I Like Mine Dead, Headless and Wrapped in Plastic

There are few events in life that can bring a family together like a holiday of the heart. Thanksgiving is one of those holidays. It is the perfect family holiday. It revolves around food and giving thanks. No gifts are required. Every family has their own special traditions. My family had the Monopoly after the turkey tradition. My parents used to try and convince me that the holiday was about giving thanks, the turkey, and family but I knew better. It is about playing Monopoly after the turkey. It is about winning Monopoly. These people are competitive. There is no “letting the kids win to build self esteem.” Mr. Rodgers would get laughed right out the door. There is more of a “ victory builds character” or the ever popular “everyman for himself” attitude. We all know normally kind parents who turn into nuts when their kids play sports. Those people look like Shirley Temple compared to the Monopoly players in my family. These are my people. I must state for the record that in all the years I have been playing Monopoly with this group of over exuberant folks I have never won. Not ever. Another part of the let’s crucify the competition Monopoly experience is the traditional dance of victory after you have beaten everyone else. But first you have to get through the meal.

The preparation and pressure to excel at all things Thanksgiving starts early. In fact it starts just after Halloween. The supermarkets start it off with the free turkey giveaway. This is followed closely by the food network airing of twenty-four hours of home cooking specials. One year they started off the Thanksgiving specials with one where the host goes outdoors, impeccably dressed I might add, and slays his own turkey while repeating the phrase “Nothing like fresh turkey.” He and I have vastly different ideas of what constitutes a fresh turkey. I don’t want my meal to have a face when I go to cook it. I want it the old fashioned way. I want it dead, headless and in a plastic wrapper with it’s giblets stuffed inside.

After watching the food show that was advocating shooting your own turkey, I decided to meet the hunter/chef halfway. I tried to follow his guidance and precut as many of the ingredients as was possible.

The morning of the big event the alarm clock goes off. I jump out of bed and head for the kitchen. I am stopped cold in my tracks by the smell of precut onions that have been sitting in the refrigerator for twelve hours. This was not on the hunter-masquerading-as-a-chef-slay-your-own-turkey show. I would have remembered the part where the host has uncontrollable eye spasms from the smell.

I rush in and with one eye having spasms and the other open just enough to avoid slamming the refrigerator door in my face, and both of my eyes have gone from tearing to watering profusely, I remove the offending “air-tight”bag and throw it away, remove the trash bag that is holding it and throw it outside. My dream of having the family waking to the smell of roasting turkey wafting gently through the house is in serious jeopardy. However, running from the house crying from the stench is a definite possibility.

I open every window in my kitchen and heater room and wash my eyes out before I start cutting a fresh onion, which added beautifully to the lingering smell of the removed onions. Interesting fact: A twenty pound turkey can bend a foil roasting pan in half when pan is lifted by the cute little handles. Another interesting fact: It is very difficult, but not impossible, to stuff a turkey in a pan shaped like a V into an oven.
The rest of the day was a blur. Seven hours of slicing, dicing, peeling and eating. I am Alice at Mel’s Diner without the tips or the cute uniform. It has all been worth it. We are all together. All are well fed, and smiling. I know what’s coming. I know it is about to rear its ugly head. I know this as sure as I know that fall follows summer.

“How about a board game?” Those are fighting words. The hair on the back of my neck is standing straight up followed closely by goose bumps. Not Monopoly, Please don’t let them play the “M” game my subconscious is screaming. I have suppressed my extreme dislike of this game. It goes against everything warm and fuzzy to dislike this game but is rooted deeply in my brain. My Dad always wins. I think he cheats. I think Mom helps him win. The game God does just not simply smile on him. It has crowned him reigning champion. Every time. For twenty-five years.

The year of the slay-your-own-turkey show, youngest had gone to bed and the oldest had teamed up with Grandpop to beat us. Grandpop was grooming the next generation of Monopoly winner. The sight of the two of them high-fiving each other while doing their victory dance around the kitchen was not a pretty sight. I vowed monopoly revenge and gave serious thought to how I was going to overtake them.

I spent the next ten months talking up scrabble to youngest. It was my game plan. You see, scrabble is a game that you can’t cheat. It is also a game that I am very good at. The big day comes and he wants to play Scrabble. YES! Let the games begin. I win the toss, and start with a double word score with a fifteen point word and it just gets better from there. The letters are all coming my way. They get only vowels. They want to wimp out after two hours. No way! We will play till the end. This is scrabble revenge .The last letter is drawn and I have a seven letter word using all of my letters finishing them all off with one final swoop. It is pure poetry. I do the customary victory dance around the kitchen. I am so enjoying my long overdue victory dance. It may be a little over the edge. Twenty -five years have been righted. The game God has smiled upon me. The student has beaten the teacher. AH, Grasshopper!

