Puke Salad

 

So it's Christmas Evening, 2021. Best laid plans have been shot out of the water. My wife is the only one who manages best laid plans. Me, well I learned long ago to think about plans but never totally commit,  as any plans I make often come off half baked. I am better and more successful at shooting from the hip and turning chaos into a party. Anyway, the kids (daughter and her SO, "Mr. Man") were supposed to swing by for a sumptious repast and now they aren't. Freezing rain and a three and a half hour drive through it negated those plans. We are getting together next week anyway, so our seasonal hoe-down will still happen, just a week late is all.

I had my mouth all set for lobsters, steamed shrimp, a dizzying array of baked goodies, and last but not least, BA's infamous "Puke Salad". I do not know its real name. BA's brother named it that back when they were kids. He has refused to let one spoonful pass his lips ever since. My daughter's husband is of the same mindset. Just can't get past the name and the fact that it actually looks like puke...... green puke as a matter of fact. But I tell you what, I could live off the stuff. If there are gods out there eating somewhere, they are feasting on Puke Salad for sure. It is so delicious.  

With the day's plans shot in the butt, we reset our day to accommodate what turned out to be just another day on the planet for the two of us. BA threw the shrimp back in the freezer but she assured me Puke Salad was still on today's menu. We will eat the lobsters and my wife will be secretly pleased. She would rather eat lobster than anything else. Me, well I like lobster well enough, but I prefer  steamed clams.  But with two lobsters to myself, I really cannot complain.

Up until the last decade or so I would dread the Christmas season. It was never a fun time when I was growing up. More alcohol than usual was consumed which led to more ugly confrontations between the adults that inhabited my life at the time. I grew out of it, but still a little sadness always tainted my holiday revelry. I accept it and eagerly wait for the new year to offer me the hope of a better year than the last. 

But what constitutes "better"? The word conjures up comparisons which leads to the notion of "its relative", which ends being so much bull shit. I have decided that "a better year" is the next one I enter still above ground. That is what matters. All the angst and sorrow I dumped on myself over the years only confused the issue. The issue was always simple. It was never complicated. .....................

 Tis the season to be jolly ............................

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This Christmas night I offer up for my musical offering - Father Christmas by The Kinks - A band I drove for and had the best month of my driving career.