Oh, my goodness. I’m here, inside the Velveteen Mind, looking out at you! I can’t believe this! I have always been so impressed with Megan's blog. I read her everyday and I never-ever-ever thought I’d be posting anything here. I’m completely freaked out. This might not be pretty.
My plan is to write about something I can’t write about over at Milk Breath and Margaritas: my husband’s family.
I married up. Pretty way up from whence I came. If it were medieval times it would be like the Young Lord of the Manor married The Milk Maid. It would have been utter scandal.
Mr. P’s family is Old Southern Money, genteel accents and all. I was initiated quickly with a gift of opera-length pearls and given references to join the Junior League. These are Harvard and Vanderbilt people thankyouverymuch. Lots of doctors.
At his family gatherings when the meal is almost ready the women excuse themselves to go “dress for dinner.” We wait for the hostess (his mother) to tell us where to sit around the massive formal dining room table. All children ask to be excused when finished.
My family is full of blue-collar steel mill workers. No one (except me and now my daughter) went to college anywhere, much less Harvard. Everyone wears jeans and tee-shirts to dinner on holidays. The men don’t remove their hats indoors. The napkins have not been ironed as they are – gasp – paper! The silver has not been polished since there isn’t any. And someone will tell an inappropriate joke and someone will reach right in front of you for the gravy. Someone will start to “dig in” before everyone is served. There is no formal dining room.
Needless to say this has made for some interesting cross-cultural experiences for Mr. P and me and has resulted in a few “discussions” about the pros and cons of each family’s style.
Well, given all the emphasis on appropriateness in his family I was quite taken aback by a recent funeral. Funny how the tables can turn without warning…
Auntie L died a few months ago. She was an old woman, my father-in-law’s younger sister. Instead of a Proper Southern Funeral, we gathered in front of her beach home in Charleston SC, months after her death, for a “memorial” that her three kids arranged. As a friend of Auntie’s is reading a tribute, I looked across the semi-circle of barefoot people (in shorts and swimsuits!!) gathered in the sand and notice Cousin Jimmy, her oldest son. He’s standing solemnly, listening intently, and cradling under one arm a large green ceramic frog.
I lean to Mr. P and whisper, “Um, is that Auntie L? In the frog?”
P looked grim.
Yep, that was her! I stood there on the beach at sunset stifling a grin as huge as the smile on that great fat frog’s face!
They took it inside and placed it on the mantle and sat a beer next to it. I SO wanted to snap a picture but I was afraid someone would ask why I did it and I couldn’t very well exclaim happily that I’m posting this bad-boy on my blog cause it’s the funniest damn thing I’ve seen at a funeral! Proper Southern Burial MY ASS.
Hah!! We can chalk another one up in his family’s column for Just Too F-ing Weird!
Whew, thanks Velveteen Rabbit, for letting me get that out!!!
Find out what Amy usually lets loose
over at Milk Breath and Margaritas.
Writer. Mother.
