know who doesn’t smoke weed.
. . . My friends. They suffer my failure to keep in touch and still keep me within their circles. They are the most non-judgmental people I know, although they will check me when I need it.
. . . My new home, the purchase of which has been one of numerous recent distractions keeping me from my blog. Now I’m trying to decide whether I want to work on getting all my younger nieces and nephews into homes of their own, because the wealth transfer that home ownership represents is too enormous for young parents to ignore. Plus, it’s so nice to be able to actually attach contact paper to the shelves, put holes in the wall, and plant whatever I damn well please without having to account to anyone.
. . . My job. I’m not always thrilled by the confrontational aspect of being an attorney, but in these uncertain times, I’d rather be employed. I’ve been unemployed, and it ain’t no party, not by a long shot.
. . . My blessings. For some reason, God continues to bless me even when I don’t expect it and don’t have a clue that a blessing is on its way. I’ve been down to my last few dollars, only to have refund checks I wasn’t expecting arrive in the mail. I agonized about how we would afford to get in our new home, and God sent my husband and me a heavenly mortgage broker who not only got us in, but got us a 30 year-fixed at a great rate. Just when I think I’m on the ropes, He comes through. As my dad always says, He may not come when you call him, but He’s always right on time. Are atheists as blessed, and, if so, to what do they attribute their blessings?
. . . My parents. I look at today's youth, and even at some of my contemporaries, and I can tell that many of them didn't grow up in a two-parent loving home. That's not to say that our family wasn't dysfunctional, but we were lovingly dysfunctional. I think my mom put the "fun" in dysfunctional.
. . . My siblings. I’ve been blessed to have been surrounded by siblings who are smarter, more clever, bolder, and funnier than me. Just talking to them makes me step up my analytical game and teaches me more than I’ve ever taught them or can ever hope to.
. . . My dog. She recently survived cancer and a tail amputation, and although the late-night barking does get on my nerves, the prospect of losing her while moving into our new home was more than I could bear. Since she had been a shelter dog – twice -- I wanted her to have a home of her own, too, as much as I was getting my own home. So if she kills the backyard lawn with her urine, so what? It’s her lawn to kill.
. . . My gifts. For whatever reason, I still have some creativity left that wasn’t drained out of me in my quest to become a lawyer. And no matter how many of my ideas I give away or get stolen from me, I always seem to come up with new ones. And some of them are good, too.
. . . My credit. Quite frankly, I don’t know what my FICO score is, but it was good enough to get BMNB and me into a new house in times of tightened credit. Having good credit is not a substitute for savings, but it is a backstop in difficult times.
. . . Teddy Kennedy’s continued survival. I’m so glad he lived to see Obama elected president. His brother Robert predicted the possibility of an African American president 40 years ago, and if he couldn’t live to see it, at least Teddy did. I hope Senator Kennedy is front and center at the inauguration, along with Caroline Kennedy.
. . .Michelle Obama. Finally, an African American woman who doesn’t fit the stereotype, won’t allow herself to be defined by others, and who has to be taken seriously be virtue of the position she holds. The office of First Lady is never, ever going to be the same.
. . . That I’m not cooking Thanksgiving Dinner. In a just world, women everywhere would sit on their collective behinds and watch Oprah reruns while men slave over hot stoves and ovens stuffing seasoned bread up a turkey’s ass and fretting over the flakiness of their pie crusts . . .
Happy Thanksgiving. And if you’re going to have a Happy Thanksgiving, remember those who aren’t and do a little something for them, too.
. . . My blog, which is now over a year old. Happy Anniversary to me!
. . . My husband. He never ceases to amaze me. He is the most sanguine, chill person I know who doesn’t smoke weed.
. . . My friends. They suffer my failure to keep in touch and still keep me within their circles. They are the most non-judgmental people I know, although they will check me when I need it.
. . . My new home, the purchase of which has been one of numerous recent distractions keeping me from my blog. Now I’m trying to decide whether I want to work on getting all my younger nieces and nephews into homes of their own, because the wealth transfer that home ownership represents is too enormous for young parents to ignore. Plus, it’s so nice to be able to actually attach contact paper to the shelves, put holes in the wall, and plant whatever I damn well please without having to account to anyone.
. . . My job. I’m not always thrilled by the confrontational aspect of being an attorney, but in these uncertain times, I’d rather be employed. I’ve been unemployed, and it ain’t no party, not by a long shot.
