Happy Thanksgiving... I Think
The reason I say. “I think” is because I am not really sure. I am not sure if it is Thanksgiving or Christmas. If you have been shopping since about the middle of October. you are probably as confused as I am, About the middle of October was when the stores started decorating their Christmas trees and playing Christmas music on their PA systems. I have waltzed down the isles past the Christmas trees in the department stores, to the beautiful strains of “Joy to the World”. for so long now that I am completely out of the mood for Thanksgiving. Seems like Christmas should be tomorrow. I am even starting to feel guilty because my Christmas shopping isn’t done and my cards aren’t addressed and mailed out. If this trend continues for the next couple of years. I will be expecting a Christmas tree and Christmas presents for my birthday in July.
But no matter what the retail world is telling us. Thanksgiving is and always will be…before Christmas. So with that in mind. I have started preparations for the big traditional Thanksgiving dinner that I have prepared every year since 1955. That is thirty dead birds that I have thawed, cleaned, stuffed and cooked over the years. Some have been sensational and some have been not so sensational. I have cooked Thanksgiving turkeys for so long that I have even had to cook them when they were not self-basted with a pop-up timer. My only claim to fame has been that I have never forgotten to take the bag of giblets out of the cavity before I stuffed the bird stuffin’ in the cavity. About the only serious mishap that I can think of was the year I forgot to make gravy for the mashed potatoes. Needless to say, the family wasn’t too pleased when their plates were filled and their mashed potatoes looked like Mount Fuji in the dead of winter.
Shopping for the big dinner has always been one of my favorite pastimes. It rates at the top with another of my favorite pastimes…running to the mailbox barefoot, during a blizzard. Every year it seems like everyone in town. including myself, waits until the last day to go grocery shopping. Every isle in the store has at least twenty five carts and fifteen kids. all going in different directions. I always plan on at least two hours just to make it through the cranberry sauce and Jello sections.
After all the aggravation at the grocery store we can look forward to Wednesday, Wednesday is the day that we have to look at a dead bird lounging around in the kitchen all day. Wednesday is also the day to make the pumpkin pies that everyone is too full to eat after dinner and the Jello salads. Then finally the big day comes…turkey day. This is the day that old Mom has to get out of bed while the stars are still twinkling in the heavens and put her hands in an ice cold naked bird. After this chilling experience we have to find a not too wrinkled tablecloth and dust off the good dishes that have been sitting in the china closet since last Christmas. These are just a few things we have to do so that when Friday comes we can look at a bunch of yucky old leftovers in the refrigerator. Of course all mothers are obligated to cook four times more food than her family can possibly eat in one meal. I suppose we think that all those pilgrims and Indians that we see in pictures will make an appearance again…at our dinner table. After two days of cooking and preparing the finest. it is time to sit down and enjoy. Not more than ten minutes later the compliments start pouring in. Compliments like… “Boy! Am I full. I never want to see another piece of turkey the longest day I live.”
After years of hearing this same statement. I’m beginning to wonder why anyone would such a dumb statement. They should know by now that with all the leftover turkey and fixins’, the old Julia Child talent that is hidden in every mom will take over. They will have leftover turkey in every conceivable way that old mom can think up for the next week.
I think the happiest day in November is the day that the old turkey carcass is finally picked clean to the bone, the leftover mashed potatoes are either eaten or lost forever in the refrigerator and the third Thursday is just…another fond memory.
