Who Is Sitting Next to You This Thanksgiving?

Update: 

Just learned today that Luvey Jones passed away this week. Eternal Rest Grant unto her, Oh, Lord, and let the perpetual light shine upon her. Loved you, Luvey!

Luvey Jones was my least favorite person to sit next to on Christmas Eve. She was probably my least favorite person of all, but my mother, a good Christian woman, didn't want anyone staying home alone on Christmas Eve. Once we had all moved out, she decided it was her duty to invite all the widows of the world to sample her lasagna before heading off to Christmas Eve mass.


Luvey and I clashed long before Christmas Eve. The first time was on a bus trip to D.C. I was 17-years-old and hoping some of the young men would sit next to me. Luvey plopped down, her slight figure barely imprinting the heavy vinyl seat.

"You shouldn't eat chocolate," she said as I unwrapped a candy bar. "That's why you have pimples." I quietly tucked the chocolate away for a later time and pulled something else out to eat. "You shouldn't eat so much. That's why you're overweight (or did she say fat?)."

In certain circles, comments like that would have put Luvey on a death squad list, but I was raised to respect my elders, so climbed over her to find a different seat on the bus.

With that as a memory, it was hardly with enthusiasm I responded to my mother's comment that Luvey would be spending Christmas Eve with us.

"I think I feel the flu coming on," I said.

"It's November 15th, you'll get over it in time," Mom probably said (but I'm making this part up, so work with me).

Looking back, a night with Jacob Marley and his three ghost friends probably would have been more pleasant. 

Christmas Eve arrived. My husband and our new baby, Elizabeth, entered the warm house. The toilet-brush Christmas tree stood in the window, and candles and decorations gave the living room a soft, whimsical feeling. Then I spotted Luvey who immediately offered some parental advice though she had no children of her own. Soon, Les and my father found the eggnog and a cozy little corner and chatted the evening away pleasantly, while I found the only vacant seat next to Luvey. Looking back, a night with Jacob Marley and his three ghost friends probably would have been more pleasant.

The next year it was the same. The third year I had planned to tell Mom that we were staying home. Les nixed the idea because he loved Christmas Eve with free food and drinks and great conversations with Dad.

"Something has to change," I told myself. We now had Bridget, so the two little tots would offer plenty of entertainment as long as Luvey kept her comments to herself.

We were sitting down to dinner. "Carol, you sit there," my mother said, gesturing to the seat right next to Luvey.

I hesitated. "Shouldn't I sit next to the girls?" I asked.

"I got it covered," Les said, sneaking a pickle off the relish tray.

"So, Luvey, how did you and Charlemagne meet?" I asked quickly before she could speak.

Luvey told me their love story, and as it unfolded, Luvey changed from being a flat figure with only one personality trait - annoying - to a three-dimensional woman who found love, joy, excitement, and sorrow. She had lived life, and it was a story worth listening to.

After a few more years it became difficult for us to travel on Christmas Eve for Mom's lasagna. I feel fortunate I was able to see a different side of Luvey.

Unfortunately there are plenty of people - old and young - who have failed in the fine art of social graces. On the other hand, perhaps we've all been at one time or another not the best seating partner. 

As Thanksgiving approaches, I am sure many of us are facing our own Luveys and dreading the dinnertime seating arrangements. There's the bore, the know-it-all, the teaser who goes too far, or political wonk (who will either be bemoaning or celebrating this past election). Unfortunately there are plenty of people - old and young - who have failed in the fine art of social graces. On the other hand, perhaps we've all been at one time or another not the best seating partner.

I try to approach most social gatherings differently now (I don't always succeed, mind you). I used to look forward to enjoying myself. It always seemed, however, that my expectations were never met, and I would leave the gathering feeling disappointed. Now, I try to take the focus off of having a good time. Instead I try to help others to enjoy themselves. It's the old adage of when you help others you help yourself.

This Thanksgiving, don't forget to give thanks for all the blessings you have - whatever they are. And I will give thanks for getting to know Luvey.