Potlucks, families and reunions

Who doesn’t love a potluck? Oh, sure, there’s always a scrooge who’d rather sit home with his hand glued to the remote, glassy eyes hypnotized by the ball game. Does that sound familiar? I thought so as every family has one. Right?

Family potlucks are the most entertaining when you’re a kid. You can hardly wait for grandma’s blackberry pie, always the best, but stay away from no-name dish made by great Aunt Ethyl Crappmore, 90, who thinks everyone loves it because it disappears so fast. And you hope to heaven she never finds out you shove it under the table for the dog when she’s talking to her sister, Great Aunt Sairy Sugarbun, 92. Neither can hear the other, and refuse to get hearing aids, but you would never hurt their feelings.

Then there’s cranky neighbor Mr. Hoginwort, who practically trips getting to the table grabbing the choice dishes first, having fasted for two days just waiting to dive in. Then sweet Aunt Little Thing, looks at the laden table saying “ Oh my, so much food, I just can’t eat anything!” Then proceeds to load her plate like a longshoreman. And then there’s the one who couldn’t bring anything because she’s always on a diet, and eats half the blackberry pie you had hoped to snitch a second piece of.

But what would a family potluck be without its character, and what would you have to talk about for days after if it weren’t for the gossip? One favorite is, “Did you see Barner’s wife Perky, sheesh, dyed her hair ugly black with a blonde stripe down the middle. When she bent over to pick a napkin up, scared the hell out of the dog thinking it was a skunk.”

I thought I’d die watching Uncle Birdbrain when his teeth got stuck in the corn on the cob and pulled them out. I nearly choked on my own for trying not laugh. He is such a sweet, gentle old duffer.

Then there’s Great Uncle Drippy who thinks no one knows it’s a bottle of Scotch in the sack that never leaves his side. He makes so many trips to the woods you can’t count ‘em. Cousin Corky Screwball says the old coot doesn’t realize you can tell by the shape of the bag, and his fire breath gives him away. Scares her every time he hangs over the gas barbecue because she’s expecting him to explode.

We kids had the most fun while folks were catching up on the past year. It was also a time to get even with the meanest cousin in the world: Cousin Clarence, the worst, always hitting, calling names and just plain cruel. My little brother Frankie was sure he was gonna get him in the summer of 1939, on grandma’s farm in Yakima at the family reunion. The plot had been hatching since last year when Clarence lied, getting him in trouble with grandpa. At least that was on home ground then, but we were in Clarence’s territory this time. After the Howdy dos and so on, we kids, 10 of us, (babies didn’t count), the four city kids faced the six country kids across the long wooden table under the trees, eating gran’s pancakes and maple syrup. The adults were paying little attention and never caught on a great plan was in motion. The kicking and pinching going on under the table was an all out war.

Now, cousin Bobby, being the oldest of all the cousins was a nice guy and always telling the mean ones to leave us be, so we kind of hung out with him only sooner or later he would be off with his friends. So Frankie, with a pair of grandpa’s old, heavy canvas gloves used for mending fences, sort of meandered off, his head in the clouds with this great plan about to unfold. I went to help clean the dishes with the other girls, getting my hair pulled by the enemy, but giggled inside wondering if Nettie was the one who would get the end of the plot.

Things were pretty quiet most of the day. The city kids walking around with little smirks and side glances, that is until after all the eating was done, when suddenly everyone heard cussin’ and yelling coming from the two holer out back. A man came roaring out of the little house, red faced and mad as bull … then we really got scared. Poor Frankie just stood with his mouth open and brown eyes as big as chestnuts. (We had been had! The plan had gone awry.)

Earlier, brother had picked a green, juicy batch of nettles, and had been waiting all day for Clarence to head for the two holer. Finally he was spotted walking in that direction, so Frankie ran ahead and squashed the nettles all around the two-holer seats. Well, as you know, the best plans of mice and men, as Bobby Burns would say, “oft times go wrong” and of course it wasn’t Clarence who went to use the accommodations, but grandpa.

After that, all I can tell you is Frankie and I both ended up with backsides as miserable as grandpa’s that afternoon. Me, because I was in on it as usual … Still, I wouldn’t trade that great memory for anything in the world.

Families and potlucks are the best.

(That summer Cousin Clarence got his. He was chased by grandpa’s bull and broke his arm jumping over the fence. Retribution is sooo sweet when you’re a kid!)