Of all the things I wrote on WordPress in 2023, a post about mashed potatoes still gets a lot of attention. I suspect it has little to do with the holiday itself – or the spuds in question. I think the readership has more to do with the message. Even in the pressure cooker of holiday time, moments of friendship and support – sharing a rant or two – can deepen a connection, help us navigate toward a less encumbered and frustrated mood. I’ve got a story for you…
It Was Never About the Mashed Potatoes
Holiday time isn’t for everyone. Such a mixed bag of tricks…I swear it feels like a continuation of Halloween. We’re surrounded by manufactured cheer. For some, the festive and formulaic films on the Hallmark Channel are a tonic. For others? They have an ironic, unintended effect, prompting prayers for amnesia so we can avoid comparisons to our own family members. You know them. Every family has one or two…those provocateurs wrapped in reindeer sweaters.
I have a dear friend…Kathleen. She’s the cutie with me in the pic above. We’ve been friends for 20+ years, which means she deserves a special commendation for her veteran status in “Vicki-land”. I adore her because she is smart and big-hearted. I could go on…and on…but in truth, the qualifications for best friend status could stop at those two characteristics. Smart and big hearted. That’s Kathleen.
In her work-world, Kathleen’s respected, sought-after and the spotlight only adds to her natural glimmer and glow. Her family, however? They believe she’s just an over-educated caterer. (No offense intended to caterers but I don’t think Kathleen’s advanced degrees and credentials are required.)
For reasons I’d like to attribute to laziness, Kathleen’s family enjoys holiday feasts because she creates them. Yep. She plans the menu, does the shopping, and lovingly transports her tasty cuisine to her sister’s home. Her sister who lives an hour away.
Maybe in our youth we accept certain roles when dumped (I mean…placed) upon us within the family. As we get older? Traditions stink – especially if you’re the sole supporter of some of them. I don’t care how often a distant uncle belches his gratitude after polishing off a two-plater-feast-o-rama. It’s not enough. I don’t care how often second cousins and hangers-on (where did these extra people come from?) comment on the ‘tender bake’ of your homemade yeast rolls, or how juicy the turkey is. No. No. No. You guessed it. Not enough. We yearn for consideration, respect, and kindness. Even if only a tad.
But what about the mashed potatoes I mentioned in the title of this rant? Yeah, I’m getting to that. The spuds were responsible for obliterating Kathleen’s dwindling holiday cheer. See…when you are the designated purveyor of everything for your family feast, you need to plan ahead – just a smidge. I love the idea of a sous chef or Keebler elves, but I haven’t met any yet and neither has Kathleen.
Unwilling to bet her oven gloves on magical helpers, smart girls like Kathleen make a LENGTHY shopping list…check it twice….and map out the cooking, baking, and prep in the same way I imagine a four-star General goes into battle. Except she’s got no troops. It’s just her…so the timeline…the second big task after all the fetching and gathering is done…becomes mission critical. When do I prepare what…as she scans the menu and strategizes.
Thanksgiving’s always on a Thursday, right? You know this. Surely Kathleen’s sister did, too, but that didn’t stop her from calling the afternoon before Thanksgiving – you know, the day we call WEDNESDAY to proudly proclaim she’d be the princess of potatoes. Hey there, darling Kathleen, loving sis. So…let’s see…I really want to help and considering you’re bringing everything…I’ll give til it hurts and maybe do the potatoes. See me? I’m SO helpful.
When we’re not stretched thin like a rubber band ready to snap, even a late-in-the-game helping hand is nice. When you’re up to your armpits in a messy kitchen, juggling too much, the intrusion of a half-hearted “offer” is insulting. And that’s how Kathleen felt. Not helpful. Was she wrong? No. There’s no ‘wrong’ when it comes skyscraper levels of emotionality at holiday time. What you feel is what you feel…but what you say and do…oh, those are the moneymakers or the deal breakers.
When Kathleen called me, not long after her sister’s offer, she was ready to cancel Thanksgiving and bail on the whole shebang. I couldn’t blame her. She’s been used for years…and yet…pointing out she might’ve changed…while her family remained the same…was helpful.
Kathleen did her duty. She delivered the feast (without the potatoes) and rather than assume her typical position in her sister’s kitchen, she said she’d let others tend to the remaining prep, taking a comfy seat on the sofa. “Do you want to help with anything?” one of her nieces asked, no doubt flummoxed to see Aunt Kathleen relaxing while everyone else spun into action. “No – I see you’ve got plenty of help. I’m good right here”, was Kathleen’s succinct and satisfying response.
One of the best things about friends? Post-mortem chats – about anything. Family feasts, annoying neighbors, dry cuticles – you name it. When Kathleen and I compared notes about Thanksgiving I was thrilled to hear about her new persona wrapped up in delicious insight: It was never about the mashed potatoes.
Lagniappe? A little more…a smile to close?
My all-time favorite quip about turkey day comes from David Letterman’s “Top 10 Signs You Had a Bad Thanksgiving”. I don’t remember the year, but #9 was a winner for plausibility alone…especially when my mom, Sue, was alive:
Sue loved a big turkey feast…so much so I should’ve mentioned her beloved turkeys in the acknowledgments of “Surviving Sue”: “Thank you to the many turkeys over the years who gave their lives, prompting hilarity of all sorts, and eventually…nourishment to those assembled.” Here’s what I mean:
“Surviving Sue”, p. 84
During yet another Thanksgiving run amok, turkey legs were airborne during dinner – being thrown from one end of the table to the other. It became too laborious to pass food like grown-ups, so Sue (after several hours of pre-feast drinking) started a food fight with the launch of the first drumstick – just like a missile. Everyone was laughing; stunned at first to see her lob a leg in the air, but it only took a second for more food to fly. First dinner rolls, and then more turkey, and before it was all over, there were sweet potatoes on the wall, mashed potatoes in everyone’s hair, and big globs of congealed gravy everywhere.
Lisa’s friend Michael was with us that year. He was one of the “extras” who became a regular during those odd years without the aunts and Uncle Keith. We had no idea at the time, but Michael was slowly dying and would be gone in two years. Wherever Michael’s soul and spirit are today, I’m certain the Thanksgiving food fight was his most epic and fantastic adventure. He talked about it endlessly afterward. A definite peak experience and as we learned more about him, we understood why the insanity of it all and the laughter – mountains of giggles and the monstrous mess – created a best-ever holiday memory for him.
No Heimlich maneuvers were needed that day, or thankfully, any other day. Sue’s brand of mischief always bordered on danger, but the only real harm came in the form of deep belly laughs and tourniquet-like waistbands from overindulging.
Sending all of my best wishes. Remember it’s not about the bird – or the mashed potatoes. Always love…and good humor.
Vicki 💝
Hi – I’m Victoria, Vicki, Dr. Vicki. I hold a doctorate in Adult Education and I’m a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC), and author of Surviving Sue | Eckhartz Press.
Check out this link to learn more about my book “Surviving Sue”.
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Victoria Ponders 
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