When I was a child, Thanksgiving was considered sacrosanct. It was the only time of the year when my mom’s family got together. To me, it was a big party with lots of cousins, aunts and uncles. The visiting relatives contributed specialties for a buffet table of hefty hors d’ouvres. Aunt Madeline’s stuffed cabbage and Aunt Ethel’s mushroom & barley, not to mention a hot dog casserole Aunt Gladys made because she wanted to try a new recipe–these favorites can still make me salivate. After digging into those dishes, no one really needed turkey and sweet potato pie and cole slaw and a million other sides to the main meal which the hostess provided.
After many childhood years enjoying wonderful Thanksgivings, I got married and immediately was assigned the role of hostess. (I’m sure my mom and aunts loved having a year off!) That first Thanksgiving dinner I prepared stands out clearly in my mind today… and not because I was a great cook!
There I was, not yet twenty-one years old, making my first turkey. I stuffed it, basted it, wrapped it in foil and set the oven for 350 degrees (I made everything at 350). When I took it out of the oven several hours later, the bird looked wonderful–nicely browned–and smelled delicious. I set it on top of the stove to cool and rejoined my relatives in the living room.
When I returned to the kitchen fifteen minutes later, the turkey was on the floor, the drumstick gone, while my Shepherd dog sat there with a shit-eating grin on his face. My heart raced, my jaw dropped. I could feel myself panic, but kept silent. I didn’t want anyone else to know what happened. But what to do…what to do…? I had a beautifully set table in the dining room with twenty people gathering around it, a loving crowd expecting to see a lovely browned turkey. And entire, whole lovely browned turkey. Oy.
I changed the rules. When I called everyone to dinner, I served the bird already sliced up nice and neat. I didn’t say a word about the little mishap. And if we were one drumstick short…well, no one really noticed. Some secrets are meant to be kept 🙂
So whether your turkey has one drumstick or two, whether you’re roasting your hundredth bird or your first, whether you’re celebrating with a special someone or a crowd, I wish you the happiest of Thanksgivings.
And a special happy Hanukkah for my friends who celebrate that awesome holiday! It will take another 70,000 years (no kidding) for Thanksgiving and Hanukkah to collide like they do this year in 2013. Hanukkah is based on a lunar calendar, and since there are only 28 days in a lunar month, every so often the calendar is recalculated. That’s why Jewish holidays have floating dates. But never before and never again in our lifetime will Hanukkah and Thanksgiving be celebrated on the same date. So Happy Thanksgivukkah!
As always, thanks so much for stopping by. I hope to see you for the next edition of Starting Over.
P.S. Don’t forget to celebrate with Celebrate Romance! Only 99 cents at Amazon, BN, Kobo and Smashwords.