Let Them Eat Cake

Main Entry: tunnel vision
Function: noun
Date: circa 1942
1 : constriction of the visual field resulting in loss of peripheral vision
2 : extreme narrowness of viewpoint : narrowmindedness; also : single-minded concentration on one objective
— tun·nel–vi·sioned \-ˈvi-zhənd\ adjective

Wikipedia lists several causes for tunnel vision, including "extreme fear or distress, most often in the context of a panic attack" or possibly "a bite from a Black Mamba." I've never been bitten by a Black Mamba, but I do regularly suffer tunnel vision induced by fear and distress. When this happens, I generally see inanimate objects first, usually a single object. Then slowly, as I adjust to the stressful conditions, other inanimate objects come into focus and eventually people, although I cannot recognize them even when they are people I know and love, even when they are the fruit of my very own womb. It's a strange and uncomfortable distress response and it leaves me feeling a little drained and definitely disoriented. It's also embarrassing as hell when you don't recognize your own daughter in a grocery store or airport.

It's the hols!! I love this time of year because it gives me an opportunity to experiment in the kitchen. This year, because my b-day fell on Thanksgiving and I have a perverse desire to steal a turkey's thunder (even though it is dead and I am not), I went a tad overboard on cooking and tried some unusual dishes that turned out reasonably well, in my opinion.

For instance, we had Oysters Rockefeller. I forgot to squeeze a little lemon on them, and the spinach/cheese sauce wasn't as creamy as when served in a five-star restaurant, but they got eaten so I'm pretty sure everyone enjoyed them.

(NOTE: One downside to combining Oysters Rockefeller with a turkey dinner is the tryptophan in the turkey offsets the aphrodisiac effects of the oysters and a nap is more likely to precede unbridled, orgyanic sex - so keep that in mind if you are hoping for orgyanic sex, unbridled or perhaps with bit, crop and spurs, either way, on t-day or your b-day...)

We also had Prime Rib which I didn't even dare look at Monkeyboy during the eating of because last time we went out for prime rib, every bite he took was accompanied by a look of such pure bliss, such orgasmic pleasure, that I found it difficult to perform adequately afterwards for fear he was rating my unbridled sexual behavior against the pleasure previously derived from eating a mostly dead cow.

I know we had a ton of other foods, and you'd think I could remember the various dishes having planned the menu myself days, even weeks, in advance. But I can't. 'Twas a tad stressful day accompanied, of course, by the aforementioned tunnel vision. In review, I remember very little about that day. I don't remember bustling about, although the girls say I did, and they say it is what ultimately cost me a seat next to my handsome boyfriend who did eat the Oysters Rockefeller and, I'm sure, would have played footsies with me under the table had we been sitting anywhere near each other; I don't remember drinking anything but surely I did because I wasn't dehydrated from all the running around; I vaguely remember the irish lassie next to me picking tiny specks of chopped black olives out of her stuffing, and I think she might have been drunk well before dinner but I'm not entirely sure. But I do remember one thing with remarkable clarity.

I remember a beautifully set table and friends, good friends, very dear friends sitting next to my lovely and talented and oh, so very much loved daughters. I remember who sat on either side of me and who sat across from me and who sat down the way from me and I can, even now, close my eyes and see their very dear faces sitting at a long and beautifully set table. And can I just say that, if I remember one thing about this holiday, just one thing, I hope it is always and forever just that - my lovely, lovely friends and family; oh, and the chocolate cake :)