Flotsam & Jetsam | An irregular feature

FLOTSAM & JETSAM by MAURICE AUSTIN

And no, this one is not about advising the poor to eat their babies. And yes, you should know that reference.

Alas, this proposal came pre-tainted with the aftermath of a missed Thanksgiving, which by the way I feared mom would countenance somewhat like that guy in India Jones and the Temple of Doom countenanced having his heart un-surgically extracted before being dipped in—what was that? Overheated cranberry sauce? But really, her disappointment wasn’t that I wasn’t there to carve the turkey, wasn’t even that I wasn’t there to do the dishes—both my traditional T-Day roles. No, her deepest disappointment was reserved for the fact that I missed the subsequent traditional seasonal un-bagging of the family artificial Christmas Tree, which lives in a Cordura sack above dad’s table saw most of the year, restrained by a few bungee cords.

As tradition has it, once a year the familial prodigal son waywardly strays home during extended fishing trips and in-between bouts of grading essays about Silas Marner or O Pioneers! is coerced to retrieve the Cordura sack and erect the three-piece artificial tree in a corner of the living room, much to the amusement of the resident cat.

Too, tradition lauds the prodigal son for his acumen in managing to get all three tiers of the artificial tree’s lights to light, though it’s less acumen than just repetitiously plugging and unplugging the various sockets while batting away a cat. Thin, thin traditions, I know. We used to make these wonderful displays of a snowbound village under the tree, with lights in each of the frosty houses and skiers on a little mound of cotton and skaters on a mirrored pond. And there were yard decorations, and cards and cards and cards. Now a blanky is thrown over the tree-stand on its little piece of plywood.

The proposal wasn’t about T-Day. I mean, if anything, telling mom I wasn’t coming down for T-Day was cathartic: she got a friend and my sister to help get the three-piece artificial tree down from its perch above dad’s table-saw and cart it off to the Salvation Army and went to Walmart and purchased an artificial tree she can handle herself. Pfft. What does she need me for? So you can predict how my next proposal was received: I suggested that there would be few changes in December, that probably I wouldn’t be down until vaccination was widespread: Look, ma, let’s postpone Christmas, okay? Maybe until April, at least, maybe July?

I admit, the first time I suggested such nonsense, mom kinda giggled. The second time, she kinda snorted. I had to enlist the help of my sister to make the proposal plausible. “April this year? April? As in we already missed it? Jeez yer stupid,” she texted, or much thereabouts. Was obviously still irritated at being enlisted to handle the three-part artificial tree. But I think we’re all onboard, now—we’ll do a gathering in April, perhaps, or even July, if necessary. Sis has expressed gratitude for the leeway in shopping deadlines, and I’m unsure how I would purchase the items on the list she provided for her, her dogs, and her cats except at PetCo or whatever. (Mom advised me to just go to the local PetSmart on the island and get her a gift certificate.)

April is optimistic: I hope we’re back to some semblance of normalcy in April. July, of course, is certainly a fall-back date. Alas, normalcy in my family may take not months, but years…good thing we have humor rolling out daily, to take normal’s place. Frankly, 2024 is a modest goal….

I wish you and yours whatever you feel safest this season!