. . . My blessings. For some reason, God continues to bless me even when I don’t expect it and don’t have a clue that a blessing is on its way. I’ve been down to my last few dollars, only to have refund checks I wasn’t expecting arrive in the mail. I agonized about how we would afford to get in our new home, and God sent my husband and me a heavenly mortgage broker who not only got us in, but got us a 30 year-fixed at a great rate. Just when I think I’m on the ropes, He comes through. As my dad always says, He may not come when you call him, but He’s always right on time. Are atheists as blessed, and, if so, to what do they attribute their blessings?
. . . My parents. I look at today's youth, and even at some of my contemporaries, and I can tell that many of them didn't grow up in a two-parent loving home. That's not to say that our family wasn't dysfunctional, but we were lovingly dysfunctional. I think my mom put the "fun" in dysfunctional.
. . . My siblings. I’ve been blessed to have been surrounded by siblings who are smarter, more clever, bolder, and funnier than me. Just talking to them makes me step up my analytical game and teaches me more than I’ve ever taught them or can ever hope to.
. . . My dog. She recently survived cancer and a tail amputation, and although the late-night barking does get on my nerves, the prospect of losing her while moving into our new home was more than I could bear. Since she had been a shelter dog – twice -- I wanted her to have a home of her own, too, as much as I was getting my own home. So if she kills the backyard lawn with her urine, so what? It’s her lawn to kill.
. . . My gifts. For whatever reason, I still have some creativity left that wasn’t drained out of me in my quest to become a lawyer. And no matter how many of my ideas I give away or get stolen from me, I always seem to come up with new ones. And some of them are good, too.
. . . My credit. Quite frankly, I don’t know what my FICO score is, but it was good enough to get BMNB and me into a new house in times of tightened credit. Having good credit is not a substitute for savings, but it is a backstop in difficult times.
. . . Teddy Kennedy’s continued survival. I’m so glad he lived to see Obama elected president. His brother Robert predicted the possibility of an African American president 40 years ago, and if he couldn’t live to see it, at least Teddy did. I hope Senator Kennedy is front and center at the inauguration, along with Caroline Kennedy.
. . .Michelle Obama. Finally, an African American woman who doesn’t fit the stereotype, won’t allow herself to be defined by others, and who has to be taken seriously be virtue of the position she holds. The office of First Lady is never, ever going to be the same.
. . . That I’m not cooking Thanksgiving Dinner. In a just world, women everywhere would sit on their collective behinds and watch Oprah reruns while men slave over hot stoves and ovens stuffing seasoned bread up a turkey’s ass and fretting over the flakiness of their pie crusts . . .
Happy Thanksgiving. And if you’re going to have a Happy Thanksgiving, remember those who aren’t and do a little something for them, too.
Avoiding the Holiday Woman Olympics
It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on
"River," Joni Mitchell
Too bad they don't have a song like this for Thanksgiving or the entire holiday season.
Thanksgiving. The beginning of the Woman Olympics.
Don't act like you don't know. In the run-up to Thanksgiving and through New Year's Day, women all across America will be going into hyperdrive to put perfect meals on perfectly set tables for their imperfect, dysfunctional families, as if they will have a place on an Olympic medal stand somewhere if they succeed, whatever success means.
Somehow, somewhere, the ability to put six or more dishes and a perfectly browned turkey (and, in some places, a ham, too) on the table at the same time and temperature on Thanksgiving became a measure of one's womanliness. All hail the holiday cooks, for they shall inherit . . . a bunch of critics. Because you know and I know that no matter how well a woman cooks something, she will be criticized by others, usually other women, who think they can do a better job and who measure their own womanliness by their cooking and other indicia of domesticity. Like your aunt never criticized your mom's sweet potato pie, or your mom never criticized your grandmother's Sock-It-To-Me cake. And, to make it worse, we women do it to ourselves: My gravy isn't as good as so-and-so's; my pie crust isn't as flaky as my mom's; my dinner rolls aren't as light as Aunt Suzie's.
Here's my response, so pay attention:
So what.
Yeah, I said it.
Considering how tight budgets are (and how many of us are on the verge of not even having a home in which to eat Thanksgiving dinner), anyone who gets an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner needs to be extremely grateful, no matter the ability of the cook. Considering that it can costs hundreds of dollars to buy the ingredients for a large (12+) family Thanksgiving (especially if you include liquor), if all someone has to do is bring a bottle of wine in exchange for what is essentially a multi-course free meal, they need to shut up. No criticisms, no suggestions on how the cook, who, more likely than not is a woman, could have "made it better." They need to sit there, eat that dry turkey, and wash it down with that cheap bottle of wine they brought that could never pay for their share of the meal. But, above all, they need to just shut up.
If you're the cook, you should brook no criticism. If someone makes a snarky comment about your dinner, fire up your computer, go to Google maps, and print out a map to the nearest homeless shelter and give it to your ungrateful guest.
