Happy Thanksgiving...I think?

It’s pretty easy to fall in to the despair trap, especially in these heady days. The media is spewing campaign rhetoric at us at a rate that is simply indigestible.

The big sound bites stick with us though. Whether it local National or International it would seem that we are in serious trouble….maybe on the verge of a catastrophic point of no return! The end of days!

Locals suggest that our environment has been impaired to “the point of collapse” or that Delta is “burning down around us”

Sclock and Awe!.. tactics of political pessimism catering to those who love fear, conspiracy and the need to have a cause in order to feel necessary.

Rather than build a bomb shelter in the backyard this Thanksgiving weekend, I am going to spend a few days having fun with my family and friends and ponder just how lucky we are to live where we do in a stable country with sound government and a solid social safety net.

No battles this weekend. Nope, I am going to get in to full turkey mode and remember some of the fondest times of my life when I just hung out with my brothers, mom and dad and my grandparents. Simple times never forgotten and forever cherished.

Here is one of them…….

My grandparents lived a half block up the lane from us. At Thanksgiving we would usually consume a small cow at one home on Sunday and then follow up with a turkey and ham dinner at the other the next night. We would alternate every year. That was of course, until the year that grandmas’ culinary skills took a turn south.

It was Thanksgiving 1972 and prepping for the big trip down the lane on this Monday was weirdly complicated I recall. I think maybe that my brothers and I all had the same new sweaters or something. My mom was even making us comb our hair. We would do our best but she would invariably lick her fingers and do that last second touch up job thingy that moms and women seem to love to do. I remember trying to slap my mom’s hand away from my head and telling her she was gross.

A one-minute walk and a hug for grandma and grandpa would end the hair tyranny, as Craig, Dave and I would doff our goofy sweaters and head to the leaf filled front yard for a late afternoon wresting session.

An hour or so later we would come in to the beautifully messy and sagely aromatic kitchen where grandma and mom were busy preparing for the feast. We were thirsty and asked for a drink and because it was a special occasion, we were offered Ginger Ale mixed with orange juice. It was delicious.

We watched intently while gathering our wind as the two chefs pulled the bird out of the oven for a basting session. Soon we would all be gathered at the dining room table where we would watch grandpa carve the offering.

In the meantime though, in to the living room for snacks…. lots of them. I recall that my youngest brother Dave, then four at the time, was able to gull down a dozen sausage rolls on his own. When asked by dad who ate them all, Dave simply said “Mike did” and then ran upstairs. I caught up with him later and tickle tortured him….. little fink!

We were all finally called in to the dining room - way later than usual. We watched as grandpa “Curly” took the top off the huge roasting pan.

The room was silent. Even as young kids we knew something was horribly wrong.

The poor turkey that had given his life so that we could express our thanks had been rendered unrecognizable by several hours of overcooking. Apparently the ability to calculate the turkey roasting equation decreases as you get older.

The once proud looking 28 pounder had morphed in to a skeleton of its former self. Grandpa broke the silence by exclaiming it would be fine and began to sink the carving knife in to the breast of the beast.

Our worst fears were confirmed when the whole skeleton of the turkey caved in from the weight of the knife.

We laughed in spite of ourselves and were happy and thankful to be together no matter what we were eating.

All turkeys from this date forth have been cooked at my mom’s house.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!