More Christmas Memories
While we’re on the subject of family and drinking (or family driving us to drink), I have been reminiscing on Christmas nights spent at my grandmother’s house. These days Carrie and I have everyone over to our house to avoid the divorce crawl all over the city to visit each of our divorced parents. We have been having family to our house for the last three years and have become quite expert at getting the food on the table then getting everyone the hell out of the house (although I am usually too drunk to notice what time this actually occurs).
My grandmother used to have Christmas dinner at her house. She cooked the entire meal by herself while the rest of the family found quiet corners to read the books they just received as gifts. Conversation was kept to a minimum at best. After dinner we would all play the latest games we received or our fall back standard, Boggle. I don’t have to tell anyone who knows my family that playing a word game with the whole “PHD/Masters in English” bunch is akin to attending an aerospace engineer’s conference and trying to fit in. Unless you are good. Really good.
We would play at the dining room table as my grandmother did every single dish by herself. She would whistle while she worked except for the frequent interruptions to take a sip or two of wine. By the time the dishes were done grandmother would be loaded and ready to rejoin the group. Problem was she really didn’t know how to play so she would peer over our shoulders and yell out words that weren’t on the dice. When we would yell at her to stop ruining our concentration she would smack her lips and laugh like crazy. It could have been revenge for having to do everything on her own or perhaps just good old fashioned fun watching someone blow their top out of frustration. I don’t know what her reason but it happened every year.
She doesn’t drink as much wine these days. She doesn’t drink any less either but her outbursts have tapered off a bit. As I write this I am reminded of her joining us for Mother’s Day brunch. The waiter filled her wine glass about half way which is pretty standard in a restaurant. My grandmother looked at the glass and said; “I want a full glass of wine. That’s only half a glass”. The waiter chuckled and was about to walk away when I quietly let him know that “She is not kidding. Fill her up”. A decision I deeply regretted when she grabbed me by the waist and told me I was getting fat.
While we’re on the subject of family and drinking (or family driving us to drink), I have been reminiscing on Christmas nights spent at my grandmother’s house. These days Carrie and I have everyone over to our house to avoid the divorce crawl all over the city to visit each of our divorced parents. We have been having family to our house for the last three years and have become quite expert at getting the food on the table then getting everyone the hell out of the house (although I am usually too drunk to notice what time this actually occurs).
My grandmother used to have Christmas dinner at her house. She cooked the entire meal by herself while the rest of the family found quiet corners to read the books they just received as gifts. Conversation was kept to a minimum at best. After dinner we would all play the latest games we received or our fall back standard, Boggle. I don’t have to tell anyone who knows my family that playing a word game with the whole “PHD/Masters in English” bunch is akin to attending an aerospace engineer’s conference and trying to fit in. Unless you are good. Really good.
We would play at the dining room table as my grandmother did every single dish by herself. She would whistle while she worked except for the frequent interruptions to take a sip or two of wine. By the time the dishes were done grandmother would be loaded and ready to rejoin the group. Problem was she really didn’t know how to play so she would peer over our shoulders and yell out words that weren’t on the dice. When we would yell at her to stop ruining our concentration she would smack her lips and laugh like crazy. It could have been revenge for having to do everything on her own or perhaps just good old fashioned fun watching someone blow their top out of frustration. I don’t know what her reason but it happened every year.
She doesn’t drink as much wine these days. She doesn’t drink any less either but her outbursts have tapered off a bit. As I write this I am reminded of her joining us for Mother’s Day brunch. The waiter filled her wine glass about half way which is pretty standard in a restaurant. My grandmother looked at the glass and said; “I want a full glass of wine. That’s only half a glass”. The waiter chuckled and was about to walk away when I quietly let him know that “She is not kidding. Fill her up”. A decision I deeply regretted when she grabbed me by the waist and told me I was getting fat.
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