MUSICAL SELECTION: CAAMP
26th Thanksgiving at My Grandparents’ Home
Visiting Mimi and Poppy circa 2004
This Thanksgiving means my Jewish grandparents my kosher grandparents my grandparents who have not yet met my husband of two years my grandparents called Mimi and Poppy will finally see us.
Dave and I drive from Norman, Oklahoma through Amarillo, Santa Rosa, Alburquerque, Elephant Butte (where David takes a picture of my backside blocking out the e), Las Cruces, Lordsburg, and make it to Tucson, our last stop.
Aunt Barb and I go hiking in Sabiño Canyon, walk through cold, high water on the bridge, sneakers and all. Dry out quickly, pass signs: Beware mountain lions, quicksand, flash floods, and fire!
We hike four miles up Phoneline, I lead an aimless wandering for two. Back on the main trail, no mountain lions, just children running up! up! up! wearing me out.
Limping from the hike and hungry, I’m ready for Thanksgiving dinner.
Mimi wears her bright red lipstick; the breakable china shines and glares, as does Mimi at her best friend’s daughter who starts serving herself before prayer.
Poppy is water-retention huge, his shaking hands slop prayer wine. He’s not drunk: Mimi and Poppy don’t drink much, but his health is failing.
Aunt Barb looks in charge, wild curls springing Medusa-like snakes:
All the women are wearing pants instead of dresses.
David takes off his shoes and wears only his work socks to the table — That’s how much he’s charmed them.
Bob Bernstein sits at the other end of the table across from Poppy and bosses his wife and tells stories about how bagels used to taste like cement-dipped donuts.
Lucille, Bob’s wife, eighty and blonde, smiles her perfect pink V raises her eyebrows above her glasses sharing conspiratorial looks with me.
The Bernsteins’ daughter, Diane, has a trap that runs all night long. It’s worth the kitchen excursion to scour potatoes out of casseroles to escape her constant commentary on how much things cost.
I’ve drunk too much, red wine cheeks and careful steps toward the door, the hotel.
Tomorrow, I’ll watch a VHS of Poppy performing in community theatre wearing a guard’s black uniform and mimicking the expressions of paintings, Munch’s Scream.