Dessert?

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I hope that it was enjoyable. I and the family units had a great time in the greater Story City, Iowa area, the Mayberry of the Mid-west.  This blog was started  the day after Thanksgiving.

The day after Thanksgiving, Black Friday, the day that was tacked on to Thanksgiving because the powers that be knew that they couldn’t get us back to work after stuffing our faces with stuffing. What was honest Abe thinking; giving into Sarah Hale’s 30 years of persistence and making the 4^th Thursday of November Thanksgiving? 

“Look at you Abraham. You’re all skin and bones. Sure the last 7 presidents have said no. “No national holidays on Thurdays in November. It’s cold, rainy, the days are short, my cable provider doesn’t have the NFL channel.”  But if anyone needed a national day of gluttony it is you Abe. Look at you. You’re all skin and bones.”

“You know Sarah. I would love a big ole slab of pecan pie, but…”

“No buts Abe. The women of America would love to get up early in the morning to start the turkey, with stuffing, and roles, and mashed potatoes, and mac and cheese. I know how you love mac and cheese Abe.”

“I really do.”

“And Abe after that complex carbohydrate love fest, we’ll push ourselves into a coma with 2 slices of pecan pie.”

As the many of the families that made up the 2010 Hoover Thanksgiving, were gathered around the Comfort Inn’s breakfast table on Black Friday morning making plans for the day, I shared that my plan was to hang out at the hotel and try to write the blog. Someone commented that I had plenty of material to draw upon from this weekend to make this a great blog.

I demurred and pointed out how that would be a disaster. A large percentage of the participants in the Thanksgiving festivities to be written about are my loyal readers. Never make your core demographic mad by telling the “truth” about them is one of the first dictums that any successful blogger knows. I hear that to write a successful blog, you have to write the “truth” about all of the other people in the world, make them mad, and let your core demographic feel the warm glow of superiority and affirmation. Besides, I would have too many witnesses to the exaggerations that I might make in these paragraphs, and the family would know that these pages are filled with lies and damned lies.

And you know, I never finished that blog. I tried and tried. Worked, edited, erased and it would not be written. And I think that was because the weekend had not had it’s dessert yet.

It had been a great three days. The travel out, while rainy and a bit icy in a spot or two, was not dangerous and went without a hitch. Wednesday evening was fun, watching the dance, dance revolution participants, catching up on college exploits, eating the exquisite rolo-chocolate, crack cookies, and talking smack about the epic dodge-ball game that was to be held on Friday evening. It is a game whose build up has been so great that the family generated pages of facebook, smack down, comments in anticipation.  The uncles figuring out the new arithmetic when they found out that nephew Ben likes Miller Lite too and turned 21 in July. The food, the pie, the spirited Demons game Thursday was a blast too.

Black Friday was spent doing a little shopping, watching some TV, eating leftovers, and napping, getting ready for the epic dodge ball tournament. It was huge. The anticipation had mounted for a year. A dodge ball game was promised a year ago but due to cutbacks in the Story City recreational equipment budget, no dodge balls were found in the big chest of balls in the corner of the gymnasium.  Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed when one crazy uncle suggested that the basketballs could be used instead.  Finally, the competitive juices were somewhat sated with a vigorous volleyball game. But let’s be honest, vigorous volleyball while somewhat alliterative, pales in comparison in vigor and shear excitement to dodge ball. A game so dangerous, that one according to one Stilger nephew, an Illinois Jr. High Gym teacher claims that it is illegal to play dodge ball in Iowa. Well let me tell you that the Hoovers, Stilgers, Rathmachers, Sharritts, and Pyles say nuts to the nanny state. We love our dodge ball. And YES YOU ARE STILL OUT IF IT HITS YOU IN THE HEAD!

This kind of unrequited passion does not go away with the passage of time. So when the Facebook invitation went out in October for the second annual “volleyball” tourney, it was game on. No budget cuts this year. Play ground balls were bought and transported across state lines, some one found a professional grade dodge ball distributer (who knew), and a referendum was passed in Story City to be used for the purchase of balls. 

5:45 came. Face paint was applied. Leftover plates were put away and a gang of ruffians so noisy that every dog in a 4 block area was barking as the infernal hoard of hellians, tramped through the sleepy alleys of the Mayberry of the Midwest.

Crashing through the doors at 5:55, teams were picked. The balls placed on the center line. The rules explained one last time. YES YOU ARE STILL OUT IF IT HITS YOU IN THE HEAD. I SUGGEST YOU GET TALLER IF THAT’S A PROBLEM. An impartial bystander was chosen to yell 1, 2, 3, go.  And the games began. Teams against teams, Aunts and uncles against cousins, Boys against the girls. Always just one more game.

“Sarah, can we have whipped cream on that pecan pie?”

“You got it Abe. All the whipped cream you can eat.”

“I Love Thanksgiving. You can have it any old Thursday you want.”

Take care.

Roger