Aunt Patty can't make it, her seat is now open
And I expect nothing, but deep down I'm hopin'
That this is the year I'll move up in the ranks
And sit with the grownups as they give their thanks
Then Mom says "Hey Aubrey come sit next to me,"
She says I'm mature enough, and I agree
There's a plate at my setting, it's not in a stack
And I know I'll never want to go back
But the thought crosses my mind
That I had to leave my sister behind
Does she miss me? Is she sad?
And then I pass the gravy boat to my dad.
My Dearest Sister Aubrey:
Some say war is hell, but to those people I say
they have never been seated at a table full of our relations.
I am beside myself with happiness about you and your new position, though I admit that I already yearn for the days when we were a unified front against our barbarian cousins, ensuring that we got the finest, ribbed, center cut of the cylindrical cranberry sauce, which you know I cherish.
And when I say, “We were a unified front,” I mean, “I made you get it for us.”
But now I am left to fend for myself.
Dear sister, you may have been called up to the Adult Table, but today is the day that I have had my first real taste of adulthood. And frankly, I prefer the taste of cranberry sauce.
By the by, If you sense bitterness in my tone, believe me, it is not directed at you, dear sister, it is because Cousin Will dipped my hair in gravy, and tried to then feed my hair to the dog.
I fear all is lost.
In spite of that, I remain... Your Loving Sister,
The napkins are fabric, the chairs do not fold
I chew with my mouth closed, just like I've been told
There's cranberry sauces, whole-berry and canned
And two kinds of forks, which I don't understand
There’s conversing & stories instead of kids playing
I nod like I grasp what the grownups are saying
I get real utensils, and a breakable plate
And I decide that getting older is great
I'm not old — I'm only 10
And I think about my sister again
Is she lonely? She'll be fine
Then Grandma lets me have a taste of her wine
My dearest sister Aubrey:
We have reached the summit of the third
course of this ordeal of a Thanksgiving dinner. But I am happy to report the battle has turned!
At first, the cousins were reluctant to accept my leadership. Cousin Michael wouldn’t stop picking his nose, and though the table voiced its objections, he insisted on continuing about his away mission into his own sinuses. I cautioned him sternly against the practice of “picking and flicking,” and warned him that if errant booger should find its way to my plate, this Thanksgiving meal would be his last.
He says he will follow my orders to the letter, and I believe him. Partially because you instilled in me the idea that we humans are decent, honest, truthful folk, but mostly because I am holding his beloved stuffed bear, “Mr. Bear,” at knifepoint.
I do believe I am getting the hold of this adulthood thing after all.
Your loving sister, Angela Webber
PS: I also learned that if I stare at someone long enough without blinking or smiling, they start to cry. So, that’s fun.
from Thanksgiving vs. Christmas
released October 20, 2015
Aubrey Webber - cello, vocals
Angela Webber - guitar, dramatic reading
music & lyrics by Molly Lewis
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