I’ve often had a curiosity about my ancestors. That’s likely because all of my grandparents were dead before I was born.
On that dark note, the prompt…
If one of your late ancestors were to come back from the dead and join you for dinner, what things about your family would this person find the most shocking?
I truly think he or she would be shocked to see that the “good looks” gene had survived through the ages.
Actually, tonight he’d probably be shocked to see how we were eating. We had a wonderfully peaceful Sunday afternoon. After morning mass, we came home, had lunch, played a game with the kids (I fixed a running toilet), and rested. It’s gotten cold around these parts. It’s January. About damn time. So we kicked the heat up a notch, got under a blanket, and watched Netflix.
As the afternoon wound on our dinner plans unfolded. But first it was time to put that outdoor fire pit we got this summer to use. Look, it’s Texas. A fire pit in July is like a trip to the next level down of hell. Didn’t really have much of a fall. Today our high temperature was in the 30’s. Bust out the logs!
I’m about as outdoorsy as a non-outdoorsman. Thanks to one of those quick lighting fireplace logs, I had a decent conflagration going in no time. It was perfect for roasting s’mores, my daughter’s favorite.
Enter dead relative.
Right about now a century’s-old, rotting Scotsman is standing in my yard wondering why we haven’t advanced beyond cooking over open flames. Further he’s wondering why we’re cooking pure sugar. Additionally he’s wondering why the marshmallows are so tiny. Listen, the s’mores were a good idea. We just didn’t realize we were out of big marshmallows. After promising my daughter, we couldn’t go back on our word and so had to use the mini-marshmallows set aside for hot cocoa. Finally, he’s wondering why there’s a jack russell terrier on a trampoline.
Daughter and Granny, fire blazing, tiny s’mores, wine. What could be better than that, you dead Scottish bastard?
Disgusted, my dead ancestor walks away.
Aw man… Come back! This isn’t dinner! This is hor’douvres! See, I’m drinking wine from a plastic cup!
To hell with him.
We enjoyed our slightly bizarre s’mores, cheap wine, bouncing terrier, and backyard fire just fine before heading into the house for steak. It is Sunday after all.