Granolaville Thanksgiving

We decided to spend our Thanksgiving holiday in Granolaville, Massachusetts: The Last Bastion of Indie-ness and home to David's oldest brother, Ed. In addition to Ed we got a bonus "Ed's girlfriend" and five more of David's siblings. Then we got a visit from five East Coast relatives which upped the total. So if you are counting on your fingers you should have run out by now as we're up to 9-14 people in a two bedroom apartment with one bathroom. Ed wisely rented a motel room for some of the guests to stay at during the week. Miraculously, the apartment is still standing, the neighbors aren't petitioning to evict Ed, we only broke the garbage disposal, and at the time of our departure there was still one roll of toilet paper left.

This was our second trip to Granolaville and as much as I would have loved to fly back to So-Cal it just wasn't feasible. However, the one hour flight to Granolaville was totally doable and besides is there anything more depressing than going from a cold climate to a warm climate? So off to New England we went.

Well, not quite New England at first. David decided to save some cash on airfare so we flew into Albany, NY about an hour away from Granolaville. Albany was a nice little airport to wait for Ed to pick us up. We had no problems at any airport arriving or departing. No TSA grope, no zappy-zap scan, no epic line of protesters. We even had enough time departing from Cleveland-Hopkins to stop at Great Lakes Brewing Company for Christmas Ale because I was going to be deprived of it for a week. David tried to tell me Sam Adams beer would fill the void where Christmas Ale should have been but I knew he was lying.

Ed had lots of surprises for us including a trip to the most beautiful mall in the world. This mall was gor-geous it had a Nordie's and a Lord & Taylor. It was fancy and heaven-sent and I'm sad I didn't spend more of David's money there. Then after a day spent at the fancy mall we had reservations at the fancy restaurant Ed works at as a bartender. I know it was fancy because the menu had courses instead of numbered combos and there were two forks on the table. It was excellent food and a great time but I was bit freaked out. If I had known we were going to a "fancy restaurant" I would have made David bring an additional pair of pants and nicer beanie. It wasn't a big deal that he was wearing jeans, a cheap beanie and a hoodie. It is an Under Armour hoodie which is like the priciest athletic wear you can buy. The fancy mall had an entire Under Armour store! But that's pretty much all he brought. David and I have slipped further into the depths of a blue-collar world and it shows when the collar isn't hiding beneath expensive outerwear.

Dining out once was probably a good idea because the next day was Thanksgiving and it was non-stop cooking. Ed and his girlfriend did the bulk of it; I watched football. That's safer because I have yet to burn a football game. The Patriots played the Lions in Detroit. How could I not watch the game? I was in New England! The Patriots are playing! All I needed was some buckled shoes and hat and it couldn't have been more traditional and American and what-not! The food was awesome and we ate tons and still had leftovers.

Unfortunately, where there is non-stop cooking there is also non-stop dishes. Washing dishes in this sort of situation is like fighting the Hydra. As soon as you think you are done someone waltzes into the kitchen, gets a glass out for juice and it makes you want to scream, "Look just drink out of the carton! I don't care! I'm not Hercules I'm not racking up labors here! Edith Hamilton isn't hanging around waiting to tell my tale to bore high-schoolers to tears!" It is even more difficult when you have been living with only one other person and just washing a small amount everyday. Suddenly you are washing dishes for nine and you are screaming and every one thinks you are insane. You adapt eventually but the road to clean dishes is still daunting.

You know what else is daunting? Sleeping with squirrels in the walls. At first I didn't know they were squirrels or other rodents. I thought the neighbors upstairs had a dog or cat running around so I slept fine. Then I overheard Ed telling the other brothers that the scurrying they were hearing might be squirrels. Ignorance is bliss and they should have lied to me, "No, Samina not in the room you are sleeping in, nope no squirrels there. The neighbors have a Pomeranian named Sparky...yeah that's it, a cute, harmless not rabid at all ball of fur. That is what you are hearing." Instead, I spent the night with my feet as far away from the walls as possible silently praying Slappy and Skippy Squirrel wouldn't chew my toes off once they busted through the wall. And to think I wanted to stay at the apartment and not the hotel because I wanted the privacy a door would provide. I should have known privacy was a pipe dream the minute I decided to lock the door against a horde of boys to shower, only to have my own husband pull on the door not ten minutes after I got the ancient plumbing to give water that would neither scald nor freeze. So it's fine, I'll just walk past all five of my brothers-in-law ages 32-16 wrapped in nothing but a towel so you can have the bathroom dear husband.

I love my brothers-in-law but I love privacy more. Sorry guys. Do you know what else I love? Being punctual, not inconvenienced or inconveniencing others needlessly, and not being stressed out. That's the next blog so stay tuned but first I have some dishes to wash. And since we are home and David drinks out of the carton I hardly have anything to clean, so back in two twitches of a squirrel's disease-infested nose.