In case you are wondering, and I never believed this to be true till this week, you can feel the difference between 95 degree heat and 104 degree heat. It is not true that once the thermometer hits above 95, it does not matter. And whoever said, it is dry heat, so it is not as bad, has not ever watched a baseball on Sunday afternoon in Gaston County where the temperature topped out at 105 degrees. And today actually felt cool to me and I did not sweat one time. Supposedly it was only 91 degrees on the beach.
I was going to fast from electronics while on vacation this week, but I am at the beach with my husband's family and this is just too funny not to share. And by this point in my life, I have to claim them as my family too. And probably, unless you are member of my family or have attended family vacations for decades at the same place, this will not be nearly as funny. And it is best to learn to love them (your family), because they will be with you for life and truth be told they really love you too, and it is always best to sit back and enjoy the ride. This is the good stuff.
Every O'Brien, by their own admission will tell you they each suffer from one form of food neurosis or another. It has not been classified by the APA or DSM IV yet, but I am waiting, because it deserves its own category. Seriously. They love each other with food and dinner time is a bonding ritual for them. If you have never eaten with them, it can probably be scary at first, but once you get used to it, it turns out to be quite fun. OK, truth be told it has taken me over a decade to learn to love these meals and quite frankly, reality TV is not any better than this. It just isn't.
So, the first amusing thing, is I suggested a fish camp. ME. I hate fish camps, but there is one that really and truly has pretty good seafood, and really, really good butter beans. I am talking about to die for butter beans. On the family beach trip, they start talking about where to eat dinner at 10 am and this dictates the conversation for the rest of the day. So you can see why I was seriously concerned about my mental health, when at 10 am, I shouted out, "Hey, let's go to Jones Fish Camp tonight." Wesley about flipped. He knows I hate fish camps. But I love those butter beans. I really love those butter beans. I don't think it was the heat talking either, I really wanted those butter beans. To be honest, if Wesley didn't start herding us up like cattle and finding us seats in the respective cars, we probably would never eat before 9 pm. Really. I don't know how we would ever leave the house and get into the cars. I think we would just stand around and stare at each other. And I suspect herding cats is a tad bit easier than seat assignments at the O'Briens.
I think I began laughing when Shirley told me I was going to need a sweater inside the fish camp because last week people were cold when they ate there. To be honest, I don't believe after Saturday and Sunday that I will ever complain about being cold in the summer again. Ever. She told me and my sister in law about three times we needed a sweater. Did I mention it was 91 here today and that the front porch of the fish camp where you will wait no less than 45 minutes sits directly in the sun with no shade what so ever? And I am not sure, but I don't think there is AC in the bathrooms. Just saying, I have always been quite toasty there. Finally Wesley herded me into my car and I didn't have to participate further in the sweater discussion. I tried to explain I was in recovery from near heat exhaustion.
Taking drink orders from the O'Brien clan is a wait person's third worst nightmare. Two of us like unsweet tea, one with lemon and one without. One of us like it half and half with lemon. Another wants 1/4 sweet and 3/4 unsweet with extra lemon and Shirley wants it sweet with lots of extra lemon and if it is not sweet enough she will add saccharin. No kidding. Then there are the soda drinkers. Davis and Vance love Coke products, which by all accounts they should hate, because O'Briens are brand loyal and prefer Pepsi stock. So Vance and Davis always order a Coke and they are always told, "so sorry, we only have Pepsi and is that OK?" I have always wanted to answer that question with, "I don't know, is monopoly money OK?" So, then we have to hear the list of soft drinks, so another choice can be made. Without fail, one of them is served diet, which they both hate and the poor wait person has to change it out. And then there are the tea orders. Personally, I have learned to drink tea whatever way they bring it to me. It takes about 30 minutes to get drink orders straight. Not kidding.
I forgot to mention seating assignments when we get to the restaurant. I stand in amazement that 9 adults, 3 teenagers, 1tween, 1 elementary aged child and whatever stragglers we may have in tow, can not figure out where to sit at a table. I have tried place cards before, that doesn't work either. It is just always mass confusion. You would think spouse would sit with spouse, but not always. And sometimes Shirley just tells us where to sit. It usually goes better when Wesley herds us into place. It just does. And one time, Vance yelled (yes, Vance) and told everybody to be quiet and just sit down. A Chinese fire drill is more organized.
