On Saturday night we had a dinner to celebrate John's parents' 50th wedding anniversary. The food was not that great, to be honest. We are some pretty talented cooks in John's family, and so we were not impressed by the breaded chicken cutlets topped with deli ham and congealed Swiss cheese, the Hollandaise sauce that tasted like it had been made with Miracle Whip, the grocery-store rolls, and the dry, bland chocolate cake with frosting that tasted like it also had been made with Miracle Whip, sitting in an ill-considered puddle of half-heartedly smashed strawberries. The beef was okay, if a little tough and Gravy Trainlike in appearance.
But the mediocrity of the food ensured that we didn't sit around making indecent grunts with our mouths filled with food, exclaiming thickly, "Oh, this is so good" (as would usually be the case), so that we were free to focus on the purpose for the gathering, which was to celebrate my in-laws' marriage. Daniel and Sarah had put together a video of pictures from their lives, and we watched as they grew up, got married, and proceeded to have eight difficult, exhausting, brilliant and ultimately fantastic and delightful children. They are incredible people and I'm so thankful to know them and to have been welcomed into their family--our family. I've told this story countless times, but the first time I saw John's dad was in my college choir. He was the assistant director at the time, and I looked at him and thought, "What a handsome grandpa. I need to be in his family." I looked around and saw John and thought, "Okay. This will work." They are the other half of my family I didn't know I was looking for, and I can't imagine life without the whole shouting, laughing, pontificating lot of them.
We went to church together on Sunday in their ward, and the guy who gave the closing prayer in Sunday School was killing me. I was elbowing John like, "Are you listening to this guy?" First of all, it was so long, more like a talk than a prayer, and then he was using it as a forum for airing of grievances. Like, he actually said, in the prayer, that we are thankful to not be like "those other so-called Christians" who don't understand things like "individual responsibility." As Daniel pointed out, we barely finished reading about the Zoramites' Rameumptom prayer, and talk about an apt object lesson. Then there was a lady whose toddler was a hellion and was running up and down the rows screaming and shouting and it was impossible to hear anything that was going on (except the conceited prayer, obv), and the mother just sat there and beamed at him and tickled him until he guffawed whenever he passed her. I told myself that she'd struggled with infertility and it took forever to conceive him, so every noise he makes is a jewel to her. That's how I kept from pointedly glaring at her with my eyes bugging out with annoyance. Look, my kids are loud. You know that. I don't care if a kid is loud, as long as you participate in the charade that you are trying to subdue them somewhat. You have to at least pretend. It's part of the social contract.
June- Home & Yellowstone
11 years ago
