Holiday Bound
It was in March when my father died, suddenly and tragically. That left our family with just under a full-term pregnancy’s worth of time to prepare for and dread the Holiday Season.
By mid-November it was evident that we could not and should not spend any holiday time at my parents’ home. So my older sister agreed to host Thanksgiving at her house out of state. I claimed a work crisis that made it impossible for me to be in attendance for the turkey dinner party. From what I heard, it was a day awash in several liters of Riesling, never-ending pours of Jack Daniel’s and meltdowns galore (something about empty chairs and too many individual salt and pepper shakers)…to this day I’m slightly sorry I missed it.
So, after this complete disaster of trying to perpetuate tradition when tradition had just been forever altered – my family in its usual highly democratic manner (rock, paper, scissors – kidding – majority rules) decided to spend Christmas in New York City (NEEEW YOORK CITEE said like the Pace picante voiceover guy). I won’t bore you with the minute details, but rest assured that staying in a postage-stamp-sized apartment rife with 7 grieving adults was either the worst idea ever or an unplanned stroke of genius in its power to distract.
