Greetings from Whelmed, New York.
There are some people who do kind things for others out of the goodness of their hearts. Just this morning, I went into the Starbucks in my office building for my Monday dose of frozen mocha crack. Latesha, an exceptionally cool woman who works there, saw me and said, "I have something for you." She disappeared into the back room, came out and handed me a paper bag with my name on it. I opened it, and inside was an aluminum takeout container. She'd placed a white bow on the top, and inside was a piece of chocolate cake with vanilla and coconut frosting.
Is there anything anybody can do that tops gifting someone with a piece of cake? I really don't think so.
She went over to refill the milk pots on the counter. I went over to thank her, and she said, "I like making things. My son doesn't like anything homemade" — he's 12 — "so if he won't eat it, I just like to make things for people I love."
Friday is Latesha's last day, and I'm going to miss her. She's smart, she's a great networker, she's the only person who remembers to make my drink (and she remembers what absolutely everybody in the office orders), she always has something going on, she's raising a prince of a son all by herself, she is always fun and hilarious and composed and never loses her cool when there are 15 people trembling in front of her with caffeine withdrawal.
The cake was heaven.
On the flip side, this is what happens when I decide to do something nice for someone:
My mother has hosted Thanksgiving every year since 361 B.C. She continues to host most holidays, even when not all of us can make it to Detroit, so she's often entertaining for various members of extended families but not necessarily for her own immediate one. So last year, I decided to take on Thanksgiving 2007 to give her a break. It's my favorite holiday (though, oddly, I don't particularly like the food; I have issues with the texture of turkey), so I thought, Hey, bring it on, good times. I had all these plans to start new traditions — ice skating! games! — and test out recipes months ahead of time to cut down on stress leading up to the dinner. I've been really excited about the whole thing.
What the hell was I thinking?
Apparently, unlike Latesha, I do kind things for others because I am clinically insane. To wit:
1. As of this exact moment, the confirmed number of attendees is 20, with another one or two arriving for dessert.
2. I live in an apartment. Where I will have three different waves of family staying with me, starting last weekend.
3. I don't cook.
4. I took on two freelance projects at the end of October that are both due the Monday before Thanksgiving.
5. Our apartment is full of stuff for our stuff that sticks around for our other stuff so all the groupings of stuff can collect dust together in their Stuff Union, which is going on strike until we can guarantee (in writing) that they'll be joined in stuff piles by more stuff to satisfy their stuff quota.
So I decided three things:
6. I'm doing all of this by choice, so I have no right to complain.
7. I'm ignoring point #6.
8. So if I'm going to piss and moan about the whole thing, I should at the very least create some kind of catharsis.
So we're purging the contents of our apartment. Today, Salvation Army carted away eight boxes and two giant garbage bags filled with stuff. We've recycled three garbage bags full of old papers, and we're not finished. I don't think it's made much of a dent, but at least the remaining stuff is shifting, so maybe we can do some design tricks around it, like covering it up with more stuff. George Carlin would be mortified. Even so, it feels good. It was a long time coming.
Josh and I took a giant calendar and color-coded all the whozits and whatnots we have to do before the holiday. We have time for the grocery store and Costco and donating Gwendolyn's stuff (some of which we still have) and deep-cleaning the apartment all mapped out. I'm usually pretty good under pressure, productively speaking, and I'm great with a to-do list for the most part, but I'm not good with sleep deprivation and I'm a whiner despite my intentions not to be, and hence, point #7. Even so, things are pretty much under control, and despite some banana peels along the path (was supposed to see Duran Duran on Broadway Saturday night, stagehands went on strike Saturday morning, show is rescheduled for tomorrow night, that was not part of the plan because ohmygoshfreelance), it will all come together. It will all work out, I will sleep in December, everyone will have a nice time and the food will be good and if it isn't then everyone will laugh about how bad the food was that year Thanksgiving was at Marla's and then it will be over. My in-laws keep offering to have it at their place. It sort of reads like they don't want me to do it, but they say they just don't want me to have to stress out. They're kind people, I believe them, and I've told them that if I'm stressed, it's really no big deal, because who doesn't stress when they're hosting a holiday? Or an average dinner party? Even a little bit? Even if these are events you're looking forward to hosting? The Barefoot Contessa must throw a wooden spoon every now and then, snapping a fierce "Fuck this! Jeffrey! Stir this goddamn sauce! I'm taking a bath! ARGH!"
I keep thinking about people who have babies, who probably feel this way all the time. Harried. Overscheduled. Tired. Energized. Looking forward to bringing family together. Organized (or teetering on the edge of it) out of necessity. Resolute. Or I could look at it this way, as I flirt with martyrdom: This Thanksgiving won't, god-willing, last for 18 years, at which time I would send it to a pricey out-of-state college to finally get some quiet.
I don't have children so it's perhaps an unfair analogy, but when I'm sleep-deprived, I often think about parenting. I think that I have no right to complain (there you go again, #6) because for those who do have kids, that whole state is amped up to a far higher decibel. So until then, should I have some offspring of my own to raid the fridge after Thanksgiving while I sneak in a five-minute nap, I'll share the leftovers with you guys.
And for now, I'll be throwing spoons.
Is there anything anybody can do that tops gifting someone with a piece of cake? I really don't think so.
She went over to refill the milk pots on the counter. I went over to thank her, and she said, "I like making things. My son doesn't like anything homemade" — he's 12 — "so if he won't eat it, I just like to make things for people I love."
