Frankincense and Myrrh

Frankincense. Myrrh. Lavender. Only but a minuscule number of the flowers, plants, herbs and resins the ancients would burn in far bygone days. When conviction in the ethereal wasn't a belief strongly held, but an inherent knowing. When man still feared the passing shadow, and gazed at the firmament with awe and terror at the raging tempest. Though it spanned many cultures and tribes, in a Jungian sense, this practice usually shared the same twofold purpose. On one hand, a sort of metaphorical cleansing of the person and or structure, cleansing both the soul and brick, on the other, a pleasant offering to the gods. An overwhelming aroma of good that even the divine couldn't resist.

As the smoke rose up from Hugh's Morrison cabin, ascending even above the snow covered mountain tops, Diane wondered what aroma the gods were getting. Her best guess was perhaps a nauseating mixture of severe neurosis, mixed with a healthy helping of haughtiness and secret self-loathing . A psychosis inducing haze, possibly lethal for even the gods.

But all the gods were dead, and every passing word to depart Susan's mouth only reinforced that.

Hugh, Diane's uncle, and his wife of thirty-five years Susan, had recently bought another, bigger mountain home, this time in Morrison instead of Boulder. Hugh, now newly retired and finding his days filled with bountiful spare time, had taken to purchasing various vacation homes. When rebuked by Susan about this new bout of lavish spending, he responded that they can always rent them out. Still, Hugh didn't mind, despite being with Susan for so long, having neve truly liked her. Susan he theorized felt the same. And the dreams he had as a thirty year old man about playing poker and drinking beers with old friends tuned out to be little more than fiction, Hugh more often than not finding himself alone looking at kitsch paintings he had collected.

The dinner was over, and the Allen family had dispersed throughout the house, mainly congregating in the living room, half-drunken glasses of wine and bourbon in hand. Diane never liked get-togethers like this, especially family ones, finding them to be a Petri dish for unpleasant and prying conversation. It didn't help that Diane had just dropped out of CU Boulder, opting instead to open a flower shop with her friend, Lisa Campbell. Diane's parents, Todd and Deborah, had been surprisingly approving of this decision, saying to pursue her artistic endeavors while she still could. Though, she could tell Todd was slightly dismayed, hoping Diane would follow in his and his father's footsteps of becoming a IRS accountant.

Diane's boyfriend of six years, Larry Porter, was also quite supportive, though Diane expected this. Firstly, because Larry supported almost everything she did, which she loved, and also because Larry was also an artist, being both an animator and stand up comic. When Susan first heard of Larry, she chuckled, as women like her always do, clicking her tongue at Diane's choice of partner. Diane didn't know if this was because Larry was black, or because he was a struggling standup, or both. Susan, as per most of the Allen clan, was fairly leftwing, but Diane wondered what lurked beneath Susan's primordial wrinkles.

"You got this", Larry said on the drive up to Hugh's cabin a few hours earlier, navigating through the icy and winding mountain roads. "Just stick to the script. And the script is simple: be yourself. People pleasing can only take you so far, trust me. And it only hurts you."

This was good advise, and Larry meant it, but Diane hated herself, as also was the norm amongst the Allen clan. She didn't know why though, but it always there. The faint, flickering hint of self-loathing, which alluded to further, more sinister self-contempt that lurked underneath.

Regardless, Diane now found herself in the living room with the rest of the supposed adults, having recently left the kids and teenagers in the basement (which was arguably much more fun than where she currently found herself, despite the omnipresent haze of axe body spray and misogyny).

"Diane", Susan exclaimed, levitating to Diane like a ghost from the kitchen, a jug worth of Cabernet Sauvignon in hand, nearly spilling. "I haven't see you since...Robert's funeral, was it? God that was years ago, rest his soul. How are you?"

Diane sighed, internally of course. Externally, she smiled like a fiend.

"Susie", Diane exclaimed, hugging Susan. "I've been good. No complaints. How about yourself?"

Susan pulled back, her finger up to Diane as she chugged back another few gulps of wine.

"Well, trying to keep myself busy, but you know...all is vanity in the words of the preacher. What about you? How is school?"

Diane knew that Susan had most likely heard about her recent development , and was just attempting to stir the pot. So Diane, against her better nature, gave in and decided to do the same.

"School is good. Classes are fine. No complaints."

Susan looked at Diane, her brain recalculating as she opened her mouth only to close it a moment later. She chuckled.

"That's...good. A-are you still in Professor Liberman's class? I remember when Lexi was still there, she gushed about him. Went above and beyond she said."

Diane nodded her head.

"I am", Diane replied. "He's actually been really good. Sometimes, if I'm really struggling with something, he'll help me even in his off hours, outside of class, which is nice. I've always felt like learning is a twenty-four hour job, so it's nice to see that reciprocated by a teacher."

Susan smiled and nodded.

"I-I'm gonna go refill this glass, then let's continue catching up?"

Diane nodded her head, almost too enthusiastically.

"I'll be waiting. I'm dying to tell you this story about Professor Brian, you remember professor Brian? The psychology professor. But anyways, we had such a funny encounter just a few...I'm getting ahead of myself, I'll wait ’til you get your drink."

Susan looked at Diane, her face almost impossible to read. A mix of humor, confusion and perhaps slight fear.

"Okay", Susan replied, turning for the kitchen.

As Diane stood there, by the fireplace, its warmth washing over her, she couldn't help but laugh. Had she ruined this Thanksgiving? Perhaps, but the night was still young, and the holiday festivities had barely begun.