This or That

This or That

This was supposed to be the best day of their lives, and now…?

“Doesn’t it always seem to be the case, that just when you reach for that last cookie you’d been fantasizing about all day, it is…

“Yup! And I’m really sorry about that. I had no idea it was the last one. I have to admit, I never even looked into the jar. There’s something about that face on your pig cookie jar, that makes me feel creepy. So I don’t spend anymore time in its presence than necessary. I usually lift the top of its head with my eyes closed, and then reach into its dark confines and grab the first thing I touch. I’m not really afraid, as much as cautious, but there’s something about that pig that makes me look over my shoulder when I turn to leave.”

I apologize. There is no reason to bring you into this on-going debate over my cookie jar, given me by my grandparents when a boy, but I do not share the sensitivity about its presence, that Mary does.

The cookie jar, is in the form of a pig.  A pig standing at attention, wearing an apron and chef’s hat billowing above his pointy ears. His chubby arms are folded across his protruding belly. He is an overweight pig, but he doesn’t seem at all self-conscious about it. He sports a handlebar mustache which adds a certain European ambiance to his jowly face. I believe he is actually proud of the image he portrays, even though he’s never implied as much. But then I believe he is one of those shy types, who acquiesce, but can’t wait to show their true colors.

I also have a Howdy Doody jar that I’ve kept stored for fear of what demons it might evoke, should she be exposed to it. 

I realize we place different values on things, people, and, well let’s just call it what it is; a psychological fear passed down to us by a past that has touched us with its prejudices, un-be-knowns to us, and we harbor that fear it conjures from our memory.  She of course finds only the negative cognizant feelings regarding the pig, and I do understand. I feel the same way about borsht and those little sausages they keep in a can. But there comes a time, when for the sake of another, you must stifle your reservations and allow your partner to find their equilibrium of peace.

I know the usual questions that arise when a predicament similar to this appears. It is to ask the proverbial question, “Is it improper to abscond with the last of, a thing, if even by accident?” And of course the answer will always be muddled, distorted, lacking in logic, but mostly evidence of how one was reared.

I personally always leave the last of anything, otherwise I become mired in the never-ending gilt of having deprived someone of something essential to their life, while I do not care about it all that much. But I am conscious of the fact we all have the propensity to succumb to the egregious tendencies that exist in us all

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I also have to agree with the portion of her assessment about my pig. I am not immune to psychic suggestion. I have heard the pig making proposals about how I should navigate her negativity. At first, I thought she had left the radio on, but after having considered investigating the voice, remembered, we no longer had a radio. She had donated it to some organization, and if I would venture a guess, it would have something to do with saving whales, or condors; just about anything really. So I assumed, It was my imagination that was once again playing with my emotional stability.

We were supposed to be there early to help set up in the garage for the anniversary surprise. Her parents, Mabel, and Jasper, celebrating 50 years of divided attention. He, being a traveling salesman, and she being president of the Neighborhood Watch Ladies Auxiliary, found shared time difficult to acquire. Mabel’s Auxiliary is a small, but an effective group, despite the fact that the majority of the neighborhood women work and are therefore unavailable to participate. The three active members are all over seventy, which also adds to the lack of effectiveness. If it were not for the recent advancement in doorbell surveillance, they’d be the first to admit their mission would be lost.

Jasper began his career selling knockoff Fuller brushes, but after a short stint in the State Correctional facility, where he apparently learned new skills, became the distributor for Top Draft, one of the first boutique breweries on the coast. He remains in charge of sales to this day, some forty years later. “The name has been changed to protect the innocent,” a statement Jasper abuses to break the proverbial ice when at the indiscrete parties he attends to promote his products

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We are hoping that Jasper will make it home for the event, but then it is a subject we no longer contemplate at Thanksgiving dinner. We have been disappointed more times than Mary cares to recount. My partner Mary suggests from time to time that, “We are becoming them.” I always feel obliged to answer, “Would that be so bad?” She just looks at me with those fawn eyes of hers, as if I have no idea what I’m thinking.

I have come to believe the entire pig problem is the result of her parents unusual relationship, but I resist talking about it. It would only heighten her trepidation over the fact that life does not always turn out as one expects.

If this truly were supposed to be the best day of their lives, we would not only have to make sure Jasper made it to the celebration, but that he remembered Mabel’s name. Last Christmas, or was it two Christmas’s ago, no last Christmas, he came in on the 2 AM flight from… he wouldn’t say where. We've learned from experience to have him picked up and delivered to where we wished him to go.  He has a problem remembering, not only who Mabel is, but where she lives. Last year we rescued him from the Midnight Magic Motel after a call from the proprietor complaining that Jasper believed he was a profit, and was demanding all the girls repent.

I believe love is eternal or should be. Finding love is not only more difficult than taking the last cookie, but far more dangerous. I have attempted to talk to Jasper about his lack of involvement, as well as his lack of presence, but talking to someone who believes prayer is a two-way street, and knows God has misplaced his phone number, is difficult. Mabel on the other hand, is exceptionally open to anything recognizable, as she has advanced Alzheimer’s, and often forgets she has not died and been reborn as an accountant.

Given their dissociative state, it is difficult organizing a celebration in honor and acceptance of mutual toleration when two people no longer recognize one another, let alone admit to ever having done so. I attempt to console Mary, but she has convinced herself we are headed for a similar fate, “And the pig is responsible.”

I have thought about placing the pig in storage with Howdy, but it seems a lot to ask when I’m just beginning to find Howdy’s suggestions transformative. For instance, he suggested that we simply rename Mabel and Jasper; problem solved.

My first reaction, I am ashamed to admit, was to laugh. But then lying there on the couch last night, unable to sleep, I realized he had condensed the entire paradox to a spoonful of simplistic truth. I will introduce Jasper and Mabel at the party as the happy couple, The Doubtfuls. I will of course have to inform the other attendees in advance, so as not to invoke questions about my own mental proclivity.

Mary doesn’t think much of my idea, or I should say, give credit where it is do, Howdy’s suggestion. She also believes because he was stored in the attic of her parents home, that he’s had a hand in their recent confusion. She has also inferred that it is possible Mable and Jasper are not her biological parents.

She has come to believe she was adopted. She claims a pig, probably had something to do with it, as a similar pig, as she recalls from her earliest memories, rested on top of their refrigerator. It, unlike my pig, she says, was adorned with a kerchief around its short but fat neck and had a goatee.

“Richard, guess who’s here to see you. It’s my parents, Jasper and Mabel, and they’ve brought you a small gift to speed your recovery. Shall I open it for you?”

I don’t like surprises. Being surprised does not allow you to acclimate yourself to the occasion. You either have to pretend to be surprised and exceedingly grateful or make light of the gesture, as not being necessary, “Oh, you shouldn’t have gone out of your way, just for me.”

I should have realized when she handed him to me, and Howdy asked them to leave immediately, that they would get upset, but by then it was too late.