Friday is Latesha's last day, and I'm going to miss her. She's smart, she's a great networker, she's the only person who remembers to make my drink (and she remembers what absolutely everybody in the office orders), she always has something going on, she's raising a prince of a son all by herself, she is always fun and hilarious and composed and never loses her cool when there are 15 people trembling in front of her with caffeine withdrawal.
The cake was heaven.
On the flip side, this is what happens when I decide to do something nice for someone:
My mother has hosted Thanksgiving every year since 361 B.C. She continues to host most holidays, even when not all of us can make it to Detroit, so she's often entertaining for various members of extended families but not necessarily for her own immediate one. So last year, I decided to take on Thanksgiving 2007 to give her a break. It's my favorite holiday (though, oddly, I don't particularly like the food; I have issues with the texture of turkey), so I thought, Hey, bring it on, good times. I had all these plans to start new traditions — ice skating! games! — and test out recipes months ahead of time to cut down on stress leading up to the dinner. I've been really excited about the whole thing.
What the hell was I thinking?
Apparently, unlike Latesha, I do kind things for others because I am clinically insane. To wit:
1. As of this exact moment, the confirmed number of attendees is 20, with another one or two arriving for dessert.
2. I live in an apartment. Where I will have three different waves of family staying with me, starting last weekend.
3. I don't cook.
4. I took on two freelance projects at the end of October that are both due the Monday before Thanksgiving.
5. Our apartment is full of stuff for our stuff that sticks around for our other stuff so all the groupings of stuff can collect dust together in their Stuff Union, which is going on strike until we can guarantee (in writing) that they'll be joined in stuff piles by more stuff to satisfy their stuff quota.
So I decided three things:
6. I'm doing all of this by choice, so I have no right to complain.
7. I'm ignoring point #6.
8. So if I'm going to piss and moan about the whole thing, I should at the very least create some kind of catharsis.
So we're purging the contents of our apartment. Today, Salvation Army carted away eight boxes and two giant garbage bags filled with stuff. We've recycled three garbage bags full of old papers, and we're not finished. I don't think it's made much of a dent, but at least the remaining stuff is shifting, so maybe we can do some design tricks around it, like covering it up with more stuff. George Carlin would be mortified. Even so, it feels good. It was a long time coming.
Josh and I took a giant calendar and color-coded all the whozits and whatnots we have to do before the holiday. We have time for the grocery store and Costco and donating Gwendolyn's stuff (some of which we still have) and deep-cleaning the apartment all mapped out. I'm usually pretty good under pressure, productively speaking, and I'm great with a to-do list for the most part, but I'm not good with sleep deprivation and I'm a whiner despite my intentions not to be, and hence, point #7. Even so, things are pretty much under control, and despite some banana peels along the path (was supposed to see Duran Duran on Broadway Saturday night, stagehands went on strike Saturday morning, show is rescheduled for tomorrow night, that was not part of the plan because ohmygoshfreelance), it will all come together. It will all work out, I will sleep in December, everyone will have a nice time and the food will be good and if it isn't then everyone will laugh about how bad the food was that year Thanksgiving was at Marla's and then it will be over. My in-laws keep offering to have it at their place. It sort of reads like they don't want me to do it, but they say they just don't want me to have to stress out. They're kind people, I believe them, and I've told them that if I'm stressed, it's really no big deal, because who doesn't stress when they're hosting a holiday? Or an average dinner party? Even a little bit? Even if these are events you're looking forward to hosting? The Barefoot Contessa must throw a wooden spoon every now and then, snapping a fierce "Fuck this! Jeffrey! Stir this goddamn sauce! I'm taking a bath! ARGH!"
I keep thinking about people who have babies, who probably feel this way all the time. Harried. Overscheduled. Tired. Energized. Looking forward to bringing family together. Organized (or teetering on the edge of it) out of necessity. Resolute. Or I could look at it this way, as I flirt with martyrdom: This Thanksgiving won't, god-willing, last for 18 years, at which time I would send it to a pricey out-of-state college to finally get some quiet.
I don't have children so it's perhaps an unfair analogy, but when I'm sleep-deprived, I often think about parenting. I think that I have no right to complain (there you go again, #6) because for those who do have kids, that whole state is amped up to a far higher decibel. So until then, should I have some offspring of my own to raid the fridge after Thanksgiving while I sneak in a five-minute nap, I'll share the leftovers with you guys.
And for now, I'll be throwing spoons.
Labels: family, food, friends, philosophical whatnots, pop culture, randomness, the hubs, work
posted by Marla at 4:19 PM
3 Comments:
Glad to see you're keeping a positive attitude. I'll be thinking of you next Thursday. After reading that post, going back and forth between Brooklyn, Westchester and the Lower East Side (yep, visiting with BOTH families this year) doesn't sound too grueling.
Although doing so after an accelerated close will be ;-)
Marla, I feel your pain! I do have a baby and a nearly-five-year-old, and I somehow got drafted into hosting Thanksgiving for my parents and sister. Of course, I'm insisting my mother buy the turkey and instruct me on what to do, and she's also bringing most of the side dishes, too. So, I guess I can't complain, either.
I will, though. It's a holiday tradition for the hostess to complain.
marla! i cracked up at the barefoot contessa comment. jeffrey. hahahaha. sauce. hahahahahaha, she's eerily calm and happy. i hate her. hehe. i feel like she's snotty. it's my own insecurity about my own cooking and hosting skills. but see, i don't think giada or rachel ray are snotty. i think it's just ina's hampton house.
that said, i think marlasgiving will be fantastic. my sister is freshdirecting thanksgiving dinner at her house. it's about $240 bucks, but you may want to consider that... just hide the freshdirect containers well and claim the culinary skills as your own? good luck, love.
theresa
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