I visited the parents yesterday, a whole to-do surrounding Kid Sis’ birthday last week and what I thought would be a joint thing with Mom’s upcoming birthday. That’s what I was told. Apparently not so much. Regardless, I was pretty much dreading this trip.
Let me paint the big picture for you. Dad supports Trump and has driven everyone to the brink about such things since at least the Reagan administration. Mom supported Clinton to spite Trump, and Kid Sis is all about the National Parks Service. I’m usually spot marked X for tirades because, unlike Mom and Kid Sis, I’ll argue back because I’m the one that flies right up the middle and thinks authoritarianism is just wrong and stupid regardless of which side it comes from. Dad can’t pin me down, and he just doesn’t get why, so he keeps trying. Wile E. Coyote must catch that Road Runner. It’s the verbal equivalent of a martial art, I suppose. I was convinced this was going to end up being a giant catastrophe that would end early, and I’d resolved that at this point, there was no sense arguing. Trump is criminally insane, and people will always hear what they they think they want to hear. I was pretty Zen about the whole thing. So many years of stupid anger, and I’m finally able to disconnect it, even if only for a brief time until the crisis point passes. But only if I do a bad Donnie Yen impersonation when I chant. “I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.”
Turns out, the only one on the verge of anything stupid was Kid Sis, who was primed to go off like an atom bomb if Dad said absolutely anything… which he didn’t, much to everyone’s surprise. All remained (mostly) peaceful. Dare I say, the visit was even pleasant.
I can’t even begin to understand what kind of Herculean feat that was on the parts of Dad or Kid Sis. You could tell neither one of them had found that Zen point that I’ve found. There was clearly a struggle. Mom pretty much just switches off and lives in Mom World; no Zen point needed. I’m convinced it’s a superpower of some kind that’s helped her deal with the three of us over the years.
And so, peace reigned for a day. It actually gave me a little hope for the Middle East. If my family can do it, anyone can. Of course, such things are cause for celebration, because a birthday isn’t enough.
Dad went a little overboard on the grill. He made two of these. The first one was for dinner. This one got sent home with me. I have no idea why, and I will not question it. Not looking in your mouth, O Gift Horse! The man has pretty much elevated grilling to a fine art. None of this fancy stuff that professional chefs and tailgaters think they need to do. Just the basics — fire, meat, and the techniques to ensure the perfect outcome every single time. Simple. Effective. Tasty. Birdzilla here will supply me with at least three days worth of meals without rationing. I offered to share as clearly there is plenty to go around, but there were no takers. Apparently once it cools off, it’s leftovers. Oh no, can’t have that. Heaven forbid! *shrug* Hey, more for me.
Between all the other food we had to go with the chicken, plus homemade carrot cake courtesy of this Hungarian cake goddess that my parents know, we ate like Medieval kings. I was nearly comatose by the time I got home last night. I passed out around 10:30, within minutes of walking through the door, and I stayed dropped for about 10 hours. People, I never sleep that long or that well. Ever. It’s blog-worthy!