FAMILY GATHERING The Anticipation Stage We're going to Idaho to visit one of our sons, his wife, and two grandkids. In addition, our daughter and her fiancé are flying in - they will be competing in a Half Ironman race. My pre-visit mindset is, as always, brightly optimistic:  as Granddad, I will hang with the kids, watch a great race in the warm sun, bask in the congeniality of deep familial relations, and occasionally impart the profound wisdom that only comes from years of vintage experience. The problem with the Anticipation Stage is that it never quite pans out - in fact this time I nearly burnt down the house. The Calm Waters Stage Isn't there always a Big Event at a Family Gathering - boating, the zoo, a ball game? This time the Big Event was the Boise Half-Ironman, and the night before we were hosting a carbo-loading dinner for 20 athletes and friends at the house. As you know, at a Family Gathering, the key is to be on your best behavior. Don't rustle any feathers by suggesting that so and so has gained a few pounds or that there is a better way to get a child to eat veggies. Don't try to impress anyone - they know you too well. And, most important, try to find a way to look useful. Now, this is easier for a grandma - she can still change diapers and magically find her way around a strange kitchen while I can't even find the snack drawer. But I can still do the dishes! I became the main man at the sink. It was fun and I felt useful and, as a result, happy. The Shipwreck Stage So there I was feeling good as the guests left, and I decided to have a cup of tea and relax. I put some water in the red tea kettle by the side of the stove, put it on one of the burners, and proceeded into the living room where I, like any granddad, became engrossed in a TV show, forgetting all about the tea. The shouting from the kitchen blasted me out of my chair. Flames were shooting up toward the ceiling. The smell of toxic gases was permeating the house and my daughter-in-law was dashing outside with a smoking red tea kettle in her pot-holdered hand. Then I saw the stovetop: it was covered with a molten red plastic. Then it hit me. I was boiling water on the stove in an electric tea kettle. The Blame/Collusion Stage Right off I looked for somebody to blame. "Nobody told me that it was electric!" (Never mind that it was plastic, and red, for heaven's sake.) I milked that for all it was worth, but nobody was listening. They were too busy opening the windows, getting the grandkids out of bed and out of the house, and congregating out front discussing where to sleep. Remember, there was a Big Event the next morning, and toxic breathing all night probably wasn't the best training method. Next, I tried collusion: "Hey Ali. Have you ever heard of an electric tea kettle? Maybe in England. But in Boise?" No takers. I felt awful. The Chipping Away and Picking up the Pieces Stage So, as I sat there discouraged, I began to realize that it's good when nobody buys into those unnecessary - but oh so human - stories. We don't need to buy into the "stages" either, especially the Blame/Collusion Stage. And so, I picked my forlorn bottom up off the steps and went into the kitchen to assess the damage. The molten plastic had cooled into a stiff abstract mess on top of the stove. I grabbed a butter knife and gently chipped away. By the time all the fumes had cleared from the air, the kids were asleep in their beds, the stovetop was restored, and so was I. |
