I was texting my sister to see if I should bring anything but pies to the lodge for Thanksgiving dinner when the issue of who should be responsible for making the Green Stuff came up. We have both been making this strange concoction of dry lime jello, mini marshmallows, cottage cheese, and whipped topping for as long as we’ve both been serving holiday dinners. The recipe is a holiday holdover from our own childhood. I think my mother and aunt probably made it to ensure that the boys in the family would eat something besides crescent rolls.
Anyway, during our texting conversation, we discovered that none of our kids even likes the Green Stuff. I can’t print what my sister texted me upon realizing that MY family can’t stand it, either, but I’m sure glad we cleared that up. It certainly explains why I always end up tossing out the whole bowl after every Thanksgiving. The Green Stuff is proof that it is really okay to let some traditions die natural deaths.
There was a tasty spinach and strawberry salad this year instead. The day was lovely, save for the fact that our two adult sons confirmed for us once again that when they are together, they don’t have the brains God gave turkeys by trying to drown each other in a semi-frozen swamp on Thanksgiving. Yes. This really happened. Thankfully, the big turkeys survived with everything but their cell phones and dignity intact.
Their sisters don’t put their mothers through things like walking on thin ice near beaver dams. They just don’t. We never have to say things like, “what in the H-E-double-toothpicks were you THINKING?” to their sisters on holidays. Like ever. This either means that they have better survival instincts or that they are just more covert in finding ways to turn our hair silver. Okay, I already know it is that second thing, but seriously, guys? Seriously??
Oh, well. Cell phones can be replaced. Sons who act like turkeys? Not so much. And so, we are more thankful than usual going into this holiday season. Besides, the weather forecast is for more winter-like weather this week so if we are lucky, the next time those two sons of ours decide to go on an outdoor adventure together, the ice should be at least as thick as their heads.
That is this silver haired mother’s grown up Christmas prayer.
The Loon Whisperer 