I am really enjoying myself. Reveling in my victory, right until the youngest puts his arm lovingly around Grandpop and mutters “ I should be ready for Monopoly by Christmas Grandpop.” They smile, undo the top button on their pants and laugh as they sit together on the couch. That was ten years ago. We haven’t played Scrabble since. They wouldn’t play after my victory. They were all stuck on the whole Monopoly as a tradition thing. I decided to start a new tradition in our family. It’s called napping on the couch after the turkey. Apparently there are millions of families that already honor this tradition. Viva La Difference!

Flying Turkeys

I have been driving a long time. Thirty-four years to be exact. I have taught one son to drive and now am in the process of teaching my youngest to drive. It is a learning experience. He is getting better each time he drives but all totaled I believe he has been driving for a total of ten hours. There is still a long way to go.

I try to be patient but sometimes when we get in the car I drive just because I don’t feel like explaining the nuances of every move I make. We have gone over the driving manual. We have discussed every possible scenario that he might encounter and the appropriate response. We discuss them as he is driving. We discuss driving more than the president discusses nuclear proliferation.

Youngest son decides that he would like some new jeans so we plan our trip to the mall. I’m not sure which is more uncomfortable driving with him or shopping with him, so I decided to take the easy way out. I decided to be the selfish parent. I drove. The thought of teaching him to navigate the mall traffic at night, for the first time did absolutely nothing for me so I was going to be a slacker parent.

We are on the way to the mall discussing the purchase of the new jeans and out of the corner of my eye I see something coming out of the woods. Instinctively I step on the brakes and throw my arm across my son. The car slams to a stop and there in front of my car is a three-foot tall turkey. His wings were spread and his neck fully extended as he flew in front of my car. Yes the turkey flew in front of the car. I didn’t realize that turkeys could fly. I also didn’t know they were that big when they were fully extended. My son and I were stunned. I have never heard of turkeys flying out of the woods in traffic. I have heard of flying monkeys but that was in the movies.

I live in the woods. I have lived in the woods for twenty-five years. We have had reports of deer filtering into the residential neighborhoods. I have seen many deer over the years. We have ticks, lyme disease, and rabbits, I have even heard of rabid raccoons coming out in the daytime but I have never heard of flying turkeys. It sounds so absurd that I decided not to tell anyone. I mean what do you say. “Oh and by the way honey, watch out for the flying turkeys when you get near the mall.”

Perhaps the conversation would start with “ Has anyone read about the flying turkeys near the mall?” I looked in the local paper for articles on flying turkeys. I have also looked for articles on accidents involving turkeys. I haven’t seen any of those either. Not one.

I am just so thankful that I didn’t hit the turkey. Dogs or deer can really damage your car. This you could explain to your auto insurance agent and your friends. But telling the story of the flying turkey that crashed into my car story doesn’t sound quite the same. There will be a real effort to keep a straight face when telling the story so not to provoke fits of laughter. My insurance agent would have required a photo. I would have stopped and taken a picture if I hit the turkey but since I didn’t hit him there was no reason to stop and consequently there was no picture of the turkey. It was just my word against some two thousand years of history that makes no mention of flying turkeys.

I live with four men. I figured that discussing flying turkeys with the other three would only bring me immeasurable grief. I thought youngest son understood this when I said “ Let’s not bring up the turkeys!” Apparently not. Apparently the tone of my voice was not enough, I need to work on that. Hubby wanted me to tell him what happened with the turkey. Did I hit the turkey? Did the turkey make contact with the car anywhere? Did the turkey hit the bumper maybe? No, no and no. The turkey flew across the road. I stopped the car. The turkey flew past. We went to the mall. Of course, this conversation was followed by the cute turkey jokes. “Why did the turkey fly across the road? Because it was trying to beat Mom to the mall.” Oh ha ha ha . Of course this also lends itself to the cautionary statements when going to the mall. “Be careful. It’s raining really heavy and the turkeys might be out. You know how they like flying in the rain.”

I take every situation as a learning experience and this was no exception. I go to the mall a lot less. I make sure my cell phone is out where I can reach it instantly instead of my being in my pocketbook but most importantly, I have improved my communication skills with my son. “Don’t tell Dad about the damn turkey!!” I practice it in front of my mirror.