Bring the Torch Jeanette Isabella

Since it is abundantly clear that there will be no calm cool collected conversing now that the gates of Hell have been thrown wide open and all manner of ugliness is swarming about us, I decide to compose a letter.


The letter focuses on the current problem. The one that broke my camel's back to begin with. Christmas and the inevitable corner she so artfully backs Charlotte and me into on alternating years. And the insult that it is to know that she thinks we are so stupid that her little game has gone undetected.


I am not one to relish someone else's squirming, but in this case I can maintain steely-eyed focus. It is so insulting and so offensive in so many ways. And she so casually chalks it off as one more personal win.


Not any more.


I begin the letter with fair warning. It is not going to be something she enjoys reading but it is a letter chock full of things she needs to understand.


I acknowledge that she probably does a lot of accommodating on her part also. Bill is a bit of a pill, as I believe we've already established, and can fuss his way out of anything he does not want to do, placing Mom in a position to a) find a way to do it anyway, and b) make an excuse for why Bill is not ultimately along for the ride, or c) cajole him into going along with it against his will. I am sure she feels like she should be accommodated too, darn it.


But the facts are, she comes up once a year, unless a death or a graduation or a selfish motivation forces a second visit. And the visits last exactly 60 hours. And in spite of being invited to spend that time at my house or at Charlotte's as a home base from which to visit or be visited, she and Bill stay with the Lushes. Does she realize how hard that is to explain to family and friends? She lives 9 hours away, comes once a year, and sees us for maybe 3 hours? What if I drove my family all the way to the Carolinas to see her and then spent every waking hour hanging out doing beer bongs with my college roommate?

I enlighten her as to how transparent her excuses are, and say the things she will not say --- that she will not voluntarily go to Joe's house, unless perhaps he is bedridden, because his wife will make it miserable for her. And Bill will not join her because he can't stand Joe OR his wife OR their children and that his love for my mother pales in comparison to his need to avoid that. And since Joe lives in some heinous remote neighborhood and it is kind of far from the Lush compound, she'd like to meet at a more conveniently geographic location...like my house. And she'd like to meet at a time that is convenient for her, whether or not it is convenient for me, because, she has an agenda to keep and darn it, if the Lushes are having drinks at 4 and dinner at 6 then the visiting will have to conclude by 3 pm.

Whether I am home to receive guests at the appointed hour or not. Why would I be bothered by that???

So her burgeoning social schedule will have to take precedence over all else - the demands of jobs, the pressure of in laws, the court ordered custody schedule...

I suggest that if she simply stayed a day or two longer, she could quite handily see each of us. It might even be enjoyable.

I ask why she comes at all. There are no memories made. Her eyes are on the clock the entire time. Quick! Open gifts! Serve dinner! Clean up! All so she can casually walk out the door at the predetermined hour to go join the Lushes in a blender full of Margaritas, and pretend that that was not the plan all along.

The first draft is pretty darn insulting. I am not kind in my description of the Lushes or Mom's (flawed and hard to understand) relationship with Bill.

I let her know how manipulated I feel. I state that I am pretty sure I am speaking for my siblings as well. (Joe said as much to her earlier that week. She had bitched to me about it!) I assert that this year I am not going to be manipulated into meeting her demands at the expense of my children's Christmas.

I will celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve. My guests are welcome at 1. She is welcome to join us.

I will not be hosting lunch for Joe and his family. Perhaps if Mrs. Lush is her best good friend she'd be amenable to entertaining my brother's family as guests at her table.

I let my sister edit. She lets her husband take a red pen to it, too. I do a rewrite striking all of the most vicious and snarky comments. And then, since my mother does not have a computer and therefore still deprives herself of the joy of e-mail (which is probably a blessing where World Peace is concerned.) I sign it, fold it, jam it into an envelope and place it into the mail where it will ooze venom from here to the Carolinas.

I am prepared to hold my ground regardless of her reaction.