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Mush

Writer's picture: Kelly McManusKelly McManus

Updated: Feb 2

By Kelly McManus

February 2025


February was always Dad’s least favorite month. He would stand forlornly gazing out the window at the dirty melting ice and snow that would freeze solid again every night making any outdoor adventures unlikely. It was enough to make any woodsman depressed. Or at least that’s what I always thought.


But I was wrong. February is the month of love—and that meant shopping, Dad's arch nemesis. Not only did he have Valentine’s Day to deal with, but February 3 was also his and Bun’s anniversary. Dad loved Mom dearly and would have done anything for her, but shopping twice in a month for romantic gifts was almost too much for the poor man.


Occasionally Dad would try to rope Peggy or me into helping him, but usually we let him suffer through the ordeal himself. Not because we were uncaring, we actually were very sympathetic. No, it was because we were McManuses born and bred, and McManuses don’t do mush. We are not touchy feely. We are not huggy, kissy. And we hate emotional displays. In fact, if things are getting too emotional we all have an unfortunate tendency to break out in hysterical laughter at the most inappropriate times. Dad had been our role model for this behavior and so Dad was on his own.


He’d usually eventually manage to pull off a suitably romantic gift with a few notable exceptions. For example, Bun was not thrilled with the compost grinder he got her on their 50th wedding anniversary, but then she was a McManus by marriage, not blood. The McManus daughters, however, oohed and aahed over the machine. We would gladly have traded the mushy flowers and candy we got from our spouses for an awesome compost grinder.


I think the exception to mushiness is grandkids, though. Grandma McManus, Dad’s mom, was a tough, very strict, former one-room schoolhouse teacher. My sisters and I would send her thank-you notes in our little kid handwriting for the books she would send us for our birthdays. And we would get our adorable notes back in the mail corrected in red ink. Definitely not mushy. 


However, when we showed up at her farmhouse outside Sandpoint, Idaho, we’d have to run for cover because Grandma McManus was going to track us down and plant a big sloppy, lipstick-coated kiss right on our lips. We were appalled, but endured it in the name of love. 


Then I, the oldest granddaughter, ruined everything. When I was about ten and Grandma was moving in for my welcome kiss, I quickly turned my head and presented my cheek to her instead of my lips. I could see the hurt in her eyes afterwards, and I don’t think she ever kissed us again. I still regret that.


I make up for it now, though, by terrorizing my own granddaughters. When I show up at their house they take off running because they know I’m going to track them down, bear hug them, and kiss the tops of their heads. They don’t know how lucky they are that I don’t quickly smear on some red lipstick and smooch them right on their lips. If I wasn’t such a no-mush McManus, I probably would do it at least once just to honor Grandma McManus. Plus, it’d be fun to see how appalled they’d be.  


Yep, they’ve definitely got some of that no mush McManus blood in them. Dad would be proud.

 
Pat's Quote of the Month

The other morning I was staring vacantly out the window, a hobby I personally find more entertaining than, say, stamp collecting or golf.


 
Recipe of the Month

Bun's Walnut Toffee was Pat's favorite homemade candy and it's the perfect sweet treat for your Valentines!

 
Pat's Yarns

Read a hilarious story about Pat's quest to find the perfect Valentine for Bun.:

The Pink Jungle, By Pat McManus


 
Vintage Bun (NEW)

Bun offers some sage advice on how to be a respectable valentine.: Bun On Being A Good Valentine

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Stan Walkup
2月01日

"sparkles"

いいね!
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