All of this drama, almost losing the house to foreclosure, still not knowing for sure if I have or haven't, & I missed one very interesting, very important thing; this is still HOME! Different, for sure, all scraped out, everything (almost) that made it home before in storage for staging the house to be shown for sale, but still home. And now, if it stays home, it's almost like being in a different house entirely, which also means starting over (again). Only this time, it's right.
I was going through all of the cupboards in the kitchen tonight, all of them almost completely empty, & then I noticed a couple of things that were still here; among them, the tea kettle that Michael & I bought for my mom for Mother's Day when, 17 years ago, I think? Must have been, because we bought it at Gottchalk's down in Palm Springs, so that means it was in 1992.
It is one of those kettles that looks like a chicken. Kitchy as hell, I know, just like the cow butter plate that we got that Michael just loved. Michael had, well, to be kind, little or no taste when we first met; he had one huge strike against him the night that we met, which was this god-awful BRIGHT gold sweater, with navy bands around the collar & cuffs. He was finishing up law school at Berkeley, & we met at a fundraiser at the White Horse for the UC Berkeley Gay & Lesbian Alumni Association. I was the one with taste, obviously, I mean, I chose him, didn't I?
Anyway, to be honest, I don't recall the exact details of the story, of course, being that I was still very much in my drinking days at that time, but one night, I think it must have been Thanksgiving, because we were eating at the formal dining table, which means it was a holiday, & Mama told this story about Clucky, her pet chicken (Mama grew up on a farm in South Dakota). I think it was a runt or something; the similarities to the story of Wilbur the pig in Charlotte's Web come to mind when I think hard about it, but Michael just loved that story. Just thinking about it months later made him crack up. It was one of the many things about my family that fascinated him; that there were so many of us, five kids all told, although of course Floyd (my oldest brother, remember) had died when I was seven. In Michael's family there were only four, him, his parents, & his brother David. I remember being floored when he told me that, growing up, his mom would ask what people wanted for dinner, & if all three men wanted something different, she would make three different dishes for them, with enough for two of whichever one appealed to her for herself. Not in our house; mom made the decision of what she would cook, she cooked it, & we ate it, no conversation, no arguments, & if you didn't clean your plate, you could expect it waiting for you for breakfast (cold string beans, YUM! I kid you not; although that didn't last long by time I & Anne Marie came around).
But a lot of things about us baffled him as well. Case in point: Christmas. Christmas is my favorite holiday of the year; everything else seems to be mostly about food in some way, & I am not, nor have I ever been, a "foodie." I have said for years that, if I could get all of my nutrition in pill form, I would happily take them & avoid eating at all costs, unless something really hit me with a craving, which still happens occasionally. I was looking at the latest set of circulars from the grocery stores today, & saw a sale ad for London broil, & my mouth started watering.
Well, back to Christmas; to begin with, Michael was Jewish, & over the 12 1/2 year course of our relationship, I flirted with the thought of converting several times. In fact, the last time we went down to visit his folks, for Michael's 40th birthday, less than three months before he died, I asked his mother about how to initiate the process. She just told me to find a rabbi to talk to, & I had every intention of doing so, & then I discovered that ALL of the classic holiday specials from my childhood were available on DVD. I ordered them ALL from Amazon, & when they arrived, I sat down & watched them all, back to back, over the course of say two days. And then I told him that Christmas was just too important to me to let go of.
Anyway, the first Christmas we were together, my mom decided she wanted to experience a New York Christmas. Both Anne Marie & Keith were living in New York at the time, so my parents & I flew to the East Coast for the holiday. Well, we packed in everything we could that was "Christmas in New York": we saw the Nutcracker at Lincoln Center, followed by dinner at Tavern on the Green (the most boring ballet in the world, in my personal opinion), the Christmas show at Radio City, followed by dinner at the Broadway Deli, & on & on. Well, Christmas has always had this strange effect on Anne Marie, & she tended to get a little whacky, by which I mean hypersensitive in the extreme, such that the strangest things in the world could set her off, & then Christmas could, & often as not did, turn into something other than the joyous holiday it should be. This was one of those years.
I have never been entirely clear what happened, but Anne Marie & Keith got into a battle the night we went to Radio City. We were all staying in Hoboken, New Jersey (where they both lived), and took the bus into Manhattan, & the two of them were screaming & cussing each other out the entire way in. Mom was so upset, she cried through the entire show at Radio City, & couldn't eat a bite at dinner afterwards.
Well, Michael, you see, had also flown to New York to spend the holidays with his family out on Long Island, which was where they were living at the time. On Christmas Day, I went into NYC to Penn Station to meet him & bring him back to Hoboken with me for Christmas dinner. Mind you, he had never met either Keith or Anne Marie, but he knew about my feelings for Keith, who I adored, admired, loved, & looked up to, almost to the point of adoration, so he was understandably nervous. So, I met him at the Penn Station, & basically warned him that the atmosphere at Keith's, which was where we were eating dinner, was through the roof, & to be prepared.
Anne Marie showed up not terribly long after we got back, & the tension level jumped a good 25 points at that juncture. She had brought all of her gifts with her, all of them hand made boxes, with paper that SHE had made, & each one containing a Christmas tree ornament, also hand made by her. She handed out the gifts, & then proceeded to sit in a corner & stare at the floor the entire time, until the party broke up.
Next day, dad called both Keith & me to tell us to get over to Anne Marie's apartment, where mom & dad were staying (Michael & I were staying at Keith's. Well, dad started to read both of us the riot act for "ruining your mother's holiday", & I listened for a couple of minutes, before saying that none of this actively involved me, & I should really be with my husband. So I went back to Michael, & well, we took advantage of the alone time.
Whatever went down at Anne Marie's apartment did the trick (probably plenty of that good ol' fashioned Catholic guilt my family has elevated to a fine art), & when we all went to dinner that night, Keith & Anne Marie sat together, practically in each other's laps, giggling up a storm. By comparison, it was probably THE highlight evening of the entire trip!
So, as we were walking back to the various apartments, Michael asked me, & I honestly have no idea how serious he actually was, who the beautiful blonde woman was who had been sitting with Keith. When I said, "Anne Marie, of course," he stopped dead in his tracks, looked me straight in the eye, & said, "So who was that at Keith's on Christmas, her evil twin Skippy?"
We had another variation on this kind of thing the following year, which was actually more painful & embarrassing for me, since by that point, Michael had gotten to know my family a lot better. All I will relate about that one was, when we left the house to go back to Palm Springs, where we were still living at the time, Michael turned to me & asked, "So, remind me again, what is it about Christmas that you love so much?" He kind of had a point, no?
Well, from then on, Christmas became a little easier, though I don't quite know why. I do know, however, that Michael, as a Jewish man, got a big kick out of the combination of having both a Christmas tree AND a menorah for the holidays. He LOVED shopping for ornaments for our tree. I did too, & still do. In fact, in the ensuing years, having the tree has been a more sporadic thing for me, but the menorah that I bought for him for our seventh holiday season together has remained on the mantelpiece of this house year-round since then, & I have lit it every year since he died. I even have the prayer memorized. In both English & Hebrew.
And, like all good Jews, I go to the movies on Christmas Day every year. But I don't do Chinese food. I still love my Christmas turkey with all the fixins. AND watching those goofy Christmas specials, especially Charlie Brown.
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