Sgt. Tater and the Griswald Chronicles

It's funny how holidays seem to take on the very livelihood of a Griswald Christmas.
We turned onto the annoyingly bumpy, gravel road, heads bobbing up and down through the tinted windows, like the Bash the Gopher game at flashy arcades. Slow and steady, the shell on wheels made a left into the packed driveway resembling Honesty Eddie's used car lot. The groaning minivan came to a stop, as the Smith's came pouring out of every door. The country wind sucked papers out of the vehicle and across the yard to the cornfield, leaving the agile children to dart frantically for retrieval.

"Grab the sweet potatoes!" ordered mom, the commander of this operation. "I'll get the cranberries. Can you reach the pies? I only have 2 hands!"
She prepares her troop with tough love and frustration.
"I had to make all of this! Can't you atleast help me carry it!?"

After everyone made good use of their hands, the mission was ready to commence.

"Oh, and don't forget to bring in the games!" she added while looking back at us.

We meticulously staggered up the front steps and put on our game faces, or in this case, our "Hi! How are you? So good to see you!" faces.

After much preparation and lots of waiting, anticipating stomachs finally gained gluttunous satisfaction in the form of slow cooked poultry. Mashed spud salvation!

After punishing my intestinal tract through seconds and pie, my weary chewing muscles told me it was time to sleep. Commander in Chief had another mission in mind.

"You're old enough now. Go help her with the dishes! She shouldn't have to do those," she said while elbowing.
M'am, Yes M'am!!

The real battle began when Grandma broke out the Scrabble game. After crazy letter assortments and made up words, Grandma was not messing around. She whipped out the big guns, the special Scrabble dictionary. I knew I was about to get massacred by her in all her senior glory.

It was my turn and my letters were not my salvation. Suddently, I spotted a lonely G, dropped double O's, yelled "Goo!" and seceded to my post on the couch. Grandma meant business and turkey made me sleepy.

She doesn't know

She met him in the most cliche of places, rolling her eyes at his approach. She didn't know they'd fit so well. She knew him for only a month before having to say goodbye. She didn't know they'd fit so well. He's been gone for longer than she ever knew him. She didn't know they'd fit so well. She continues to think about him and wonder if more time would have enabled or hindered. She didn't know they'd fit so well. She just learned she'll see him soon, but only for a couple of weeks and goodbye again she must say. She didn't know they'd fit so well. She thinks it may be easier to not see him at all than to have to say goodbye again. She didn't know they'd fit so well. Until those weeks of brevity, she must battle between will of logic and will of the heart. She didn't know they'd fit so well.

Brushstroke Landscape

She looked out her tinted window as the landscape smeared like massive, elongated brush strokes. Her eyes danced to keep up with the race of earth and the mechanical. For a moment she felt a strange comfort of knowing that the nation as a whole was engaging in the exact same thing, at the exact same time. For a day, we were all engaged in unity. She reached her arrival and as she took her first step, bracing cold alerted her to reality.

New Awakens Routine

This year's Thanksgiving was nice and quiet, but at times almost alarmingly quiet. In the yearly holiday rotation, this year yielded to her dad's side of the family. Dinner was gluttonously Thanksgiving-like and the game of Scrabble was fierce as ever, with dictionary in reach. She knew why things just didn't feel right. A particular aunt, uncle and set of cousins were not present this year. They were the ones who always kept the house loud, while leaving her wondering how one family could possibly be so loud and annoying. This year she noticed her lack of annoyance, while they sat in California awaiting the arrival of their oldest Marine son from Iraq. Their turkey sat waiting in the freezer for his arrival home. "He should be getting home anytime," we heard. Not even his family was allowed to know where he was and what day or time he would be coming home. Silence stomped through her attention span. Thanksgiving was new for her this year. Thanksgiving was new for them all this year.

Frustrations

She has such a desire within her to be actively successful that it burns a hole inside of her. Her intense desire, intent and planned out achievement gets clogged, stifling her potential. The extreme amount of creation and potential gets jammed when trying to attain the kinetic energy being reached for. Cyclic energy enjambent must suffice to frustration.