2024, Family, Gatherings, Mysteries

Family Fuel

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Back to the macaroni gathering.

I’m sure you’ve all heard me say “why spoil a perfectly good holiday by spending it with my family”.  Sounds harsh but when my whole family is together, it gets weird fast.  The last time we were all together before my father’s death we were asked not to return to an Embers.  An Embers!

I wasn’t looking forward to the macaroni gathering but it’s one thing to `dis your family for decades behind their backs and another thing entirely to `dis them to their faces.  So Nonny and I got the condo ready; Nonny made her salad and I heated up the macaroni. 

The group included both my middle sister and her husband, my little sister, my niece, my niece’s partner, two nephews, one nephew’s partner and two boys. Oh, and Nonny and me.  It started out a little strained.  Even the St. Louis group doesn’t gather all that often and I know that my two sisters don’t approve all that much of the other one’s choices. 

At one point my middle sister starting telling a story about baby possums that had gotten into their house and how they had to catch to them release them outside.  My youngest nephew is all about animal rescue, trap/neuter/release and knows quite a bit about wild animal relocation.  He was horrified by my sister’s story, jumping in to express indignation and to educate us all about how most people handle relocation incorrectly.  My brother-in-law (let’s call him David) is a very nice man but in the dictionary, out in the margin next to the phrase “pours gas on the fire” is David’s picture.  As soon as he realized he had a captive audience, he was off and running.  There was an outrageous story about trapping possums under a trash can followed by his exhortation that you can’t keep possums in the house because when they grow up, then there is “possum mating”.  This was accompanied by him stamping his feet and slapping his hands together to illustrate how this mating would keep you up at night.  It was the funniest thing ever; it was a good thing I was sitting on the floor at the time because I would have fallen off my chair laughing. 

Unfortunately the one person in the room who did not get the joke and wasn’t laughing was my nephew.  He looked horrified.  I had to ask him if he understood the phrase “yanking your chain”.  Even once I explained it, you could tell he wasn’t too thrilled to join in the hilarity.  But the gas on the fire did the trick and loosened some of the tension.  Not perfect, but we did manage to spend another hour together without any incidents!

My middle sister is already asking when I think I’ll be visiting next year so we can do it again!  Oops.

Do you have any “gas on the fire” friends or relatives?  Or “gas on the fire” stories?

39 thoughts on “Family Fuel”

  1. We lived our productive years, and raised our children, overseas. BUT, every 3rd or 4th year would spend months in North America, which usually included November and December. In the 80s and 90s we would split the holidays between Michigan (where we resided) and Southern California (my natal locale) in order to offer some semblance of ‘balance’. Your statement about “why ruin a perfectly good holiday?” is the conclusion to which we eventually came.
    I had a sister who would “host” the dinner, and make sure to pour some gasoline on the floor and strike the match. Eventually I just steeled myself behind a shell and watched / listened to her and a brother duke it out.

    When retirement and relocation from overseas drew onto the time horizon some years ago, though Southern California is an attractive and warm place, we settled far outside the radius of a conceivable “drive by” visit.

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  2. My side of the family is pretty mellow as a whole (and, you might say, holding back true feelings). Wife’s side is a bit more open, but we don’t have any gas pourers. My wife may be the closest to that moniker. She has a hard time not discussing politics with my Trumpish stepfather. Somehow, she thinks she can convert people to her way of thinking with a five-minute “discussion.”

    I gave up trying to change people’s minds about 50 years ago.

    Chris in Owatonna
    (who likes to gently tease people but won’t start an argument for argument’s sake.)

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    1. My dad was the “argument for argument’s sake” guy in our family. More than once I witnessed him arguing a point until everyone agreed with him and then he would switch and argue against his point. Fascinating unless, of course you were the one arguing with him. Unfortunately my dad and my brother-in-law never got along so the two dynamics (“gas on the fire” and “just keep arguing” never appeared at a gathering together. It probably would have been really entertaining.

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      1. As I learned working at the law firm, whenever there’s a lawyer in the room, there will be at least two or three different ways to argue for and against an issue. I came to appreciate that particular skill.

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  3. My father loved getting people riled up. He was a life long Democrat, but had a great time saying outrageous things that sure didn’t reflect his true political views to people just to get an argument started. It kept things in his coffee shop very lively.

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  4. His last fuel on the fire was his insistence that I include an 8 × 10 signed glossy of Hilary Clinton in the slide show at his funeral lunch, just as a jab at his Republican buddies.

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  5. Whenever we would go to my mother’s family gatherings in Pipestone, my mom would remind him to not say anything to my grandmother about her sister, with whom she was in a decades long feud. When the conversation would get too dull for his liking he would invariably ask my grandmother “So, Dora, heard anything from that sister of yours?” and then my grandmother would be off and ranting.

