December 9, 2008

Scrambled Eggs


Unseen Images, 2008: A Federales boat accompanying our Carnival ship into Cabo San Lucas.




Himself: Discovered disaster at work and is changing his focus for the rest of the week.

Herself: Roaring pulse, the doc said. The graft is a success. Call in 6 months, come to see him in a year. Need to get control of the allergies. Gee, ya think so. Calling to see if the pool is open this morning. Reworking the house piece for the workshop on Wednesday. Email says the class hasn’t been moved yet, but the call to the pool tells me it is open and up to temp. At last.

Balance: Briefly I let someone else’s reaction bother me, but in the end everything started to come together.
It all boils down to flexibility, to balance, and going with the flow. Otherwise, I’d go mad. I haven’t got time to go mad this year. Humor. That’s the big thing here. I’ll survive all 14 of my anonymous grandchildren, plus their families, if I can keep my humor about me like a Boris Karloff cloak.

Communication is the key to all of this for the holidays. I sent grandkid pictures to the Low family, and I sent something very similar to the Barcelona family….just switching the kids around a bit. No editorializing, just pictures.

More communications. I heard from the La Jolla family…….they are out of a job and going north for the holidays. Heard from Marie……we will pick her up on the afternoon of the 24th and probably take her back later. Heard from Lenora. I have to get back to her. All together, amazingly nice. Heard a very nice email from the Campo crew with suggested alternate dates. Good stuff communications.

If we do a light supper thing here on the 24th, they can all do their own Holiday stuff on any day of their choice, with anyone they want, plus their own Christmas on the 25th. Oh, logic.

My non functional mother really had the right of it on Christmas Eve. Perhaps she picked up the idea of scrambled eggs from her mother. Perhaps it was something to do with the times. Eleanor Roosevelt served scrambled eggs to heads of state, and mother served scrambled eggs for Christmas Eve suppers.

“I’ll be right down, dear,” she would say right after we all ate our scrambled eggs. Upstairs she would go to wrap her presents while all the rest of us would sit around the living room dressed in our best…….waiting. Grandmother in silk, Gimpa in a tie, and Gunny, my father, drunk in a corner.

Ah, reality.

At least we are all communicating and not drunk in corners. What more could one ask this holiday but progress and scrambled eggs.

4 comments:

  1. What makes writing good? After all these years of doing it (since 1987), and thousands of queries of other writers, I still don't have a definitive answer. But I recognize it when I see it, Mage, and this piece is a good example! I applaud you for keeping the balance! Bravo!

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  2. Love the piece. You remember Gunny drunk in the corner. I remember my mother's hysterics in her bedroom. They were not the center of the celebration, though they did manage to overshadow our joy probably.

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  3. I envy your displine writing everyday, sharing thoughts so eloquently. Making me hungry for scrambled eggs :)

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  4. You all are wonderfully supportive, and I cannot thank you enough.

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