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Because Measure by Measure spans several
seasons and was originally written in serialized form, there are a number of
holiday episodes in the book.
With that in mind, we've decided to post a portion of these festive outings over the year, starting with Cinco de Mayo. So return with us now to the late '90s, a simpler time when "Tubthumping" was still the big thing and Beanie Babies were still worth something.
At this point in the story, Joe, our handsome Hispanic chef, is taking Misty Shores, the super-sized New Age store owner and RADFAm officer, to meet his closeknit fam. For Misty, it's an inevitable, if stressful, moment in their still developing relationship. Let's look in . . .
"She's very Catholic," Joe said for the second time that night, eyes on a snaking beat-up Camaro in a lane abreast of them.
Misty fought to keep from snapping back, "You've said that already!" You're nervous, girl, she chided herself. Don't take it out on Joe just because he's acting paranoid that your pagan-ass self won't be sensitive to a Very Catholic mother.
"I know," she finally sighed. They were traveling through an area of the northern 'burbs that was virgin territory to her. Nothing really upscale, but certainly more middle class than she'd initially expected. "Anything else she's into? Or more to the point, not?"
"Don't laugh," Joe cautioned, turning off the business highway into a quiet neighborhood full of trim brick ranch-homes.
"She's gotten into Beanie Babies. Big time. Hundreds of 'em! Claims they're an 'investment.' My old bedroom's crammed with them! When Jimmy moves out, they'll probably invade his room, too."
Misty reached over to Joe and patted his near knee. "I promise to keep any overt snobbery under control." She then pulled down the visor to nervously examine herself in the mirror. Maybe she should have used a little blush or lipstick or something. "Tell me again how I look. . ." she asked.
He didn't say a word until the car was parked in the driveway. "Just like a festival, all by yourself," he told her. As he leaned forward to kiss her, Misty let her anxiety melt.
"Here goes," she said once their lips parted. "Time to meet the fam!" Joe reached across the back of the seat for a small picnic basket, then they both got out.
The house was plain brick, with a minimum of trim, its one concession to suburban kitsch a gaily costumed goose statue on the front step. According to Joe, it was a third generation concrete bird - the previous two had been fowlly goosenapped in the night. As they approached the porch, a motion-sensor light strobed on.
The matronly lady-of-the-house, and object of Misty's concern, greeted them from inside the entrance, her brightly festive dress showing through the screen door.
Joe had given Misty a thumbnail sketch of his family to prepare her for this first, important visit. Petra Silvera had immigrated to the city as a teenager and found a job sorting skillet and iron handles at a small suburban parts factory contracted to a major appliance company. She'd met Joe's father, Darryl Rivera, on the floor of the factory where he was, at the time, day-shift supervisor. A quiet, stocky midwestern urbanite, he'd fallen hard for this slight, shy teen.
Petra was the type of woman who might draw out the protective instincts of some men and the abusive ones in others. Luckily, Joe's dad had fallen into the first category, and they'd lived devotedly ever after. That is, until his death from cancer five years before, shortly before Joe's graduation from the Culinary Institute. Rather than finding a job in any of the dozens of lucrative cuisine capitals (or cruise ships) around the globe, the young chef had come back to the midwest for his mother.
Now, the family home sheltered Petra, Joe's older brother Jimmy, and a coterie of cuddly stuffed critters. And a lifetime of memories.
"Happy Cinco de Mayo!" Petra cried. Joe grinned at Misty knowingly.
"May 5th was always a big day in my house," Joe had explained on the way over. "The rest of the year, we didn't talk about our Hispanic heritage. But the Cinco de Mayo celebration was mandatory."
"No mixed messages there," Misty had mused. "But that's what holidays are all about - channeling the forbidden."
"There you go again," Joe smiled, "getting heavy on me!"
"I thought you liked me heavy!"
"You know what I mean. . ."
Which had led to that reference to Petra's religious affiliations. The first reference.
"You must be Misty," Petra announced as they mounted the porch steps. Her voice was lilting, and accent free. "You're just as lovely as I expected! What beautiful hair!" She held the screen open in welcome, releasing a burst of Tex-Mex polka from the console stereo.
Despite the musical atmosphere, the home interior was firmly midwestern. Sturdy no-nonsense furniture, family photos in a framed montage, and strategically placed basket-urns filled with pampas grass were much in evidence. On the living room shag, a slightly older and slighter version of Joe was watching a Seinfeld rerun. He barely acknowledged the two of them as they entered the room.
Petra turned to Joe, examining him critically. What was she looking for? Misty wondered. Whatever it was, it didn't appear serious as his mother shrugged and reached for his basket.
"Fresh avocados," she smiled with satisfaction. "I can always count on you, Joe." She lead them into the kitchen and lifted the lid from a large bubbling kettle, revealing a savory soup, glistening with the rainbow hues of beaded fat.
"Menudo," Joe explained. "It's a traditional Cinco de Mayo soup made with tripe, hominy and chili."
"The main course is Pollo en Molle," Petra told them, rummaging through a drawer for a paring knife.
"Chicken breast in chocolate-flavored gravy," Joe translated, pulling a stool over for Misty.
"Chocolate gravy? Why haven't I heard about that one before?"
"We're being bad today," Petra simpered as she deftly pitted and sliced the avocados into mashable size. Overhead, a Beanie Bat looked down on them. "But it's just for the holiday, right? We can go back on our diets tomorrow."
"Not tomorrow," Misty answered with a chuckle. "That's International No-Diet Day!"
From the look Petra shot her, it was as if Misty had suddenly begun speaking in tongues. She laid down the paring knife deliberately, then turned to fully face the two of them. "How's that again?" Petra asked.
Uh-oh, Misty thought - looked like she'd inadvertently stepped into it, taboo-wise. She'd assumed that Joe's mom knew all about his preferences, and possibly even approved of them since Hispanic women were so often prone to ample-ness. That's what you get when you assume, girl. . .
"It's got to do with the group that Misty and I belong to, Mom," Joe interceded. "You know, the size acceptance organization."
"This 'No-Diet Day' is a holiday?" Petra considered. It was almost as if she were concerned that her beloved Cinco do Mayo was somehow diminished by its temporal proximity. From the living room, the sound of sitcom laugh track suddenly rose in volume.
Clearly, there were worse things than just being a pagan. . .
Buy Us At:
Pearlsong
Press | Amazon
| Barnes
& Noble | Powell's
Books | More of
Me to Love
Now available in Kindle!