It’s Time

I’ve had plenty of time to moderate my views, and for the memory to fade a little. Get ready…

It’s time for the Thanksgiving Post-Mortem!

Where to begin? Wednesday seems like a logical place to start. That’s when my mother-in-law and step-father-in-law arrived with the dog-in-law. Our own hell hounds immediately offered their comment by barking and nipping at the little dog-in-law. That isn’t how the entire weekend went, but it seems to have set the tone. The hair on the back of my neck spent a lot of time standing at attention. Actually, I found new energy to work on the elderly Frankenmac in the garage (modem’s still not working, but thanks for asking).

My kid’s table plan was vetoed, so a square table from outside was added to the end of the dining room table, creating a brand new shape and an interesting elevation change at the joint. It also served to deprive us of four or so seats, so it was still an elbow to elbow affair—even with the added room.

Thankfully though, there were plenty of non-meat options for me, so I ate like a king. I would’ve eaten even more, appropriately stuffing myself, but there were other things to do. Like stoke the fire again…

I was growing weary of this. I’d brought in more than enough lumber, there were people lounging in the living room, but they couldn’t be bothered to get up and throw in a log. As a result, they found me, wherever I was, so that I could “fix it.” You know, while performing mundane activities like washing dishes, chatting with guests outside, keeping the dogs out of trouble. I’d had enough of the interruptions, so I went in and built a huge inferno. “That’ll hold ’em,” I thought. Five minutes pass, followed by another knock on my noggin. “There’s a funny smell coming from the fireplace.”

Sure enough, the fire was so big and so hot that something was going very wrong in the flue. Or the walls. Or the built-in bookcases. It was an old furnace smell and one I’d never experienced coming from the fireplace before. I took a guest’s advice and sprayed a trickle of water on the blaze to try to bring it down to manageable levels. No effect. It may have actually made it worse. I scrambled for the watering can and simply put the whole damn thing out.

“That’s it. No more fire tonight. Nothing to see here. Move along people.”

Yep, I’d become the jerk by letting my emotions rule the moment. The result was that I’d made everybody unhappy and uncomfortable all in one fell swoop. I’m still afraid to clean the fireplace out and take a look at the damage I’d done. Not to mention calling everybody to ask them to forgive my brusque tone and bad manners.

Thanksgiving is going to be held in L.A. next year (tentatively), so I guess the verdict is in. “We love your house, adore your Beautiful and Talented Bride™’s cooking, we just don’t like the host very much.”

Or maybe I’m overreacting.

How unusual,

bob

P.S. This was the first year that my folks have ventured from the desert to spend Thanksgiving since the passing of my maternal Grandmother. A big step for them to be sure. My Dad was pretty quiet the whole evening. I think the moment was hitting him hard, although he’d be unwilling to admit it. We’re stoics, you know.

P.P.S. I have cleaned out the charred remains in the fireplace and discovered something interesting (to me). The fire was so hot that it popped the mortar off of the fireplace’s foundation. Some river rock (the filler commonly used in foundations around here at the turn of the century) had actually popped out. I think I can safely say that this isn’t good. More mortar will no doubt be required before we fire the thing up again (pardon the pun).

P.P.P.S. I finally fixed the Commando. The problem wasn’t the fuel tank after all, but the fuel line from the tank to the mechanical pump mounted to the engine. Here’s a short story:

I went to the auto parts place down the street to order new lines. “Ten feet please,” I said. Everyone behind the counter stared at me. “Ten feet? That’s a lot.” “Okay,” I said, “how about six feet. Yes, six feet will be plenty.”

Yep. I was four feet short.