A belated tale of New Year's madness

My mother, who is neither German nor southern and who cannot reliably boil water, absolutely INSISTS on pork roast, sauerkraut, and blackeyed peas every New Year's Day. I "get" the superstition/tradition, but could frankly live without it. This year she further insisted that SHE was cooking it.

Didn't hear a word about it all day, and was sort of hoping the whole project would evaporate. I happily ensconced myself in my own house, alternating my energies among reading, getting rid of excess STUFF, and dozing.

Early in the evening, she called to ask if I was hungry. (There's no kid in this story because he shrewdly dodged the proceedings by going skiing with his stepbrother that day.) I said no, but that I'd be a good kid and participate in her beloved New Year's Day dinner. She said "I'm bringing it over. Oh, by the way, I thought you'd like a steak more, since you don't like my pork roast." (Guilt trip.)

"Cool, Mother, thanks," says I, moderately guilty on cue, and naive in the extreme.

A few minutes later, I heard something tripping over my dog, backed by the familiar song of laundry on hangers clattering to the floor. Ah, I said to myself, my mother is here.

With absolutely no dinner in hand.

I said, full of hope and innocence, "So you've been pretty tired lately. I guess we're going to skip the dinner this time?"

"Oh, no," says she. "I'm bringing the rest but I already brought your steak. It's on the counter behind you."

Yup. There it was. Raw and still in the packaging.

Mirth overcame me. I burst out laughing and said "Soooooooo you semi-guilt trip me into wanting to eat dinner, even though you know I'm not hungry, and I agree without a battle because I feel kinda bad about your tradition going down the drain, and then you tell me you're on the way over with dinner, but you don't REALLY bring dinner AND I have to cook my own damn steak?"

She wandered off, steak in hand, murmuring unintelligible syllables. For an hour, I didn't know what was going on over there, and I was scared to probe for details. But finally returned, mercilessly, with sauerkraut and blackeyed peas in hand. Oh, and these dumpling-ish things that were reminiscent of my grandmother's old Bisquick nightmares, not unlike those cute little paving stones people put in their front walkways.

To this day, I haven't heard a peep about my steak.