I'd like to tell you a little about ham. Ham is distress. Not just ordinary distress, but a combination of discomfort and distress that somehow you can’t outwardly express. As a rule of thumb, you and the ham-doer have too much history to allow for simple venting.
Ham results in bad breath, profuse armpit sweating, and a very forced smile. I'd like to share a recent ham tale to better illustrate the term.
My mom, formerly a liberal Midwestern Jewish girl turned Sarah Palin devotee, flew in from Texas a few weeks ago for my son's first birthday. A nice gesture, especially since her husband was also coming, which was big. Apart from our wedding, he had never actually come to visit us. And they’ve been married for 12 years.
Within hours of her arrival, we were chasing each other around town and I could swear I smelled the faint aroma of ham wafting from somewhere nearby. I had driven all over the city trying to find her where she said she’d be, but each time I'd arrive, she'd call to say she had already left ("..too cold, ...bored, ...lost, ...where is that toystore??"). By the fourth or fifth phone call, I'd kind of had enough. I had eight people coming for dinner and 40 people the following day for the birthday party. There was work to be done.
Mom was in her car with my great aunt Sandy from Chicago, who just lost her husband of 55 years. She had flown in for a pick-me-up in the form of our toddler’s birthday party. Over the phone, I tell my mom I've had enough of the fruitless chase, and I'm going home to cook. I hear Aunt Sandy ask, "Did she hang up on you?"
"Yes!" says Mom. "I think so."
I hear talking so I think maybe she's talking to me. I say, "Mom. MOM? I didn't hang up. I'm right here. MOM?? Helloooo.... "
Nope. She's talking to Aunt Sandy. I listen. "...see THIS is what I've been dealing with for the last twelve years. She is so ANGRY, and I have no idea why. I mean, Mike (stepfather) was absolutely DREADING coming. He can't stand her... He had a HORRIBLE stomachache this morning, and I KNEW it was because he didn't want to come. I said, 'You don't want to go, do you?' and he said, 'No. I really don't.'"
The exaggerations continued, peppered with embellished dialogue from our conversation that had just taken place. She gained momentum and fabricated details as Aunt Sandy's sympathy grew. Luckily, we got disconnected. I pulled into my driveway and my phone rang. Just when I thought this couldn’t get worse…it was my mom. "Yes, Mom."
"Look, we all came ALL this way to have a nice time, and I'm not going to be treated like this. I mean, you're so ANGRY!! Why are you so angreeee?" (Note the deliberate use of italics to convey a slight whine/whinny.)
The only thing I could bring myself to say was "Sorry." She went on, recounting our conversation to me, including the bits she had tested on Aunt Sandy. I let her go on for a few minutes before saying, "Mom, fine. I just really wish you hadn't talked about me to Aunt Sandy.”
"What??! I didn't talk to Aunt Sandy about you!!! I wouldn't DO that!!!!!"
"Mom. I heard your conversation."
A pause. "Well. I figured you were on the phone, because I saw it hadn't hung up, and... why are you so aaaangry?? We came all the way here, and…”
"Mom. This weekend isn't about you. It's about your grandson. We'll talk about the rest another time. You're welcome for dinner tonight. Love you."
"Well.. I love you.."
I stepped out into the cold air and focused on breathing, because ham can sometimes take your breath away. I opted for a solo round of Silent Night in the driveway and made my way into the house. The ham anti-venom was the sight of my husband and my tiny son crawling to greet me as I came in the door.
As planned, my Mom et al. came for dinner. I couldn't look at her all night. Ham. What my husband would call an entire hamsteak, with a nice, round pineapple slice on top.
It's amazing being a mom to my son. But it's surreal being a mom to my mom. It requires some imagination and a lot of patience.
As the holidays have just officially come to a close, I'm sure the many a table was graced with a smoked ham or two, and even if you ate some, I do recommend turkey as a primary source of sustenance. Ham's as much of a mainstay as fruitcake, so try to come to terms with re-gifting it.
Psychologist
Butcher
Pacifist
Pharmacist
Lobotomy patient
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