Cards on the table

Let us be thankful for those family dramas that make bad TV morality tales unnecessary. Who needs the Disney channel when you've got the Golly household? As Thanksgiving, arguably my favorite holiday, approaches, a number of conflicting forces are converging on my pself-absorbed psyche (psic), and I'm going to need all the healing qi I can find, and maybe a little healing Bacardi and tonic.

There are the usual logistical preparations to be made for a houseful of beloved guests: places to sleep for Grandma and Grandpa Golly, Aunt Jo Jo, Jessi and Alex; getting the kitchen and dining room in working order to feed a small throng, which will also include Zelda and her friend Bernard. There is the small matter of a large turkey, choosing and executing the right stuffing recipe, the all-important garlic mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, perhaps a batch of sourdough rolls, the indispensable green bean casserole, and, of course, pies, pies, and more pies.

That would be challenging enough. It's the other anxieties, which are just as real even though they exist primarily in my head, as three generations come together in the seasonal warmth and glow of well-learned Nordic dysfunctionality. And there's also the very old cat who likes to pee on the floor. But it's the humans misbehaving that worries me.

Although everyone, of course, will do their level best to be polite and say the right thing, there is something about family holidays that expose the issues you would (meaning I would) most like to forget, ignore, or deny. Somewhere between "I'm so happy to meet you" and "Have a safe trip back" will come an inevitable moment of truth when the things I least want to know about myself and my family - to myself and my family - will be revealed in the full light of Thanksgiving day.

My enlightened daughter Zelda tells me not to worry. Everything will be fine, and obsessing over the Transgressions of Christmas Past will only make things worse. Be part of the solution, not part of the problem, this 24-year-old voice of reason intones, and don't bring about your own worst-case scenario. Her mother agrees with her; it's a conspiracy.

[Later that week]

I always function better if I have an itinerary, even a loose one, and that false sense of security is coming together nicely. I ordered a turkey today from the Coop, and I'll pick it up Sunday, which will give it a couple of days to thaw. I'll do some baking on Monday. My friend Ja and his friend Rick are coming over Tuesday to hook up the new/used dishwasher Gven and I bought this week. When those tasks are done, I will be better able to relax and allow things to take their natural course (takes a deep breath), remembering that this will be a group effort, and there will be plenty of good food, and it's only a couple of days. We have plenty of firewood and enough chairs to go around, and we all (meaning I) might live through this.

Jessi is set to arrive from Providence, the nearest airport to the cranberry farm, Tuesday evening by himself; Alex is coming from New York on Wednesday, having accepted an invitation to a little family holiday that quickly grew into the Norwegian Inquisition. Jo Jo and the folks are due to arrive Wednesday afternoon from Tennessee. Zelda will be working late most days, which means there might be a very strange entourage visiting her store when she least expects it.

This should be interesting.