And, for you women who, by virtue of hosting Thanksgiving Dinner this year, are effectively competing in this year's Woman Olympics, here's food for thought:
Next year, opt out.
Yeah, I said it.
I'd be willing to bet that, if you're this year's cook, you were probably last year's cook and the year-before-last's cook. Somehow, the person who is willing and able to put on a Thanksgiving dinner will more than likely be expected to put on the next Thanksgiving dinner. And so it goes, and you get stuck, year in, year out.
Opt out. Yes, I know you have children. Yes, I know your parents expect you to do it because your sisters can't cook worth a damn (and more power to them, since they don't define themselves by their cooking) and your brothers would probably never even envision cooking Thanksgiving dinner.
Opt out. Give notice a year in advance. Make alternative plans to take your kids to someone else's house next year and YOU bring the bottle of wine instead. Let your siblings host the dinner for your parents, or take your parents out for dinner. Or, if your kids are grown, let THEM host Thanksgiving Dinner. If they can read, they can cook. Let them have a chance to see how hard it is to do Thanksgiving. They'll be a whole lot more thankful in the future.
Above all, we women need to stop defining ourselves by how well we do Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's Day and all the attendant domestic fanfare, especially when men are measuring their masculinity by how well they belch and fart during bowl games.
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on
"River," Joni Mitchell
Too bad they don't have a song like this for Thanksgiving or the entire holiday season.
Thanksgiving. The beginning of the Woman Olympics.
Don't act like you don't know. In the run-up to Thanksgiving and through New Year's Day, women all across America will be going into hyperdrive to put perfect meals on perfectly set tables for their imperfect, dysfunctional families, as if they will have a place on an Olympic medal stand somewhere if they succeed, whatever success means.
Somehow, somewhere, the ability to put six or more dishes and a perfectly browned turkey (and, in some places, a ham, too) on the table at the same time and temperature on Thanksgiving became a measure of one's womanliness. All hail the holiday cooks, for they shall inherit . . . a bunch of critics. Because you know and I know that no matter how well a woman cooks something, she will be criticized by others, usually other women, who think they can do a better job and who measure their own womanliness by their cooking and other indicia of domesticity. Like your aunt never criticized your mom's sweet potato pie, or your mom never criticized your grandmother's Sock-It-To-Me cake. And, to make it worse, we women do it to ourselves: My gravy isn't as good as so-and-so's; my pie crust isn't as flaky as my mom's; my dinner rolls aren't as light as Aunt Suzie's.
Here's my response, so pay attention:
So what.
Yeah, I said it.
Considering how tight budgets are (and how many of us are on the verge of not even having a home in which to eat Thanksgiving dinner), anyone who gets an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner needs to be extremely grateful, no matter the ability of the cook. Considering that it can costs hundreds of dollars to buy the ingredients for a large (12+) family Thanksgiving (especially if you include liquor), if all someone has to do is bring a bottle of wine in exchange for what is essentially a multi-course free meal, they need to shut up. No criticisms, no suggestions on how the cook, who, more likely than not is a woman, could have "made it better." They need to sit there, eat that dry turkey, and wash it down with that cheap bottle of wine they brought that could never pay for their share of the meal. But, above all, they need to just shut up.
If you're the cook, you should brook no criticism. If someone makes a snarky comment about your dinner, fire up your computer, go to Google maps, and print out a map to the nearest homeless shelter and give it to your ungrateful guest.
And, for you women who, by virtue of hosting Thanksgiving Dinner this year, are effectively competing in this year's Woman Olympics, here's food for thought:
Next year, opt out.
Yeah, I said it.
I'd be willing to bet that, if you're this year's cook, you were probably last year's cook and the year-before-last's cook. Somehow, the person who is willing and able to put on a Thanksgiving dinner will more than likely be expected to put on the next Thanksgiving dinner. And so it goes, and you get stuck, year in, year out.
Opt out. Yes, I know you have children. Yes, I know your parents expect you to do it because your sisters can't cook worth a damn (and more power to them, since they don't define themselves by their cooking) and your brothers would probably never even envision cooking Thanksgiving dinner.
Opt out. Give notice a year in advance. Make alternative plans to take your kids to someone else's house next year and YOU bring the bottle of wine instead. Let your siblings host the dinner for your parents, or take your parents out for dinner. Or, if your kids are grown, let THEM host Thanksgiving Dinner. If they can read, they can cook. Let them have a chance to see how hard it is to do Thanksgiving. They'll be a whole lot more thankful in the future.
Above all, we women need to stop defining ourselves by how well we do Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's Day and all the attendant domestic fanfare, especially when men are measuring their masculinity by how well they belch and fart during bowl games.
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