Thanksgiving that almost wasn't
Turkey-sitting: Verb. The act of sitting/lounging in the kitchen or living room waiting for the turkey to finish it's roasting. This act usually occurs the third week of November and then again in late December at Christmas. The previous is my definition and not something you will find in Webster's dictionary.
Credit must be given to those pilgrims. Thanksgiving is an absolutely wonderful day. At what other time of the year are you allowed, even encouraged , to eat with such reckless abandon, and then nap and watch football? In my time on this planet I have experienced some very interesting Thanksgiving holidays, that is for certain. Memorable? Oh you better believe it.
There was the great Thanksgiving flu epidemic of 1974. I was about 10, my sister was 5, and we had a house full of relatives for the holiday who were all planning to stay till Sunday. Fourteen people(three of whom were sick children) and one bathroom. Need I say more? This was the year we all gave thanks for the invention of antibiotics. Shortly thereafter, my parents decided to remodel the master bedroom. They ripped out a small closet and added a second bathroom to the house. Coincidence? I think not.
Then there was "the Thanksgiving that almost wasn't" circa 1976. The usual suspects were all in attendance(see flu epidemic of 1974). It was my grandmother's duty and privilege to put the turkey into the oven to roast. She got up at 4 a.m. that fateful Thursday morning and pre-heated the oven, never knowing what disaster was about to befall her. She placed the bird in the aforementioned pre-heated oven and went back to bed. The oven was pronounced dead around 8 a.m. The turkey inside it was pronounced inedible two seconds later.
Let's recap the situation. No turkey and about thirteen to fifteen guests in the house expecting dinner at some time that afternoon or evening. Oh, and let us not forget, NO OVEN. My dad immediately got on the phone to the proprietor of the local market, who was only too glad to open the store and let dad grab the largest turkey in the store. We got a twelve pound turkey and a ten pound ham. The ham was cooked in the oven of our camper, and the turkey took up residence in the kitchen of the Dad's club Ladies Auxiliary.
After several hours and many trips out into the snow(oh...I didn't mention the BLIZZARD, did I? Oh yeah, worst ice storm in ten years and it had to happen the night before Thanksgiving) we all sat down to a delicious meal. At this point I am not so sure it was delicious. I think we were all just starving. That year marked the end of our out of town guests for the holiday. Apparently, they got the impression that we were under some kind of curse. Where they got that idea, I'll never know.
Since that time, things have been rather tame at my house for holidays. Of course, it helps that I don't actually have Thanksgiving dinner at my house. My sister and I and our respective families now descend on dear old dad and "help" him cook the meal. Usually, after a few minor emergencies in the kitchen, we all sit down and have a lovely meal. We take the time to give thanks that we have our health, a roof over our heads, the love of family and friends, and warm food to eat. Which is as it should be.
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