Shirley has to know what every single one of us is ordering and then tells us whether we can eat that much or not. And then wants to share off of our plates because she can not eat that much. Let's just say here, O'Briens are members of the clean plate club. I am not sure what makes me laugh more, Shirley insisting I would like oysters if I just tasted them (which I hate) or asking me if I want to share a meal with her. I am not against sharing. We just don't like the same thing and usually I am pretty famished and can eat my whole meal. Then there are the barrage of questions of "why did you order that? I don't know, I like Mahi." Or Davis will say, "I wanted french fries and baked potato for my two sides". Davis has learned to cope pretty well with Grammy still insisting he try hush puppies (which he hates). One year I could not attend and he called me crying, "Mom, Grammy made me taste a hush puppy again!" Shirley has known me for over 20 years and still thinks I need to eat oysters. I try to stay away from foods that resemble in color, shape or form bodily fluids or parts. Oysters qualify in all three categories, hence I ain't eating them. Ever.
The noise we create in a restaurant alone is daunting. We are a pretty loud bunch. Shirley has taste off of every one's plate and then make sure you are cleaning your plate and then you have to help clean hers. So, tonight when Shirley's shrimp order got misplaced, well, I wasn't sure what was going to happen. First there was the almost unthinkable of bringing a large salad instead of side salad, which she was sure she couldn't finish and wanted it sent back. Vance finally said, "just take it momma, they can't re-serve it and they are not going to charge you for it." Then her steamed peel and eat shrimp never came out because "it takes longer to steam shrimp than to prepare anything else." Who knew? Actually they just forgot to place the order and by the time Wesley had it all figure out, he told them just to bring Shirley her shrimp to go and to comp her for it. This tore Shirley from her frame and she asked, "Wesley, who are you to tell me what I am going to eat. I was going to change to fried because I liked Davis' so much." The irony. The irony.
I think I about choked when Shirley wanted to taste Vance's chicken and she asked three times to taste it and Vance finally said to be patient. He was hungry and didn't want to share but he was going to have to.
Playing games with them is a hoot. And always remember, when your teenager wants to play with you or take a walk with you to get ice cream...the answer is always yes. Those days will be gone in a heartbeat. So we played yathzee tonight. Wesley, Paul and I are seasoned Yathzee players and we were trying to teach Davis, Peyton and Shirley. Shirley was a challenge. But the funny thing and this so O'Brien, was when Wes had to clean the table in the middle of the game. Had to. And told me I would have to scrub my side after the game because he couldn't reach it. I forgot to mention this is a glass table top and we are playing Yathzee. Constant fingerprints. Constant. Wes won through his brilliant strategy and Shirley lost. Davis and I were in the middle.
Then it is desert time. We have no less than six different flavors of ice cream in the house, a pie, brownies, fruit and cookies. I really was stuffed from dinner and didn't care for any. But try telling Shirley that. Good luck with that one. I finally gave in and ate one strawberry. Davis made her and Wes both happy by eating doughnuts and strawberries.
I almost forgot the five trips to the grocery store to buy groceries. Everyone wants to feel they are contributing and we always have enough food to feed a small army and usually the only thing left over is the condiments, pickles and olives. Don't ask why. We have six kinds of bread, 12 kinds of crackers, 10 kinds of chips, you already know about the ice cream, lunch meat, cheese, strawberries, watermelon, corn, green beans, butter beans, vidalias, tomatoes, potatoes, summer sausage, etc. etc. Everyone has to buy a gallon of milk with each trip to the store. Right now we have 4 gallons.
In the secular world, whether it's on vacation, or during a hospital stay, or during our years in school, the one thing we react to most viscerally and sticks with us the longest are our feelings about the food. Our holy food and drink deserves no less attention. And I wonder a lot do we ever think about what we believe about communion. To be honest, whether you believe it to be a sacrament, memorial meal, transbustantiated or not, is not what bothers me. I can make an sound theological argument for all three and really I don't have an opinion on the matter. It does however bother me a great deal that we argue who gets to participate and when. I can also make a compelling theological argument on us deciding who comes and when is just plain wrong.
I used to make the bread for communion. I had no idea when I volunteered for this task that people have serious opinions on which recipe to use and actually will complain about the taste, texture, etc. Needless to say, I didn't last long in that volunteer position. The only thing I regret about resigning is I didn't speak my mind on how small minded we can be over bread. If I ever shared the real behind the scenes story it (I would hope), leave you in shock and awe.
Davis always helped me with this task and all these years later he still asks if I will make that "body of Christ" bread. He liked the way it tasted. And truth be told, it should taste like life to us. Truth be told, we should be changed every single time we take communion and truth be told, we should be running to the altar as if we were starving and then taking extras for all our friends, neighbors, strangers who couldn't make it. Truth be told we should be breaking off big pieces to share with everybody. But we don't. We feel viscerally about the wrong things I think. We feel too strongly about the tradition surrounding it than the miracle that can happen. We feel too strongly about who gets to serve it, how it is served, when it is served and to whom. What we need to feel strongly about is that it is shared. Just like Shirley. We need to pick up our plates and pass them around for everybody to taste. Everybody.
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