The holiday season evokes different memories for each of us. Some of us may remember a Santa with a distinct resemblance to dad. Others remember sitting in the back seat of a toasty station wagon sipping hot coco, singing Christmas Carols and driving around the neighborhood on a cold winter’s evening marveling at the lighted neighborhood spectacles. To some, only a house filled with the scent of pine elicits that proverbial warm and fuzzy feeling. My memory? I remember vegetables.
Not necessarily the vegetables themselves, but rather the frozen package of corn my grandmother hurled at my grandfather’s head. It was an interesting sport to witness. While my grandmother had horrible aim, however my grandfather’s poor vision would occasionally move him into the bull’s eye. The stress of the season had gotten the best of my family and erupted with the hurling of frozen produce for catharsis. Later my grandfather would joke that he was thankful that they usually purchased more fresh food than frozen for the holidays.
The stress of the holidays affects each person differently. My wife finds herself upset that her job doesn’t allow for more time off. Not only does she have to work, but she is also the only doctor on-call, because her boss took a three week vacation. Her holiday weekend was spent reminding patients that “dry eye” does not require an emergency office visit. While she was busy treating phantom symptoms over the phone I began to replay the menu for Christmas dinner in my mind. I attempted to determine if everyone was truly satisfied by the meal or simply offering pleasantries. While I pondered solutions to a question with no answer, I gradually became more and more agitated by the situation.
I know the meat was dry! Just tell me the meat was dry, because when you ignore the dry meat to spare my feelings, I assume you didn’t like anything. Frankly, I was a little too tight on “Christmas Cheer” by the time I served the meal to notice any nuanced reactions to the food, so lets just get it out in the open: the meat was dry. It was the wrong cut of beef to roast the way I did. I know that. But compared to the dry-aged filet, it was a fraction of the price. I wasn’t about to make the decision of getting my son another gift or buying the filet. $180 for beef would have been absurd! But if I had just bought the better meat then I wouldn’t be having these thoughts right now. I wouldn’t be worrying about the dry corn bread stuffing or watery mashed potatoes, under-seasoned green beans, over-salted squash, acidic pork belly and flat salad dressing.
If I had bought the better meat, I wouldn’t wonder when were going to find time to take down the Christmas decorations. This week is too soon. After this weekend we are booked every Friday, Saturday and Sunday until February. Is it supposed to snow? ‘Cause I am not climbing up that ladder to take the lights down if it we get snow like we did last year! I’ll break a leg. Then who will take down the lights? We’ll be that family who has Christmas decorations up for Easter. Sure, we wouldn’t turn them on, but you can still tell. We are not that family!
By Easter, we will have a new edition to the family. When would I find time to take those lights down then? I can’t imagine what my Spring is going to be like. What am I going to do about work? Two children in daycare would cost more than our mortgage. Could I really be a stay at home dad? Maybe I could find some work from home: Writing or editing jobs? Should I really go back to doing private chef gigs? If that’s where I end up, why the hell did I pay for a master’s degree from Villanova? God I don’t know. I just don’t know.
I really should have bought the better meat.
Can we please, just admit that the meat was dry? Please?