Deck the halls with gravy boats

Someone shanghaied my gravy boats. In the wee hours of Thanksgiving morn there must have been a wee gravy mutiny, because I realized I couldn’t find a single one. I had a very small crisis (on league with a hang nail). Ladles (I have six) are for savages. I need my gravy boats. Frankly, I don’t make a lot of sense pre-coffee at 4 a.m. By noon the ladles were working beautifully. I never did find the gravy boats.

Grown-up

I have long believed a sure sign of adulthood is not having children — I’ve wanted that since I was a child myself. No, to me being a grown-up is having appliances and gravy boats and things that match other things. I felt very grown when I realized I owned a raft of minutiae designed to collect dust 362 days a year and serve things or otherwise be useful the remaining three. Somewhere in this house is a china service for 24. Never mind that I rarely host parties larger than eight. Clearly, there is a slight gap between the hostess I am — and the hostess I imagine myself to be. In the vein of “hopelessly boring things that grown-ups do” we recently spent more on a refrigerator than I did on my first car.

I hope that doesn’t sound like bragging. I’m not exactly thrilled to be saying that out loud. Frankly, being a victim of my usual magpie like obsession with shiny objects isn’t exactly something to brag about. “Lights! Fancy trays that slide! Buttons I can push! Take our money now!” Technically we could keep food cold in a $15 ice chest. The rest is just gravy. In our case, gravy in its own climate controlled gravy zone. Which brings me back to gravy boats. At one point I had four. That seemed excessive for anyone who isn’t Martha Stewart. I must have donated them or packed them away with the holiday decor or otherwise done something with them. If only I could recall what.

Decorate

Speaking of decorating, it’s taking me forever to get motivated this year. Like any social media addict I enjoy seeing what others do to deck the halls — primarily so I can feel like I am accomplishing something without lifting a finger to actually do so. If Pinterest is to be trusted, Washi tape is huge this year. It’s a pretty tape festooned with designs (like fabric ribbon, but not) that is affixed to nearly everything: candles, picture frames, possibly household pets. As someone not far removed from holding household goods together with actual tape by necessity, (who am I kidding — still there) I admit the allure of decorating with tape is lost on me. It looks really nice in other people’s photos though. Here we are relying on the tried and true decorating, using family heirloom ornaments hailing all the way from the 1990s (and some from 1968). We are pulling out the boxes and pawing through bags. I’m happy to revisit the decorations and so many memories of Christmas past.

Missing

What I’m not happy to report is that we have somehow misplaced an entire 6-and-a-half-foot tree. It’s one of three we own because, again, old people and the collecting of stuff. We’ve looked where we store holiday décor and no tree. Where in the world did I put a tree and FORGET about it? How is that even possible? Somewhere in this house is an entire, missing Christmas tree. If and when it resurfaces, I hope it has a gravy boat or four tucked among the branches. This is what happens with growing up — and old. There is a sweet spot where you own stuff that is quickly eclipsed by growing older and forgetting where you stashed it. With any luck I will find it when I unpack the rest of the holiday items. Here’s pulling for Easter.

About the Author

Warm, witty and just a wee bit warped, Kymberly Foster Seabolt is a native of Kent, Ohio, who survived childhood exposure to disco and grew up to marry and move to the country. Her column weaves her special brand of humor with poignant, entertaining, and honest portrayals of parenting, marriage, and real life. She currently lives in northeastern Ohio with her husband, two children, two dogs, two cats, and numerous dust bunnies who wish to remain nameless. More Stories by Kymberly Foster Seabolt

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