Okay, I must confess, I am a dieter, I know that is not cool, especially at my age, but I do, I go on these little food changes to lose a few pounds, that all it ever is since I can’t exercise, but anyway, yesterday, as you all know, was the big C. holiday, the one where the man died and rose from the grave and all of that, so following the tradition of my family, we all get together. I take deviled eggs. Normally, I bake a couple of pies, and make a few other dishes, maybe dressing or something, but this year, I rebelled, just eggs. They were packing eggs, you know loaded, not your every day run of the mill devilled eggs, a little Emeril, a little Racheal and tadah, great stuffed eggs, a meal in their own right. So, I really don’t want to go, it’s traditional and I hope that my daughter will follow tradition and bring my grandsons there, because she doesn’t hate my sister and doesn’t think she is a fat fucking whore. Yes, that’s what I am now, every time she calls, it’s not hi mom, it’s you fat fucking whore. Okay, I’ve kind of grown accustomed to my new name, and can deal, but, I was hoping she was going to be there, that’s why I went, why I bought baskets and toys and carried huge bags of candy down to the river valley. My sister’s darling grandchildren, all girls, were there in their little frilly dresses and shoes and purses and hats, and we waited for my grandsons, traditional pictures and when they didn’t show, we snapped the girls and let them change and we ate. I think my sister puts like extra lard in everything she cooks and if you don’t eat it, she gets really pissed off, especially if I don’t eat it. “What, you on a diet?” “No, no diet.” See if she thinks I’m on a diet, well she will send every leftover in her kitchen home with me, ham, cakes, pies, candy, turkey, dressing, yams, everything. “No, I’m not feeling well.” My famous last words. So, I choke down a huge helping of every thing and eat the fruit salad and covered it with cake and whipped cream, not out of the can either, the real deal. Then my husband rolled me outside and bounced me down the stairs and propped me in the chair and we watched the girls hunt the eggs. I wonder if their parents think about the pagan ritual that egg hunting represents and if so, what they think about their little girls running around looking for fertility promises. HA!
So, I watch as the girls empty their plastic eggs of money and candy. We use plastic eggs, filled with goodies, mostly money. This year, the little Tiny Freckle Porcelain Girl found the most money, $19.40. Yes, I was rooting for her, she never wins, and she always gets the least amount of money. ( in fact, I watched the egg hiding and gave her and the youngest little girl tips) My seven-year-old grandson or my sister’s 10 year-old granddaughter usually gets the prized eggs or the eggs with the most money in them. But not this year. Yeah for Porcelain girl. I call her that, because all my sister’s granddaughters, all four of them are extremely white with beautiful red hair, and these huge sky blue eyes, the Porcelain girl, is more fair than all the rest, her skin is like white porcelain and she is so beautiful but the biggest tomboy you will ever meet. She has broken her arm twice falling off the monkey bars at school and she, according to my grandson, is the toughest girl he has ever seen.
Well, after sitting there watching the girls run and scream and dance, they love to dance the three older girls take ballet and so they put on a dance for us. The baby, well, she is too little to do anything but fart and smile. They kept telling me they wished my boys were here, they needed a boy to dance with, and I reminded them the seven-year-old always refuses to be their ballet partner, then the Porcelain Girl says, but he likes to play catch. There you go.
Finally, I say good bye and head back up the mountain. I’m tempted to go in search of my daughter but know it would end in a fight, and like the lawyer said, “I’ll get The Baby.” On the way up the mountain, we see a herd of about 25 deer. I pull off the road and watch them for a while and my husband, who is nearly blind, keeps saying where, and I say there and finally I just say oh wait, they’re cows and drive on. Geeze, my life.