One to arrive by Greyhound from New York Freaking City and regale us with tales from the cranberry bog in Buzzard's Bay; go to Lowe's and pick out the right kind of junction boxes, plugs, wire caps, and outdoor cable to reconnect the power between the house and the garage, suspend the far end from a pine branch with a ceramic insulator and a bicycle tube, and connect the near end to a new outdoor receptacle mounted on a corner post of the pergola; cut holes in the plaster wall and ceiling upstairs to remove, repair, and re-install the stairway light fixture, snake new wires between the rafters to connect the hanging lamp with two new three-way switches, and run wires down through the wall to the new switches at the top and bottom of stairs; go out with his sister and her friends to their favorite watering hole du jour; bring the grandparents up to date on his latest adventures in trade school and prospects for gainful employment.
One to hand him tools, flip circuit breakers while he tests all the outlets and fixtures in the house, and label what outlet is on which circuit; climb the white pine to hang the cable, fetch a stepladder, caulk the boxes; tear out an upstairs closet wall to get to the switch box; start a cozy fire in the den; pour the libations appropriate to the season (rum, coffee, pale ale, white wine); bring the patriarch up to date on his latest adventures in the reorganized church of latter-day educational publishing and prospects for continued gainful employment.
One to consult on the proper placement of screws, staples, and wire; compliment the hostess, inquire about the garlands of cayenne peppers hanging over all seven windows in the den, drying for future use in bean soup as well as adorning the holiday festivities, and settle into a comfortable chair to work on the crossword puzzle, and finish his biography of Oliver Wendell Holmes; carve the turkey, say grace, compliment the cook; tell stories about life on the farm in Minnesota, his five brothers and sisters, his parents and grandparents, and being stationed out west during World War II; take everyone out for breakfast the morning of their return home.
One to bring a blueberry pie and consult on the roasting of the turkey, stuffing, etc.; inquire about the yoga studio, the bookstore, the cranberry farm, and the textbook business; knit a few rows, read a few pages of her biography of Mark Twain, express her condolences on the loss of our cat and dog, inquire whether we going to get another pet any time soon; compliment her grandchildren on their most recent accomplishments, insist on helping clean up after every meal, and utter not a single complaint about her own faltering hearing, eyesight, or mobility.
One to drive from Atlanta, GA, to Cumberland County, TN, to central Swingstate (and back again) and accompany her parents to the home of her brother and sister-in-law (and in spirit); generously augment the supply of seasonal libations with top-shelf stuff; find time for one-to-one conversation with each person in attendance, bring her brother up to date on administrative downsizing at her university, a death and a birth in her own immediate family; enliven dinner-table conversation with an account of her recent work-related trip to Spain; wash dishes after every meal, and be all-around good company.
One to pop in after a long, exhausting day at work to have a piece of pie with her extended family, after working all morning making not one but two outrageously delicious apple-cranberry pies before work; reprise her acclaimed role in the last ten Thanksgiving feasts by making awesome garlic mashed potatoes; spend quality time with her aunt, grandmother, grandfather, doting mother, adoring father, and spirit her brother away to hang with people their own age when it gets late and the old folks are tired.
One to clean the house and cook for her own family plus her husband's parents and sister: turkey, sausage stuffing, gravy, sweet potatoes au gratin, brussels sprouts with caramelized onions, fresh organic cranberries shipped directly from Mann's family farm in Massachusetts, rolls, spinach salad, white wine, and arguably the best pumpkin pie on the planet - with your choice or real or nondairy whipped topping - working around unplanned interruptions due to thrown circuit breakers for the benefit of Jessi Electric and his intrepid team of electricians.
We're not high-culture, just high-calorie, high-voltage, and high-maintenance.
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