: Define salad….
The kids don’t care if we have a turkey for Thanksgiving, but there will be pumpkin-sized tears if the feast does not include a bowl of ”Snickers Salad” front and center.
Questioning the legitimacy of a salad named after a candy bar? You’re not wrong.
Snickers salad is really a sloppy Snickers candy bar-flavored malt with the afterthought of fruit. Somehow, the addition of one tart green apple sprinkled on festive layers of Cool Whip, pudding mix and full-sized candy bars, qualifies this concoction as a salad. It’s not passing any food pyramid reviews, but as my youngest would say, “It does have a little green in there.” (Enter obligatory fork stab).
Based on its nutritional merits, this salad may appear a phony. It’s like John Candy making a surprise appearance as the reverend at your wedding — it doesn’t quite feel legitimate, but nonetheless, you are grateful for the mistake.
And while it won’t compensate for your forgotten multivitamin, I believe Snickers salad makes up for its shortcomings by sheer optimism. If this sugar-saturated dessert can pass as a vegetable on the most food-centric day of the year, perhaps there is hope the rest of us can rise above our own shortcomings for the day as well.
It’s a strange time in our world. We are nestled in the middle of a complicated knot, unsure of what string, if pulled, will alleviate the ever-tightening strangle of unknowns. Will there be a vaccine for COVID-19? Will there be a peaceful transfer of political power in our country?
Will there be meaningful changes made in wake of George Floyd? Will there be an erosion of civil liberties under new judicial majorities? Will our neighbors have heat for the winter? Will our parents have a hospital room if they need it? Will our children complete the school year with competence? Will we survive a long, dark winter of isolation? Will I ever get to take a long, hot, bath without interruption again?
There is a legitimate need to reflect on who we are and what we truly need. Not all of us like the answers we are finding.
I thought I was patient, but learned I am a control freak (especially in all things regarding the coffee pot). I thought I was a good listener, but learned I am (just a smidge) bossy- pants. I thought I could cook, but learned I just rotate variations of spaghetti, tacos, pizza, and pancakes throughout the weeks. I thought I was organized, but nearly drown in the leftover sock drawer.
During these months, I can see moments when I have been more selfish than sympathetic, more cavalier than caring, more distracted than dedicated. I thought I was faithful, but suspect I have deep-seeded doubts about how all of these puzzle pieces fit within a meaningful narrative. Its not easy to accept the dish you are.
“I don’t think this recipe is right, Mom. Since when does pumpkin pie have vinegar in it?” asks the expert baker in my house (who happens to be 10 years old …).
“It’s right. It balances out all the sugar,” I explain.
As we gather around the table this Thanksgiving, I know I will fight the urge to compare it to what we have always known. I want all the chairs to be filled, all the wine to be poured, all the cousins to be giggling. I crave all the sugar.
But maybe this year is the vinegar. Maybe this year we remember, with a little bitterness on our lips and a heavy ache in our heart, why we reserve a day for giving thanks. After all, we miss most what we love most.
We are more than we were last year at this time. In the very least, we have witnessed the fragility of our world. We have been served a lot of bitter bites.
Perhaps we should use these. Use these uncomfortable, painful, frightening moments to understand the great breadth of what Joy includes. Joy includes not only the celebration of what is good, but also the survival of what we have endured. The vinegar is not by accident.
This Thanksgiving lets reserve judgement for what should be and simply celebrate what is. Allow your heart to grieve and celebrate, to cry and sing. Allow our hearts to indulge in all the sides of being human.
So, make the Snickers salad the star of the show. Let the kids eat it with the ice cream scoop. We can appreciate responsible salads every other day of the year. This year, we need the balance.
Marny Stebbins lives in Stillwater with her husband and four children. She is a staunch believer in early bedtimes, caffeine enhancement and humor therapy.
December 02, 2020 at 12:54AM
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Great Full Chaos: Define salad…. | Columnists - ECM Publishers
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