This weekend was spent with the fam, the extended version, that is. It’s an amazing thing to experience. Brilliant Editor’s parents have come up for a day for a couple of years now. Mrs.MaryMom always comments about the number of dogs and the number of people. I suppose it’s normal for people to comment.
We had sixteen people and nine dogs. It’s a regular hootenanny every year. They set up a kitchen outdoors and cook pancakes and assorted meat products. There are also eggs and sweet rolls for us to eat for breakfast. The men make breakfast, so we have breakfast when they come back from catching lake trout. And they gut and clean them first. Ewww.
By the time we’re done with breakfast, it’s time for lunch. We don’t eat right away, though. We have ample time to chit chat or fall asleep in the hammock or walk the dogs or plan how big the fire will be that night. If you’re me, you hide out for an hour or two. Then I’m all set and ready to go again.
Dinner is a massive affair where the holy tradition of too much food is continued. Each day a different member of the parent-generation makes dinner. We children are left to snacks and lunch. The reason Mrs.MaryMom is so eager to come to this get together is in large part due to the fried turkey. Yes, indeed. I don’t think it’s that tasty, but most people do. I think, however, that they need to rethink this affection for fried turkey. It has unpleasant consequences. If you actually want to know more, you can read more where below. If you want to save yourself the mortification, continue reading after the tippy text.
Warning. Childish humor is found below.
You may recall an incident I wrote about back in April. It is proof, supported by the exclamation of an unbiased observer, that my family has some form of mutant bacteria in their gut. So with the knowledge that this family has a peculiar talent in this area, we are all very happy to be outside most of the time.
Fried turkey farts smell so disgusting it is unreal. When BellyRub comments on this, and he will, he will tell you how much worse it is than I’ve described. To give an idea of the scale of grossness, last year Sprocket at some fried turkey. She was in bed with me under the covers. Although I had been sleepy, the noxious fumes drove the dog out of bed and onto the floor and woke me up with a wrinkled up face and an exhale of magnificent proportions.
This year, it’s Spring. BrilliantEditor came up the stairs and said, “Oh my God. What the hell is that stink?”
Yeah. My family is peculiarly talented.
And to keep up with it, Dr.Dad rents two portable toilets. To light them in the evening, he uses Christmas lights that are already in a mesh formation. Back in the day, we just had a single light bulb. Each toilet was known as “the moonlight shitter.” But now, with modern enhancements, it’s “the starlight shitter.” I must say, however, that when you share these toilets with your family, they stay remarkably clean.
But! Aside from the fried turkey, most food was tasty. We had lovely beignets for snackies. Mmmmm. Using the turkey oil! And they didn’t taste like turkeys. My uncle’s a good man.
BellyRub and I played wiffleball together. Since I can neither hit nor catch, I was the gawky pitcher. I was getting really good, actually. Or not. But I could get the balls back from under the hedge next door. I have talent, it just doesn’t like to be seen around wiffleballs.
This is the part that I’m most impressed with. Early on Saturday I said to BrilliantEditor, “I think I’m getting predictable. I’m boring. I don’t like it.” He didn’t think I was. He said that I still surprised him a lot. But you see, dear reader, these are planned surprises or gifts or food. I don’t know what I’m expecting, but it’s not to be surprisingly normal. Lots of people are surprisingly normal.
As if in answer to my prayer, my cousin Britty brought out her green clay facial mask. I stood around with Britty and OrganaPlan in the kitchen with all of us looking like a whitening green ghost. I was going to put chocolate in my hair and then dip my feet in chai tea, but M3 and Mr.Simon arrived. Britty and OrganaPlan got the full treatment.
So maybe that’s not so predictable.
AngerTrain played his guitar and sang while we all sat and nodded our head while needling him about picking songs of misery. “Hey, that’s a good song!” That’s what he said. “It’s about war and nightmares and post traumatic stress. That’s not cheery!” That’s what I said. He picked some cheerier ones out after that.
And this is where the fun begins!
I must thank both brothers for their contribution to my unpredictability. I tried to sing along with AngerTrain, but he kept changing rhythm a bit. And then it’s also no fun to listen to a pointy soprano sound when it’s time to be relaxed around the lake.
When I couldn’t sing along, BellyRub came up to me with the gleeful mischievous look in his eyes. He handed me two bowling pins. (They came with the house. I swear.) He said to me quietly, “I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts!” Then we both started playing our percussion parts on the bowling pins. Lovely rhythmic additions to the guitar stylings of AngerTrain. In true Dotty/Belly style, we swayed back and forth with the music and made faces and giggled at each other.
We were starting a love train.
Posted by dotty at September 7, 2004 05:05 PM