The Season of Smorgasbord

Greetings from Poosey.

I’ve always thought myself to be a peaceful person, then I’ll spend an hour with Herb in public and I tell myself that the man just needs a good slapping. Nothing can strain your pacifism like a lunk-headed husband.

We’re both fans of buffet-style eating, and we’re especially fond of oriental restaurants featuring this style of service. Of course, most oriental buffets in this country feature food that’s exotic in name only. We have a knack of dunking an American-style chicken wing in French sweet and sour sauce and calling in Chinese. Most oriental buffets less resemble a Shanghai café than a meeting of the United Nations.

As long as it goes down well I don’t care how they label it. But the downside to eating at one of these places with Herb is the man’s constant griping. “Look at that goop, Freida! I can’t even tell what it is! And what are these slimy noodles? Why can’t they write these words in English?”

“Chop Suey is an American invention, Herb. If you don’t like it then move on down to the fried shrimp.” A few thousand edible items stretch out before the old coot and he complains about the one dish he doesn’t like. “Isn’t there something on this table I can understand, Freida?”

“Coleslaw you can understand, Herb. Mashed potatoes… nothing exotic about that. Fried chicken, pork chops, ice cream for gosh sakes! Stop worrying about what bothers you and take what you really like! And while you’re at it, stop dribbling your Low Mein noodles on my shoes!”

We sat down, ate our meal with Herb going back three times to get more of the food he didn’t like, then went shopping. It was pre-Thanksgiving but Santa had taken over most stores we visited. Herb was still numbed from an overdose of Crab Rangoon but that didn’t stop his muttering, “This is just awful, Freida. They’re making a circus out of Christmas. It’s a sacrilege! We’ve kidnapped the holiest day of the year!”

There are laws about leaving children in your car when you shop during dangerous weather, but I need to check on the age limit. My shopping trips are much more pleasant with Herb in the car smoking his pipe and digesting his wonton noodles. I’m not denying that the man has a point. It’s getting harder and harder to tolerate the Christmas creep as the season of selling stretches now into October and the birth of Christ will no doubt be somebody mixed in with trick-or-treating. If a person’s not careful she’ll be completely turned off on the December holiday before it gets here. And that’s when I think of Stella.

My friend, Stella, is a totally wonderful little old lady who’s lived nearly her entire life in a family of rowdy, hard-drinking, inconsiderate, foul-mouths nincompoops… and she loves them all. The woman has never had a discouraging word cross her lips. She’ll watch a drunken nephew stumble into her house on Christmas morning, tell him that Jesus loves him and she does too, then offer him enough coffee so he can sit up straight for the family meal. If I’ve ever seen a saint walk this earth, it’s been Stella. She can find something wonderful, something special, in even the most disgusting circumstances and revolting personalities. I once went Christmas shopping with her and when as we stood in front of a display labeled “Bud Light Christmas Special,” she said, “Freida, isn’t it wonderful that even beer companies celebrate the birth of the savior!”

Amazing. And in Stella’s case it’s not an act.

In the coming weeks we’ll all have the choice, a conscious act of will, to fall into the trap of being disgusted by the commercialization of Christmas, or finding the worthwhile bits on the big buffet line of choices set out before us. We can growl at the Egg Foo Yung-ish display of jingling TV commercials intent on selling us a new car or we can appreciate the smiles on the faces of children as the holiday approaches. We have the choice of finding the good and embracing it or complaining about the excesses. I know what Stella would do. She’d smile and move on down to the coleslaw.

You ever ‘round Poosey, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.