The Fam and Thanksgiving

My thanksgiving consists of delicious food, unrelenting business talk, a ping pong tournament, more food, board games, and naps sporadically intermingled with this whole extravaganza. I have always celebrated thanksgiving with my mom's side of the family. I'm not really sure why, but that's just how it is. My mom's side of the family consists of us, them, and my aunt's up north, ex-resort owning brethren. All in all, there are fourteen of us, three of the Strom clan, four of the Rabens, and seven of these up northers. Now, every year the Strom clan always likes to show up a little bit early to the Rabens household, which is actually a half an hour past when we were sappose to be because my mom really enjoys taking frustratingly long, and ill timed showers. When we do arrive, we always come in through the side, mudroom entrance. This may be for easier access tot he table, or some other mildly logical reason, but my inclination is that my Mom just enjoys being a little different. But we are always first to show around noon, and we help clean a little, make some coffee, just basic set up over all. My brother likes to tend to the cooking, my mom likes to help cook as well or help with some clean up, and I usually just sort of wander and talk to members of the Rabens clan, indirectly averting the eye of my aunt who will unquestionably force me into some mild chores. After about twenty minutes of this little circus, Grandma Harriet, who really deserves a class of her own comes to the door and walks her cute little self in. Grandma Harriet is an 83 year old, Macy's working ball of sweetness that could has a handicap parking pass, though she is probably more able bodied than most 50 year olds. When she comes, everyone of course must go hug her and ask her how she is, and then she usually takes up her post of setting out the pickles and the olives in a little tray every year because she "Always needs a little salty with her food." Then come my aunt's side of the family. First is cute old Grandma Nancy, who was born surprisingly on the same day as Grandma Harriet, who is a dear old lady that belongs to a little writing club. Accompanying her, is Uncle Jim. Uncle Jim is a character. He is a heavy set, 5'10" guy who has consistently for the last five years asked my brother and I about A. If we have a girlfriend yet. B. What movies we've seen lately C. If we've seen or read the last installment of the Twilight saga. He is always the first to take up a couch and doze for a couple hours. He also made it very clear this year that he was not a big fan of Obama's re-election in saying that because Obama won, he would like to purchase an automatic weapon, and a hand gun. These two, Jim and Nancy always come and set out their contribution to the meal, of which are actually very good, and then come the the rest of the northern clan. They are a clan of four, who are Eric, Jane, Scott, and Mary. They are all varying and different. Eric is the owner of a very flat, but sort of hilarious personality, Jane is a bubbly, and interesting woman, Scott has his father's monotone voice, but has a considerable amount more of youth and intrigue in him, then finally Mary is really just as her mother is, but slightly more self conscious in her soul searching. They too set their dishes out, and we all take part in that awkward, initial greetings.

From there we all eat food. Us "youngsters" get to go out on the porch at the kids table, though I am the youngest at sixteen and the oldest is twenty five so the title of the table is rather undeserving. But this table consists of me, my brother, cousin Ross and Blake, and northerner Scott, who has now lives in uptown. I have always been a little bit excluded from conversation because of my age and experiences, and this is still true today. What used to be chit chat about high school, accompanied by the overuse of swear words, has changed to talk of work at Ernst and Young, Target, and my brother's research lab, which is only more fervently accompanied by the overuse of swear words. I love this time of the day though. I really learn a lot, and when the food runs out and the older boys are getting heated about a subject in which they are arguing the same point, but just mildly rephrased, I sneak off to the wondrously furnished basement for a little afternoon nap. 

From here, the Ping Pong starts, and this is the spectacular of the whole event. Each of the youngsters is paired with on of the older, less coordinated adults. This year I was paired with Uncle Jim, who in matches seemed to grow ever more frustrated when ever I would miss a ball. In this eight year long tradition, the winner usually boils down to which ever youth decides to hog the ball more. This usally ends up being my overly competitive cousin Blake. In fact, he's always in the championship, and his partner usually gets about 15% of the balls. By the fact that I'm writing this shows that it always has been a sore spot for me, who has never been graced with a championship. When the winner has been crowned, and the spray painted paddle, that has a turkey candle glued to it has been awarded, it's nap time number two, or in my case, I always like to see what little mechanical interests that my Uncle is taking part in. Uncle Steve like the rest of my family enjoys a slightly larger equator, and he works from home, selling different switches for countless mechanical processes. He is a man who loves hobbies, he has a huge garden, has three little Vespas, and enjoys wood working, so it's not surprising that he is a dreamer. This year he showed me some motorcycles that as can be seen from his search history, he dreams about on a consistent basis.

From here, some of the northerners leave, leaving just the urban Scott around, and we all amble over to the table for another round of feasting. By this time, we enjoy a very relaxed conversation on whatever, and cousin Ross pops off one liners at an interval of twenty seconds. We are all a little sleepy, so we attempt to keep the conversation alive, but us sleepy people make our way over to the T.V. to watch a British fixer up car show, while my peppy mom and cousin rile a few people up to play some board games. This livens them up and they get a little rowdy over apple to apples, attempting to cajole the judge at the time into choosing their ironically chosen card, and thus making lots of noise. After this, the night fizzles out, and we pack our food and games up. We say our goodbyes in a rather stereo typical hug, nice to see you kind of way and slowly make our way down the Raben's long driveway. Our night is then finished, and sleep is welcome.