I’m blogging from the stairs in the living room of my parents house. My family sprawled post-feast on whatever cushion like object available to them watching a brilliant old Peter Sellers move. I’ve been here for the last few days, hence the lack of posts. I’m having a hard time doing anything other than eat, drink, or being merry. I’m back to Texas tomorrow. A good friend of mine is getting married on the 23rd, so B and I are headed back pre-Christmas. We Jemisons celebrated early to accomodate us and I made the turkey (15 pounder thank you very much, it was delicious). Tennessee has been really warm and rainy. I wish we were staying longer. I am the oldest of five siblings. One sister and one brother are married so there are eight of us counting B and we are all at turns loud and funny, or quiet and funny, or loud and not funny and also inappropriate and occasionally gassy.
My parents are fun. My mom is a little woman from Ireland with white hair. She is sweet but often off in a dream world. My sister Jessica and I took her shopping. In the car on the way home, Jessica was telling me about how this man convicted of a terrible murder had come to live on Signal Mountain. I said “That is shocking.” And mom says, “Why? Signal Mountain is a really nice place to live.”
My dad is sometimes funny and sometimes an oblivious jerk. For example, he didn’t want my sister to make her own pie crust for the chocolate pie she was planning. This was because he didn’t like the pie crust she made at Thanksgiving. I tried to explain to him that discouraging his own daughter from making a pie crust from scratch was against the Christmas spirit. He looked at me earnestly and said “I just cain’t eat food I don’t like. I cain’t help it.” (My Dad is from Mississippi.) He didn’t think there was anything wrong with his protests.
My sister was hurt.
“Make the pie crust yourself if mine sucks.”
Dad: “(Earnestly) To my tastebuds it sucks.”