Woody Cavenaugh

The day began late on Sunday, I forgot the little detail about my alarm clock only being set to go off Monday through Friday. Fortunately, since I am visiting my family, I can cut back on the grooming and fashion. They are a simple people and the simpler the hair the less fearful they are of it. (at least for the guys).

The family reunion has always been the second Sunday in December for a reason. The harvest is in, we've recovered from the Thanksgiving feast, and we'll have time to recover before the Christmas feast. Wisdom of the ages.

I arrived at Grandmother's house exactly when I intended to hungry and past ready to eat. My uncle was well, my mom looked good, my dad didn't look bad and my Grandmother had no idea who I was. I suppose that little detail might bother some people, but I know who SHE is, and that is enough for me. My memories of her shape my life, her memories of me do not. I remembered to ask about gall bladder troubles in the family and the response was, "yes". It has effected more than one generation so I will have to check my calendar and schedule my gall bladder's removal once I reach my 50s.

Leaving there, I followed the parents to "The Pink Supper House". What? I did not give it this name! The community building serves suppers every Friday and Saturday night, it is pink, and most importantly it is the only place the Cavenaugh family reunion has ever been held.

Here I visited with relatives, and watched the older generation as they watched the younger generation play. The two things I like to see at my family reunions are the old and the young. The aged remind me that old age is still possible. The children remind me that we are in no danger of dying out as a people.

Finally! One O'clock and time to eat, the only formality is to allow my cousin to ask a blessing on our meal, and listen to a speaker let us know how much was brought in last year in donations and how much was paid out again to buy flowers for those who didn't make it since last year. We lost two, but we had one birth so we're doing ok I suppose.

I am not sure if it is the fact that I spend so much time worrying about what I eat, or the fact that dad is having trouble eating so I allow him to eat vicariously through me. Whichever it was, my first plate was a masterpiece in wild gluttony. I had beef, pork, chicken, turkey, four types of greens, mac and cheese and some vegi casserole. Good times. My second plate was maybe half the size. Only one piece of fried chicken on this plate, veggies, turnips, mac and cheese, lasagna, BBQ, hush puppies, and a single cookie for dessert. I did say I was trying to watch my figure. No need going overboard on the sweets. I spent the rest of the day walking slowly for fear of upsetting the delicate balance of food in my stomach.

When I thought lunch was settled enough to be in a car for three hours, I said my goodbyes, and by 4pm headed west.

The whole way home I couldn't shake the feeling that I had just witnessed my dad's last good meal. It was a sobering thought, that put me out of the mood for Christmas music entirely. Fortunately I had plenty of Celtic rock on hand to get me home.

I did not eat dinner because I was too miserable from my lunch.
I did not sleep well because I was too miserable from my lunch.
I did not eat breakfast because I was too miserable from my lunch.
Its getting close to lunch time now and I'm starting to be a little concerned. I might try to put something in my stomach to find out what happened to what I put there yesterday, but at this moment it might not be much more than a bite.

I wonder if they have a liquid plumber formula for the digestive system? I'm glad we only do this once a year.