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  6. Rise and Pour Oil on the Waters, Baboons,

    Uncle Bob. Why anyone allowed him in the house is beyond me. I realized in adulthood that there was something really wrong with him. Then with further knowledge I realized he was manic all the time. The stories from his childhood ran along the lines of “he set the one room schoolhouse on fire by stuffing a wet burlap sack in the chimney.” He did not want to go to school.

    He would stop at our house or my aunt and uncle’s house, because we lived between his house and his brother’s home in Pipestone. On one memorable visit he informed the gathering at the dinner table that Uncle Jim was “a Jap.” Mind you Uncle Jim was hosting the meal. “Listen to his name. Hoey! He is a Jap.” Hoey is Irish and his family was part of the Scot-Irish community in the Appalachians. It had been O’Hoey in Ireland.

    Uncle Bob was a menace. Maybe later I can tell more about him.

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  7. My mom’s second husband, Bill. My mom was a chemical dependency counselor at West Hills in Owatonna. Bill was the director of the program and Mom was the assistant director. Bill was really a character. He was a nice guy. I know people who really loved him. He died of pancreatic cancer in 2008. He really, really loved my mom, really adored her, which is nice. She loved him too. The rest of us all just scratched our heads about the relationship. After he died, some of Mom’s behavior and even physical problems became more clear.

    We don’t ruffle feathers or pour gas on fires in our family. We’ve been through enough family drama and misunderstandings. We had our share of pain way back in the ‘70s. None of us is willing to add to it. We’re big avoiders of conflict and drama. Bill wasn’t. He was a vocal, hard-right conservative, but he was pretty liberal about pouring gas on all of our little smoldering flames.

    If he was alive today, he would be supporting the people who stormed the Capitol building on January 6. Back in the ‘90s, when politics were tame compared with today, he loved to “discuss” politics with me. In my face. Loudly. Spewing saliva. Needless to say, it wasn’t fun to go see Mom anymore. I learned to say, “Okay, I agree,” just to shut him up, but he wouldn’t stop. I wasn’t the only one. He trapped everyone in a corner at one point or another to debate his point of view. He was the type of person who would argue about the sun in the sky, and he didn’t seem to understand that nobody appreciated the debates.

    During the time they were together, Mom developed some pretty remarkable physical problems. She was diagnosed with “pelvic floor tension myalgia.” We called it her pain in the butt. She couldn’t sit in a chair or a car. She knelt on the floor for many Christmases. She lost quite a bit of weight. After Bill died, it vanished within a year. We still talk about that.

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  8. Husband family has all kinds of drama since I’ve been there – more “stir the pot” than “gas on the fire”, I would say. But there are 2-1/2 sisters who have dropped the rest of us – one had Husband as the best man at her wedding, but later decided we weren’t _________ enough to be worth the trouble. There is much sadness, some bitterness, and I hardly think about them any more.
    One has resumed contact in the past couple of years, hence the 1/2…

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  9. We have some pretty headstrong family members in both husband’s family and mine. Add to that a lack of respect for other people’s boundaries, lack of humility, and a conviction that your opinion is the only valid one, it can make for some pretty combustible discussions. No additional fuel or stirring of the pot necessary for a conflagration.

    Like Aboksu, husband and I minimized the risk of “drive by” visits by putting some major bodies of water and thousands of miles between us. In addition, husband cut off all contact with his only living brother six years ago. My sister’s son solved the problem by cutting off all contact with his mother and his younger sister twelve years ago. I find it rather sad that such such extreme measures are taken, and I can’t help but wonder if they really solve anything.

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  10. I am the gasoline pourer.
    Today, I am inflaming Trumpists with postings about Taylor Swift and the Kansas City Chiefs.
    The conspiracy theory is that the media, NFL, refs and Biden are in cahoots for KC because of Swift’s recent push for voter registration. The more the appeances she gets while at games, the more people will vote for Biden.
    I let the Trumpists know that…”The Swifties Gang is more dangerous than the Sinaloa Cartel.”
    Wes (as if you couldn’t tell)

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  11. Very interesting stories today people!
    I kind of enjoy getting a discussion going, but not to this point.
    There was a student here a few years ago; he would “Poke the bear”, me being the bear. I’d say ‘Don’t touch that’ and he’d be the one to touch it. But it was in a fun way; no one ever got hurt, or did anything dangerous, and he’s still one of my favorites. But he sure did know how to push my buttons.

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  14. All my relatives are way out west, far from me. I ignore them. They disapprove of me, the little they know about me.
    Friday they did my biopsy. Dr. Who did says he will call me as soon as pathologist report hits his desk. He promises it will be negative and promises he will be my dr. For this and make sure everyone leaves me and my poor cyst alone. But I will feel better when the report comes in.
    Sandy is really sinking but may be her thyroid. Spent all day there when should be doing my taxes. My account, and friend, almost family, has deserted me. I think over politics.
    Clyde

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      2. I played mandolin in a folk group years ago. We did a Christmas show every year at the St. Peter Arts Center. We played this.

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