An incident

This was probably the 20th time that I've hosted Thanksgiving. Each year, it gets a little easier. I learn new tricks, and refine established processes, and make slight improvements. The dinner hasn't cooked itself yet, but hope springs eternal.

Everyone who mashes potatoes knows that Yukon Gold potatoes are best for mashing. Some potatoes are good for roasting, others for baking, others for frying; but Yukon Gold make the best mashed potatoes. They have a nice color, and they crumble very nicely when they're cooked, making them easy to mash and then whip.

And when I say everyone, I mean everyone. Thanks to the Internet, EVERYONE knows this; which means that sometimes it's hard to find YG potatoes during Thanksgiving week. I had to go to two stores; and in the second store, I had to dig to find one of the two remaining bags of YG among the piles of Russett and Idaho. Even if you don't have 20 years of hard-earned potato-mashing experience, you can ask Google what kind of potatoes you should mash, and because Google knows everything, it will tell you that you need Yukon Gold. This is why I can never find the boy peppers when I need them. There's no such thing as insider knowledge any more. The well-kept secret is no longer a secret. The cat is out of the proverbial bag.

But the potato hunt was worthwhile, because dinner was delicious.

*****
I'm not a particularly dramatic person. I prefer not to draw a lot of attention to myself, and I seldom show emotion in public. I'm not a scene-causer. Except on rare occasions.

Like today (today being the day after Thanksgiving).

My younger son and I were at Safeway, shopping for our annual neighborhood Thanksgiving get-together (normally held on the night before Thanksgiving, but this year, on Saturday, because we had hockey tickets for Wednesday night). We were crossing the parking lot, just behind a car, which I couldn't describe to you now. The car, to my horror, began to back up, forcing me to actually grab and stop it so that it wouldn't knock us down.

I started banging on the car, and the driver, an older man, cracked the window.

"What is wrong with you?" I screamed. "You almost ran over my son!"

"You came out of nowhere," he said.

"WHAT? That's your response? You almost run over my 11-year-old child, and we came out of nowhere? You're supposed to LOOK BEHIND YOU BEFORE YOU BACK UP! IDIOT!"  I was angrier than I can remember being in I don't even know how long.

"I looked in the mirror," he protested, "but you and your son walked out right between the parked cars and I didn't see you..."

"BETWEEN THE PARKED CARS? It's a PARKING LOT! EVERYONE WALKS IN BETWEEN PARKED CARS!!! And you didn't look, or YOU WOULD HAVE SEEN US!" I smacked his car again a few times.

"Well, I certainly didn't intend to hit anyone," he said, a bit huffily.

I smacked his car a half-dozen more times (my hand actually still hurts). "APOLOGY ACCEPTED!" I screamed.

My older son would have joined the melee, and I'd have had to tell him to zip it, but my younger son just stood quietly, pretending to be an onlooker who was in no way related to the crazy car-smacking lady (really, my hand is going to be sore for several days). We walked into Safeway together, my son looking furtively around and hoping no one was looking at us; me still seething. "Idiot," I fumed. "Between the parked cars! It's a parking lot! He didn't even look!"

"By the way, Mom, I'm 13," my son pointed out.

"I know," I said. "I have no idea why I said that. I was so upset."

"I mean, I've been 13 for a while."

We walked into the store, and I turned around to grab a cart, just in time to see the man walk in. My son saw him too. "That's not him, Mom," he said.

"It's him," I said.

"Pretty sure it's not," he said nervously.

The man approached me. "I actually am very sorry," he said. "I'm a father and a grandfather, and I'd have hated to cause any harm to your child."

"I appreciate that," I said. "I know that you didn't do it on purpose, but it seemed that you were blaming us, and that combined with the adrenaline response made me react more emotionally than I normally do."

"I understand," he said. "I really do apologize."

"It's OK," I said. "No harm was done." (Not 100% true. It's Sunday morning now, and my hand still hurts a little.)

"Thank God," he said. Thank God, indeed. The rest of the errand-running proceeded without incident.

*****

So it's Sunday afternoon now, and a long weekend, marred only by the parking lot altercation, is coming to an end. Like most other things that are supposed to be fun, the holidays are a source of anxiety and panic for me. I always think that there's something that I should do better, or more of, to make the season perfect for my family. But despite last-minute misgivings, the party was a success, and my Christmas shopping is underway.  My husband and sons are setting up the brand-new 65-inch TV that they just bought at Costco. The old 42-inch TV was just fine, but every few years, a new TV calls my husband and I can't do a damn thing to stop him from responding to the call. I'll be able to see the tape on Alexander Ovechkin's hockey stick now. It's just less than a month until Christmas.